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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12302-0.txt b/12302-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7ba79d --- /dev/null +++ b/12302-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7003 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12302 *** + +ALL IN IT + +"K (1)" Carries On + +BY + +IAN HAY + + +1917 + + + + +TO ALL SECOND LIEUTENANTS + +AND IN PARTICULAR TO THE MEMORY OF + +ONE SECOND LIEUTENANT + + + + +ALL IN IT + +"K (1)" Carries On + + +By Jan Hay + + +ALL IN IT: K 1 CARRIES ON. + +PIP: A ROMANCE OF YOUTH + +GETTING TOGETHER + +THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND. + +SCALLY: THE STORY OF A PERFECT GENTLEMAN. With Frontispiece. + +A KNIGHT ON WHEELS. + +HAPPY-GO-LUCKY. Illustrated by Charles E. Brock. + +A SAFETY MATCH. With frontispiece. + +A MAN'S MAN. With frontispiece. + +THE RIGHT STUFF. With frontispiece. + + + + +AUTHOR'S NOTE + + +_The First Hundred Thousand_ closed with the Battle of Loos. The +present narrative follows certain friends of ours from the scene of +that costly but valuable experience, through a winter campaign in the +neighbourhood of Ypres and Ploegsteert, to profitable participation in +the Battle of the Somme. + +Much has happened since then. The initiative has passed once and for +all into our hands; so has the command of the air. Russia has been +reborn, and, like most healthy infants, is passing through an +uproarious period of teething trouble; but now America has stepped +in, and promises to do more than redress the balance. All along the +Western Front we have begun to move forward, without haste or flurry, +but in such wise that during the past twelve months no position, once +fairly captured and consolidated, has ever been regained by the enemy. +To-day you can stand upon certain recently won eminences--Wytchaete +Ridge, Messines Ridge, Vimy Ridge, and Monchy--looking down into the +enemy's lines, and looking forward to the territory which yet remains +to be restored to France. + +You can also look back--not merely from these ridges, but from certain +moral ridges as well--over the ground which has been successfully +traversed, and you can marvel for the hundredth time, not that the +thing was well or badly done, but that it was ever done at all. + +But while this narrative was being written, none of these things had +happened. We were still struggling uphill, with inadequate resources. +So, since the incidents of the story were set down, in the main, as +they occurred and when they occurred, the reader will find very little +perspective, a great deal of the mood of the moment, and none at all +of that profound wisdom which comes after the event. For the latter he +must look home--to the lower walks of journalism and the back benches +of the House of Commons. + +It is not proposed to carry this story to a third volume. The First +Hundred Thousand, as such, are no more. Like the "Old Contemptibles," +they are now merged in a greater and more victorious army--in an armed +nation, in fact. And, as Sergeant Mucklewame once observed to +me, "There's no that mony of us left now, onyways." So with all +reverence--remembering how, when they were needed most, these men did +not pause to reason why or count the cost, but came at once--we bid +them good-bye. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +I. WINTER QUARTERS +II. SHELL OUT! +III. WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS +IV. THE PUSH THAT FAILED +V. UNBENDING THE BOW +VI. YE MERRIE BUZZERS +VII. PASTURES NEW +VIII. "THE NON-COMBATANT" +IX. TUNING UP +X. FULL CHORUS +XI. THE LAST SOLO +XII. RECESSIONAL +XIII. "TWO OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN THE WARS" + + + + +ALL IN IT + +"K (1)" Carries On + + + + +I + +WINTER QUARTERS + + +I + +We are getting into our stride again. Two months ago we trudged +into Béthune, gaunt, dirty, soaked to the skin, and reduced to a +comparative handful. None of us had had his clothes off for a week. +Our ankle-puttees had long dropped to pieces, and our hose-tops, +having worked under the soles of our boots, had been cut away and +discarded. The result was a bare and mud-splashed expanse of leg from +boot to kilt, except in the case of the enterprising few who had +devised artistic spat-puttees out of an old sandbag. Our headgear +consisted in a few cases of the regulation Balmoral bonnet, usually +minus "toorie" and badge; in a few more, of the battered remains of a +gas helmet; and in the great majority, of a woollen cap-comforter. We +were bearded like that incomparable fighter, the _poilu_, and we were +separated by an abyss of years, so our stomachs told us, from our last +square meal. + +But we were wonderfully placid about it all. Our regimental pipers, +who had come out to play us in, were making what the Psalmist calls +"a joyful noise" in front; and behind us lay the recollection of a +battle, still raging, in which we had struck the first blow, and borne +our full share for three days and nights. Moreover, our particular +blow had bitten deeper into the enemy's line than any other blow in +the neighbourhood. And, most blessed thought of all, everything was +over, and we were going back to rest. For the moment, the memory of +the sights we had seen, and the tax we had levied upon our bodies and +souls, together with the picture of the countless sturdy lads whom +we had left lying beneath the sinister shade of Fosse Eight, were +beneficently obscured by the prospect of food, sleep, and comparative +cleanliness. + +After restoring ourselves to our personal comforts, we should +doubtless go somewhere to refit. Drafts were already waiting at the +Base to fill up the great gaps in our ranks. Our companies having been +brought up to strength, a spate of promotions would follow. We had no +Colonel, and only our Company Commander. Subalterns--what was left +of them--would come by their own. N.C.O.'s, again, would have to be +created by the dozen. While all this was going on, and the old names +were being weeded out of the muster-roll to make way for the new, the +Quartermaster would be drawing fresh equipment--packs, mess-tins, +water-bottles, and the hundred oddments which always go astray in +times of stress. There would be a good deal of dialogue of this +sort:-- + +"Private M'Sumph, I see you are down for a new pack. Where is your old +one?" + +"Blawn off ma back, sirr!" + +"Where are your puttees?" + +"Blawn off ma feet, sirr!" + +"Where is your iron ration?" + +"Blawn oot o' ma pooch, sirr!" + +"Where is your head?" + +"Blawn--I beg your pardon, sirr!"--followed by generous reissues all +round. + +After a month or so our beloved regiment, once more at full strength, +with traditions and morale annealed by the fires of experience, would +take its rightful place in the forefront of "K (1)." + +Such was the immediate future, as it presented itself to the wearied +but optimistic brain of Lieutenant Bobby Little. He communicated his +theories to Captain Wagstaffe. + +"I wonder!" replied that experienced officer. + + +II + +The chief penalty of doing a job of work well is that you are promptly +put on to another. This is supposed to be a compliment. + +The authorities allowed us exactly two days' rest, and then packed us +off by train, with the new draft, to a particularly hot sector of the +trench-line in Belgium--there to carry on with the operation known in +nautical circles as "executing repairs while under steam." + +Well, we have been in Belgium for two months now, and, as already +stated, are getting into our stride again. + +There are new faces everywhere, and some of the old faces are not +quite the same. They are finer-drawn; one is conscious of less +chubbiness all round. War is a great maturing agent. There is, +moreover, an air of seasoned authority abroad. Many who were second +lieutenants or lance corporals three months ago are now commanding +companies and platoons. Bobby Little is in command of "A" Company: if +he can cling to this precarious eminence for thirty days--that is, +if no one is sent out to supersede him--he becomes an "automatic" +captain, aged twenty! Major Kemp commands the battalion; Wagstaffe is +his senior major. Ayling has departed from our midst, and rumour +says that he is leading a sort of Pooh Bah existence at Brigade +Headquarters. + +There are sad gaps among our old friends of the rank and file. Ogg +and Hogg, M'Slattery and M'Ostrich, have gone to the happy +hunting-grounds. Private Dunshie, the General Specialist (who, you +may remember, found his true vocation, after many days, as battalion +chiropodist), is reported "missing." But his comrades are positive +that no harm has befallen him. Long experience has convinced them that +in the art of landing on his feet their departed friend has no equal. + +"I doot he'll be a prisoner," suggests the faithful Mucklewame to the +Transport Sergeant. + +"Aye," assents the Transport Sergeant bitterly; "he'll be a prisoner. +No doot he'll try to pass himself off as an officer, for to get better +quarters!" + +(The Transport Sergeant, in whose memory certain enormities of Dunshie +had rankled ever since that versatile individual had abandoned the +veterinary profession, owing to the most excusable intervention of +a pack-mule's off hind leg, was not far out in his surmise, as +subsequent history may some day reveal. But the telling of that story +is still a long way off.) + +Company Sergeant-Major Pumpherston is now Sergeant-Major of the +Battalion. Mucklewame is a corporal in his old company. Private Tosh +was "offered a stripe," too, but declined, because the invitation +did not include Private Cosh, who, owing to a regrettable lapse not +unconnected with the rum ration, had been omitted from the Honours' +List. Consequently these two grim veterans remain undecorated, but +they are objects of great veneration among the recently joined for all +that. + +So you see us once more in harness, falling into the collar with +energy, if not fervour. We no longer regard War with the least +enthusiasm: we have seen It, face to face. Our sole purpose now is to +screw our sturdy followers up to the requisite pitch of efficiency, +and keep them remorselessly at that standard until the dawn of +triumphant and abiding peace. + +We have one thing upon our side--youth. + +"Most of our regular senior officers are gone, sir," remarked Colonel +Kemp one day to the Brigadier--"dead, or wounded, or promoted to other +commands; and I have something like twenty new subalterns. When you +subtract a centenarian like myself, the average age of our Battalion +Mess, including Company Commanders, works out at something under +twenty-three. But I am not exchanging any of them, thanks!" + + +III + +Trench-life in Belgium is an entirely different proposition from +trench-life in France. The undulating country in which we now find +ourselves offers an infinite choice of unpleasant surroundings. + +Down south, Vermelles way, the trenches stretch in a comparatively +straight line for miles, facing one another squarely, and giving +little opportunity for tactical enterprise. The infantry blaze and +sputter at one another in front; the guns roar behind; and that is all +there is to be said about it. But here, the line follows the curve of +each little hill. At one place you are in a salient, in a trench which +runs round the face of a bulging "knowe"--a tempting target for shells +of every kind. A few hundred yards farther north, or south, the ground +is much lower, and the trench-line runs back into a re-entrant, +seeking for a position which shall not be commanded from higher ground +in front. + +The line is pierced at intervals by railway-cuttings, which have to be +barricaded, and canals, which require special defences. Almost every +spot in either line is overlooked by some adjacent ridge, or enfiladed +from some adjacent trench. It is disconcerting for a methodical young +officer, after cautiously scrutinising the trench upon his front +through a periscope, to find that the entire performance has been +visible (and his entire person exposed) to the view of a Boche trench +situated on a hill-slope upon his immediate left. + +And our trench-line, with its infinity of salients and re-entrants, +is itself only part of the great salient of "Wipers." You may imagine +with what methodical solemnity the Boche "crumps" the interior of that +constricted area. Looking round at night, when the star-shells float +up over the skyline, one could almost imagine one's self inside a +complete circle, instead of a horseshoe. + +The machine-gunners of both sides are extremely busy. In the plains of +France the pursuit of their nefarious trade was practically limited to +front-line work. When they did venture to indulge in what they called +"overhead" fire, their friends in the forefront used to summon them +after the performance, and reproachfully point out sundry ominous +rents and abrasions in the back of the front-line parapet. But here +they can withdraw behind a convenient ridge, and _strafe_ Boches a +mile and a half away, without causing any complaints. Needless to say, +Brother Boche is not backward in returning the compliment. He has one +gun in particular which never tires in its efforts to rouse us from +_ennui_. It must be a long way off, for we can only just hear the +report. Moreover, its contribution to our liveliness, when it does +arrive, falls at an extremely steep angle--so steep, indeed, that it +only just clears the embankment under which we live, and falls upon +the very doorsteps of the dug-outs with which that sanctuary is +honeycombed. + +This invigorating shower is turned on regularly for ten minutes, at +three, six, nine, and twelve o'clock daily. Its area of activity +includes our tiny but, alas! steadily growing cemetery. One evening a +regiment which had recently "taken over" selected 6 P.M. as a suitable +hour for a funeral. The result was a grimly humorous spectacle--the +mourners, including the Commanding Officer and officiating clergy, +taking hasty cover in a truly novel trench; while the central figure +of the obsequies, sublimely indifferent to the Hun and all his +frightfulness, lay on the grass outside, calm and impassive amid the +whispering hail of bullets. + +As for the trenches themselves--well, as the immortal costermonger +observed, "there ain't no word in the blooming language" for them. + +In the first place, there is no settled trench-line at all. The +Salient has been a battlefield for twelve months past. No one has ever +had the time, or opportunity, to construct anything in the shape of +permanent defences. A shallow trench, trimmed with an untidy parapet +of sandbags, and there is your stronghold! For rest and meditation, +a hole in the ground, half-full of water and roofed with a sheet +of galvanised iron; or possibly a glorified rabbit-burrow in a +canal-bank. These things, as a modern poet has observed, are all right +in the summer-time. But winter here is a disintegrating season. It +rains heavily for, say, three days. Two days of sharp frost succeed, +and the rain-soaked earth is reduced to the necessary degree of +friability. Another day's rain, and trenches and dug-outs come sliding +down like melted butter. Even if you revet the trenches, it is not +easy to drain them. The only difference is that if your line is +situated on the forward slope of a hill the support trench drains into +the firing-trench; if they are on the reverse slope, the firing-trench +drains into the support trench. Our indefatigable friends Box and Cox, +of the Royal Engineers, assisted by sturdy Pioneer Battalions, labour +like heroes; but the utmost they can achieve, in a low-lying country +like this, is to divert as much water as possible into some other +Brigade's area. Which they do, right cunningly. + +In addition to the Boche, we wage continuous warfare with the +elements, and the various departments of Olympus render us +characteristic assistance. The Round Game Department has issued a set +of rules for the correct method of massaging and greasing the feet. +(Major Wagstaffe refers to this as, "Sole-slapping; or What to do in +the Children's Hour; complete in Twelve Fortnightly Parts.") The Fairy +Godmother Department presents us with what the Quartermaster describes +as "Boots, gum, thigh"; and there has also been an issue of so-called +fur jackets, in which the Practical Joke Department has plainly taken +a hand. Most of these garments appear to have been contributed by +animals unknown to zoology, or more probably by a syndicate thereof. +Corporal Mucklewame's costume gives him the appearance of a St. +Bernard dog with Astrakhan fore legs. Sergeant Carfrae is attired +in what looks like the skin of Nana, the dog-nurse in "Peter Pan." +Private Nigg, an undersized youth of bashful disposition, creeps +forlornly about his duties disguised as an imitation leopard. As he +passes by, facetious persons pull what is left of his tail. Private +Tosh, on being confronted with his winter _trousseau_, observed +bitterly-- + +"I jined the Airmy for tae be a sojer; but I doot they must have pit +me doon as a mountain goat!" + +Still, though our variegated pelts cause us to resemble an +unsuccessful compromise between Esau and an Eskimo, they keep our +bodies warm. We wish we could say the same for our feet. On good days +we stand ankle-deep; on bad, we are occasionally over the knees. +Thrice blessed then are our Boots, Gum, Thigh, though even these +cannot altogether ward off frost-bite and chilblains. + +Over the way, Brother Boche is having a bad time of it: his trenches +are in a worse state than ours. Last night a plaintive voice cried +out-- + +"Are you dere, Jock? Haf you whiskey? We haf plenty water!" + +Not bad for a Boche, the platoon decided. + +There is no doubt that whatever the German General Staff may think +about the war and the future, the German Infantry soldier is "fed-up." +His satiety takes the form of a craving for social intercourse with +the foe. In the small hours, when the vigilance of the German N.C.O.'s +is relaxed, and the officers are probably in their dug-outs, he makes +rather pathetic overtures. We are frequently invited to come out +and shake hands. "Dis war will be ober the nineteen of nex' month!" +(Evidently the Kaiser has had another revelation.) The other morning a +German soldier, with a wisp of something white in his hand, actually +clambered out of the firing-trench and advanced towards our lines. The +distance was barely seventy yards. No shot was fired, but you may be +sure that safety-catches were hastily released. Suddenly, in the tense +silence, the ambassador's nerve failed him. He bolted back, followed +by a few desultory bullets. The reason for his sudden panic was never +rightly ascertained, but the weight of public opinion inclined to the +view that Mucklewame, who had momentarily exposed himself above the +parapet, was responsible. + +"I doot he thocht ye were a lion escapit from the Scottish Zoo!" +explained a brother corporal, referring to his indignant colleague's +new winter coat. + +Here is another incident, with a different ending. At one point our +line approaches to within fifteen yards of the Boche trenches. One wet +and dismal dawn, as the battalion stood to arms in the neighbourhood +of this delectable spot, there came a sudden shout from the enemy, and +an outburst of rapid rifle fire. Almost simultaneously two breathless +and unkempt figures tumbled over our parapet into the firing-trench. +The fusillade died away. + +To the extreme discomfort and shame of a respectable citizen of +Bannockburn, one Private Buncle, the more hairy of the two visitors, +upon recovering his feet, promptly flung his arms around his neck and +kissed him on both cheeks. The outrage was repeated, by his companion, +upon Private Nigg. At the same time both visitors broke into a joyous +chant of "Russky! Russky!" They were escaped Russian prisoners. + +When taken to Headquarters they explained that they had been brought +up to perform fatigue work near the German trenches, and had seized +upon a quiet moment to slip into some convenient undergrowth. Later, +under cover of night, they had made their way in the direction of the +firing-line, arriving just in time to make a dash before daylight +discovered them. You may imagine their triumphal departure from our +trenches--loaded with cigarettes, chocolate, bully beef, and other +imperishable souvenirs. + +We have had other visitors. One bright day a Boche aeroplane made +a reconnaissance of our lines. It was a beautiful thing, white and +birdlike. But as its occupants were probably taking photographs of our +most secret fastnesses, artistic appreciation was dimmed by righteous +wrath--wrath which turned to profound gratification when a philistine +British plane appeared in the blue and engaged the glittering stranger +in battle. There was some very pretty aerial manoeuvring, right over +our heads, as the combatants swooped and circled for position. We +could hear their machine-guns pattering away; and the volume of sound +was increased by the distant contributions of "Coughing Clara"--our +latest anti-aircraft gun, which appears to suffer from chronic +irritation of the mucous membrane. + +Suddenly the German aeroplane gave a lurch; then righted herself; then +began to circle down, making desperate efforts to cross the neutral +line. But the British airman headed her off. Next moment she lurched +again, and then took a "nosedive" straight into the British trenches. +She fell on open ground, a few hundred yards behind our second line. +The place had been a wilderness a moment before; but the crowd which +instantaneously sprang up round the wreck could not have been less +than two hundred strong. (One observes the same uncanny phenomenon in +London, when a cab-horse falls down in a deserted street.) However, +it melted away at the rebuke of the first officer who hurried to the +spot, the process of dissolution being accelerated by several bursts +of German shrapnel. + +Both pilot and observer were dead. They had made a gallant fight, and +were buried the same evening, with all honour, in the little cemetery, +alongside many who had once been their foes, but were now peacefully +neutral. + + +IV + +The housing question in Belgium confronts us with several novel +problems. It is not so easy to billet troops here, especially in the +Salient, as in France. Some of us live in huts, others in tents, +others in dug-outs. Others, more fortunate, are loaded on to a fleet +of motor-buses and whisked off to more civilised dwellings many miles +away. These buses once plied for hire upon the streets of London. Each +bus is in charge of the identical pair of cross-talk comedians who +controlled its destinies in more peaceful days. Strangely attired in +khaki and sheepskin, they salute officers with cheerful _bonhomie_, +and bellow to one another throughout the journey the simple and +primitive jests of their previous incarnation, to the huge delight of +their fares. + +The destination-boards and advertisements are no more, for the buses +are painted a neutral green all over; but the conductor is always +ready and willing to tell you what his previous route was. + +"That Daimler behind you, sir," he informs you, "is one of the Number +Nineteens. Set you down at the top of Sloane Street many a time, I'll +be bound. Ernie"--this to the driver, along the side of the bus--"you +oughter have slowed down when thet copper waved his little flag: he +wasn't pleased with yer, ole son!" (The "copper" is a military mounted +policeman, controlling the traffic of a little town which lies on our +way to the trenches.) "This is a Number Eight, sir. No, that dent in +the staircase wasn't done by no shell. The ole girl got that through +a skid up against a lamp-post, one wet Saturday night in the Vauxhall +Bridge Road. Dangerous place, London!" + +We rattle through a brave little town, which is "carrying on" in the +face of paralysed trade and periodical shelling. Soldiers abound. All +are muddy, but some are muddier than others. The latter are going up +to the trenches, the former are coming back. Upon the walls, here and +there, we notice a gay poster advertising an entertainment organised +by certain Divisional troops, which is to be given nightly throughout +the week. At the foot of the bill is printed in large capitals, A +HOOGE SUCCESS! We should like to send a copy of that plucky document +to Brother Boche. He would not understand it, but it would annoy him +greatly. + +Now we leave the town behind, and quicken up along the open road--an +interminable ribbon of _pavé_, absolutely straight, and bordered upon +either side by what was once macadam, but is now a quagmire a foot +deep. Occasionally there is a warning cry of "Wire!" and the outside +fares hurriedly bow from the waist, in order to avoid having their +throats cut by a telephone wire--"Gunners for a dollar!" surmises +a strangled voice--tightly stretched across the road between two +poplars. Occasionally, too, that indefatigable humorist, Ernie, +directs his course beneath some low-spreading branches, through which +the upper part of the bus crashes remorselessly, while the passengers, +lying sardine-wise upon the roof uplift their voices in profane and +bloodthirsty chorus. + +"Nothing like a bit o' fun on the way to the trenches, boys! It may be +the last you'll get!" is the only apology which Ernie offers. + + * * * * * + +Presently our vehicle bumps across a nubbly bridge, and enters what +was once a fair city. It is a walled city, like Chester, and is +separated from the surrounding country by a moat as wide as the upper +Thames. In days gone by those ramparts and that moat could have held +an army at bay--and probably did, more than once. They have done so +yet again; but at what a cost! + +We glide through the ancient gateway and along the ghostly streets, +and survey the crowning achievement of the cultured Boche. The great +buildings--the Cathedral, the Cloth Hall--are jagged ruins. The fronts +of the houses have long disappeared, leaving the interiors exposed to +view, like a doll's house. Here is a street full of shops. That heap +of splintered wardrobes and legless tables was once a furniture +warehouse. That snug little corner house, with the tottering zinc +counter and the twisted beer engine, is an obvious estaminet. You +may observe the sign, "Aux Deux Amis," in dingy lettering over the +doorway. Here is an oil-and-colour shop: you can still see the red +ochre and white lead splashed about among the ruins. + +In almost every house the ceilings of the upper floors have fallen in. +Chairs, tables, and bedsteads hang precariously into the room below. +Here and there a picture still adheres to the wall. From one of the +bedposts flutters a tattered and diminutive garment of blue and white +check--some little girl's frock. Where is that little girl now, we +wonder; and has she got another frock? + +One is struck above all things with the minute detail of the damage. +You would say that a party of lunatics had been let loose on the city +with coal-hammers: there is hardly a square yard of any surface which +is not pierced, or splintered, or dented. The whole fabric of the +place lies prostrate, under a shroud of broken bricks and broken +plaster. The Hun has said in his majesty: "If you will not yield me +this, the last city in the last corner of Belgium, I can at least see +to it that not one stone thereof remains upon another.--So yah!" + +Such is the appearance presented by the venerable and historic city of +Ypres, after fifteen months of personal contact with the apostles of +the new civilisation. Only the methodical and painstaking Boche could +have reduced a town of such a size to such a state. Imagine Chester in +a similar condition, and you may realise the number of shells which +have fallen, and are still falling, into the stricken city. + +But--the main point to observe is this. We are inside, and the +Boche is outside! Fenced by a mighty crescent of prosaic trenches, +themselves manned by paladins of an almost incredible stolidity, Ypres +still points her broken fingers to the sky--shattered, silent, but +inviolate still; and all owing to the obstinacy of a dull and unready +nation which merely keeps faith and stands by its friends. Such an +attitude of mind is incomprehensible to the Boche, and we are well +content that it should be so. + + + + +II + +SHELL OUT! + + +I + +This, according to our latest subaltern from home, is the title of a +_revue_ which is running in Town; but that is a mere coincidence. The +entertainment to which I am now referring took place in Flanders, and +the leading parts were assigned to distinguished members of "K (1)." + +The scene was the Château de Grandbois, or some other kind of Bois; +possibly Vert. Not that we called it that: we invariably referred to +it afterwards as Hush Hall, for reasons which will be set forth in due +course. + +One morning, while sojourning in what Olympus humorously calls a +rest-camp,--a collection of antiquated wigwams half submerged in a +mud-flat,--we received the intelligence that we were to extricate +ourselves forthwith, and take over a fresh sector of trenches. The news +was doubly unwelcome, because, in the first place, it is always +unpleasant to face the prospect of trenches of any kind; and secondly, +to take over strange trenches in the dead of a winter night is an +experience which borders upon nightmare--the +hot-lobster-and-toasted-cheese variety. + +The opening stages of this enterprise are almost ritualistic in their +formality. First of all, the Brigade Staff which is coming in visits +the Headquarters of the Brigade which is going out--usually a château +or farm somewhere in rear of the trenches--and makes the preliminary +arrangements. After that the Commanding Officers and Company +Commanders of the incoming battalions visit their own particular +section of the line. They are shown over the premises by the outgoing +tenants, who make little or no attempt to conceal their satisfaction +at the expiration of their lease. The Colonels and the Captains then +return to camp, with depressing tales of crumbling parapets, noisome +dug-outs, and positions open to enfilade. + +On the day of the relief various advance parties go up, keeping under +the lee of hedges and embankments, and marching in single file. +(At least, that is what they are supposed to do. If not ruthlessly +shepherded, they will advance in fours along the skyline.) Having +arrived, they take over such positions as can be relieved by daylight +in comparative safety. They also take over trench-stores, and exchange +trench-gossip. The latter is a fearsome and uncanny thing. It usually +begins life at the "refilling point," where the A.S.C. motor-lorries +dump down next day's rations, and the regimental transport picks them +up. + +An A.S.C. Sergeant mentions casually to a regimental Quartermaster +that he has heard it said at the Supply Dépôt that heavy firing has +been going on in the Channel. The Quartermaster, on returning to the +Transport Lines, observes to his Quartermaster-Sergeant that the +German Fleet has come out at last. The Quartermaster-Sergeant, when he +meets the ration parties behind the lines that night, announces to a +platoon Sergeant that we have won a great naval victory. The platoon +Sergeant, who is suffering from trench feet and is a constant reader +of a certain pessimistic halfpenny journal, replies gloomily: "We'll +have had heavy losses oorselves, too, I doot!" This observation is +overheard by various members of the ration party. By midnight several +hundred yards of the firing-line know for a fact that there has been a +naval disaster of the first magnitude off the coast of a place which +every one calls Gally Polly, and that the whole of our Division are +to be transferred forthwith to the Near East to stem the tide of +calamity. + +Still, we must have _something_ to chat about. + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile Brigade Majors and Adjutants, holding a stumpy pencil in one +hand and a burning brow in the other, are composing Operation Orders +which shall effect the relief, without-- + +(1) Leaving some detail--the bombers, or the snipers, or the +sock-driers, or the pea-soup experts--unrelieved altogether. + +(2) Causing relievers and relieved to meet violently together in some +constricted fairway. + +(3) Trespassing into some other Brigade Area. (This is far more +foolhardy than to wander into the German lines.) + +(4) Getting shelled. + +Pitfall Number One is avoided by keeping a permanent and handy list +of "all the people who do funny things on their own" (as the vulgar +throng call the "specialists"), and checking it carefully before +issuing Orders. + +Number Two is dealt with by issuing a strict time-table, which might +possibly be adhered to by a well-drilled flock of archangels, in broad +daylight, upon good roads, and under peace conditions. + +Number Three is provided for by copious and complicated map +references. + +Number Four is left to Providence--and is usually the best-conducted +feature of the excursion. + +Under cover of night the Battalion sets out, in comparatively +small parties. They form a strange procession. The men wear their +trench-costume--thigh-boots (which do not go well with a kilt), +variegated coats of skins, and woollen nightcaps. Stuffed under their +belts and through their packs they carry newspapers, broken staves +for firewood, parcels from home, and sandbags loaded with mysterious +comforts. A dilapidated parrot and a few goats are all that is +required to complete the picture of Robinson Crusoe changing camp. + +Progress is not easy. It is a pitch-black night. By day, this road +(and all the countryside) is a wilderness: nothing more innocent ever +presented itself to the eye of an inquisitive aeroplane. But after +nightfall it is packed with troops and transport, and not a light is +shown. If you can imagine what the Mansion House crossing would be +like if called upon to sustain its midday traffic at midnight--the +Mansion House crossing entirely unilluminated, paved with twelve +inches of liquid mud, intersected by narrow strips of _pavé_, and +liberally pitted with "crump-holes"--you may derive some faint idea of +the state of things at a busy road-junction lying behind the trenches. + +Until reaching what is facetiously termed "the shell area"--as if any +spot in this benighted district were not a shell area--the troops plod +along in fours at the right of the road. If they can achieve two miles +an hour, they do well. At any moment they may be called upon to halt, +and crowd into the roadside, while a transport-train passes carrying +rations, and coke, and what is called "R.E. material"--this may be +anything from a bag of nails to steel girders nine feet long--up to +the firing-line. When this procession, consisting of a dozen limbered +waggons, drawn by four mules and headed by a profane person on +horseback--the Transport Officer--has rumbled past, the Company, which +has been standing respectfully in the ditch, enjoying a refreshing +shower-bath of mud and hoping that none of the steel girders are +projecting from the limber more than a yard or two, sets out once more +upon its way--only to take hasty cover again as sounds of fresh +and more animated traffic are heard approaching from the opposite +direction. There is no mistaking the nature of this cavalcade: the +long vista of glowing cigarette-ends tells an unmistakable tale. +These are artillery waggons, returning empty from replenishing the +batteries; scattering homely jests like hail, and proceeding, wherever +possible, at a hand-gallop. He is a cheery soul, the R.A. driver, but +his interpretation of the rules of the road requires drastic revision. + +Sometimes an axle breaks, or a waggon side-slips off the _pavé_ into +the morass reserved for infantry, and overturns. The result is a +block, which promptly extends forward and back for a couple of miles. +A peculiarly British chorus of inquiry and remonstrance--a blend of +biting sarcasm and blasphemous humour--surges up and down the +line; until plunging mules are unyoked, and the offending vehicle +man-handled out of sight into the inky blackness by the roadside; or, +in extreme cases, is annihilated with axes. Everything has to make +way for a ration train. To crown all, it is more than likely that the +calmness and smooth working of the proceedings will be assisted by a +burst of shrapnel overhead. It is a most amazing scrimmage altogether. +One of those members of His Majesty's Opposition who are doing so much +at present to save our country from destruction, by kindly pointing +out the mistakes of the British Government and the British Army, +would refer to the whole scene as a pandemonium of mismanagement and +ineptitude. And yet, though the scene is enacted night after night +without a break, there is hardly a case on record of the transport +being surprised upon these roads by the coming of daylight, and none +whatever of the rations and ammunition failing to get through. + +It is difficult to imagine that Brother Boche, who on the other +side of that ring of star-shells is conducting a precisely similar +undertaking, is able, with all his perfect organisation and cast-iron +methods, to achieve a result in any way superior to that which Thomas +Atkins reaches by rule of thumb and sheer force of character. + + * * * * * + +At length the draggled Company worms its way through the press to the +fringe of the shell-area, beyond which no transport may pass. The +distance of this point from the trenches varies considerably, and +depends largely upon the caprice of the Boche. On this occasion, +however, we still have a mile or two to go--across country now, in +single file, at the heels of a guide from the battalion which we are +relieving. + +Guides may be divided into two classes-- + +(1) Guides who do not know the way, and say so at the outset. + +(2) Guides who do not know the way, but leave it to you to discover +the fact. + +There are no other kinds of guides. + +The pace is down to a mile an hour now, except in the case of men in +the tail of the line, who are running rapidly. It is a curious but +quite inexplicable fact that if you set a hundred men to march in +single file in the dark, though the leading man may be crawling like a +tortoise, the last man is compelled to proceed at a profane double if +he is to avoid being left behind and lost. + +Still, everybody gets there somehow, and in due course the various +Company Commanders are enabled to telephone to their respective +Battalion Headquarters the information that the Relief is completed. +For this relief, much thanks! + +After that the outgoing Battalion files slowly out, and the newcomers +are left gloomily contemplating their new abiding-place, and +observing-- + +"I wonder if there is _any_ Division in the whole blessed +Expeditionary Force, besides ours, which ever does a single damn thing +to keep its trenches in repair!" + + +II + +All of which brings us back to Hush Hall, where the Headquarters of +the outgoing Brigade are handing over to their successors. + +Hush Hall, or the Château de Quelquechose, is a modern country house, +and once stood up white and gleaming in all its brave finery of +stucco, conservatories, and ornamental lake, amid a pleasant wood not +far from a main road. It is such a house as you might find round about +Guildford or Hindhead. There are many in this fair countryside, but +few are inhabited now, and none by their rightful owners. They are all +marked on the map, and the Boche gunners are assiduous map-readers. +Hush Hall has got off comparatively lightly. It is still habitable, +and well furnished. The roof is demolished upon the side most exposed +to the enemy, and many of the trees in the surrounding wood are broken +and splintered by shrapnel. Still, provided the weather remains +passable, one can live there. Upon the danger-side the windows are +closed and shuttered. Weeds grow apace in the garden. No smoke emerges +from the chimneys. (If it does, the Mess Corporal hears about it from +the Staff Captain.) A few strands of barbed wire obstruct the passage +of those careless or adventurous persons who may desire to explore +the forbidden side of the house. The front door is bolted and barred: +visitors, after approaching stealthily along the lee of a hedge, +like travellers of dubious _bona fides_ on a Sunday afternoon, enter +unobtrusively by the back door, which is situated on the blind side of +the château. Their path thereto is beset by imploring notices like the +following:-- + + THE SLIGHTEST MOVEMENT DRAWS SHELL + FIRE. KEEP CLOSE TO THE HEDGE + +A later hand has added the following moving postscript:-- + + WE LIVE HERE. YOU DON'T! + +It was the Staff Captain who was responsible for the rechristening of +the establishment. + +"What sort of place is this new palace we are going to doss in?" +inquired the Machine-Gun Officer, when the Staff Captain returned from +his preliminary visit. + +The Staff Captain, who was a man of a few words, replied-- + +"It's the sort of shanty where everybody goes about in felt slippers, +saying 'Hush!'" + + * * * * * + +Brigade Headquarters--this means the Brigadier, the Brigade Major, the +Staff Captain, the Machine-Gun Officer, the Signal Officer, mayhap +a Padre and a Liaison Officer, accompanied by a mixed multitude of +clerks, telegraphists, and scullions--arrived safely at their new +quarters under cover of night, and were hospitably received by the +outgoing tenants, who had finished their evening meal and were girded +up for departure. In fact, the Machine-Gun Officer, Liaison Officer, +and Padre had already gone, leaving their seniors to hold the fort +till the last. The Signal Officer was down in the cellar, handing over +ohms, ampères, short-circuits, and other mysterious trench-stores to +his "opposite number." + +Upon these occasions there is usually a good deal of time to fill in +between the arrival of the new brooms and the departure of the old. +This period of waiting may be likened to that somewhat anxious +interval with which frequenters of race-courses are familiar, between +the finish of the race and the announcement of the "All Right!" +The outgoing Headquarters are waiting for the magic words--"Relief +Complete!" Until that message comes over the buzzer, the period of +tension endures. The main point of difference is that the gentleman +who has staked his fortune on the legs of a horse has only to wait +a few minutes for the confirmation of his hopes; while a Brigadier, +whose bedtime (or even breakfast-time) is at the mercy of an errant +platoon, may have to sit up all night. + +"Sit down and make yourselves comfortable," said A Brigade to X +Brigade. + +X Brigade complied, and having been furnished with refreshment, led +off with the inevitable question-- + +"Does one--er--get shelled much here?" + +There was a reassuring coo from A Brigade. + +"Oh, no. This is a very healthy spot. One has to be careful, of +course. No movement, or fires, or anything of that kind. A sentry or +two, to warn people against approaching over the open by day, and +you'll be as cooshie as anything!" ("Cooshie" is the latest word here. +That and "crump.") + +"I ought to warn you of one thing," said the Brigadier. "Owing to +the surrounding woods, sound is most deceptive here. You will hear +shell-bursts which appear quite close, when in reality they are quite +a distance away. That, for instance!"--as a shell exploded apparently +just outside the window. "That little fellow is a couple of hundred +yards away, in the corner of the wood. The Boche has been groping +about there for a battery for the last two days." + +"Is the battery there?" inquired a voice. + +"No; it is farther east. But there is a Gunner's Mess about two +hundred yards from here, in that house which you passed on the way +up." + +"Oh!" observed X Brigade. + +Gunners are peculiar people. When professionally engaged, no men could +be more retiring. They screen their operations from the public gaze +with the utmost severity, shrouding batteries in screens of foliage +and other rustic disguises. If a layman strays anywhere near one of +these arboreal retreats, a gunner thrusts out a visage enflamed with +righteous wrath, and curses him for giving the position away. But in +his hours of relaxation the gunner is a different being. He billets +himself in a house with plenty of windows: he illuminates all these by +night, and hangs washing therefrom by day. When inclined for exercise, +he goes for a promenade across an open space labelled--"Not to be used +by troops by daylight." Therefore, despite his technical excellence +and superb courage, he is an uncomfortable neighbour for +establishments like Hush Hall. + +In this respect he offers a curious contrast to the Sapper. Off duty, +the Sapper is the most unobtrusive of men--a cave-man, in fact. He +burrows deep into the earth, or the side of a hill, and having secured +the roof of this cavern against direct hits by ingenious contrivances +of his own manufacture, constructs a suite of furniture of a solid and +enduring pattern, and lives the life of a comfortable recluse. But +when engaged in the pursuit of his calling, the Sapper is the least +retiring of men. The immemorial tradition of the great Corps to which +he belongs has ordained that no fire, however fierce, must be allowed +to interfere with a Sapper in the execution of his duty. This rule is +usually interpreted by the Sapper to mean that you must not perform +your allotted task under cover when it is possible to do so under +fire. To this is added, as a rider, that in the absence of an adequate +supply of fire, you must draw fire. So the Sapper walks cheerfully +about on the tops of parapets, hugging large and conspicuous pieces of +timber, or clashing together sheets of corrugated iron, as happy as a +king. + +"You will find this house quite snug," continued the Brigadier. "The +eastern suite is to be avoided, because there is no roof there; and if +it rains outside for a day, it rains in the best bedroom for a week. +There is a big kitchen in the basement, with a capital range. That's +all, I think. The chief thing to avoid is movement of any kind. The +leaves are coming off the trees now--" + +At this moment an orderly entered the room with a pink telegraph +message. + +"Relief complete, sir!" announced the Brigade Major, reading it. + +"Good work!" replied both Brigadiers, looking at their watches +simultaneously, "considering the state of the country." The Brigadier +of "A" rose to his feet. + +"Now we can pass along quietly," he said. "Good luck to you. By the +way, take care of Edgar, won't you? Any little attention which you can +show him will be greatly appreciated." + +"Who is Edgar?" + +"Oh, I thought the Staff Captain would have told you. Edgar is the +swan--the last of his race, I'm afraid, so far as this place is +concerned. He lives on the lake, and usually comes ashore to draw his +rations about lunch-time. He is inclined to be stand-offish on one +side, as he has only one eye; but he is most affable on the other. +Well, now to find our horses!" + +As the three officers departed down the backdoor steps, a hesitating +voice followed them--"H'm! Is there any place where one can go--a +cellar, or any old spot of that kind--just in case we are--" + +"Bless you, you'll be all right!" was the cheery reply. (The outgoing +Brigade is always excessively cheery.) "But there are dug-outs over +there--in the garden. They haven't been occupied for some months, +so you may find them a bit ratty. You won't require them, though. +Good-night!" + + +III + +_Whizz! Boom! Bang! Crash! Wump_! + +"It's just as well," mused the Brigade Major, turning in his sleep +about three o'clock the following morning, "that they warned us about +the deceptive sound of the shelling here. One would almost imagine +that it was quite close.... That last one was heavy stuff: it shook +the whole place!... This is a topping mattress: it would be rotten +having to take to the woods again after getting into really cooshie +quarters at last.... There they go again!" as a renewed tempest of +shells rent the silence of night. "That old battery must be getting it +in the neck!... Hallo, I could have sworn something hit the roof that +time! A loose slate, I expect! Anyhow ..." + +The Brigade Major, who had had a very long day, turned over and went +to sleep again. + + +IV + +The next morning, a Sunday, broke bright and clear. Contrary to his +usual habit, the Brigade Major took a stroll in the garden before +breakfast. The first object which caught his eye, as he came down +the back-door steps, was the figure of the Staff Captain, brooding +pensively over a large crater, close to the hedge. The Brigade Major +joined him. + +"I wonder if that was there yesterday!" he observed, referring to the +crater. + +"Couldn't have been," growled the Staff Captain. "We walked to the +house along this very hedge. No craters then!" + +"True!" agreed the Brigade Major amiably. He turned and surveyed the +garden. "That lawn looks a bit of a golf course. What lovely bunkers!" + +"They appear to be quite new, too," remarked the Staff Captain +thoughtfully. "Come to breakfast!" + +On their way back they found the Brigadier, the Machine-Gun Officer, +and the Padre, gazing silently upward. + +"I wonder when that corner of the house got knocked off," the M.G.O. +was observing. + +"Fairly recently, I should say," replied the Brigadier. + +"Those marks beside your bedroom window, sir,--they look pretty +fresh!" interpolated the Padre, a sincere but somewhat tactless +Christian. + +Brigade Headquarters regarded one another with dubious smiles. + +"I _wonder_," began a tentative voice, "if those fellows last night +were indulging in a leg-pull--what is called in this country a +_lire-jambe_--when they assured us--" + +WHOO-OO-OO-OO-UMP! + +A shell came shrieking over the tree-tops, and fell with a tremendous +splash into the geometrical centre of the lake, fifty yards away. + + * * * * * + +For the next two hours, shrapnel, "whizz-bangs," "Silent Susies," +and other explosive wildfowl raged round the walls of Hush Hall. The +inhabitants thereof, some twenty persons in all, were gathered in +various apartments on the lee side. + +"It is still possible," remarked the Brigadier, lighting his pipe, +"that they are not aiming at us. However, it is just as inconvenient +to be buried by accident as by design. As soon as the first direct +hit is registered upon this imposing fabric, we will retire to the +dug-outs. Send word to the kitchen that every one is to be ready to +clear out of the house when necessary." + +Next moment there came a resounding crash, easily audible above the +tornado raging in the garden, followed by the sound of splintering +glass. Hush Hall rocked. The Mess waiter appeared. + +"A shell has just came in through the dining-room window, sirr," he +informed the Mess President, "and broke three of they new cups!" + +"How tiresome!" said the Brigadier. "Dug-outs, everybody!" + + +V + +There were no casualties, which was rather miraculous. Late in the +afternoon Brigade Headquarters ventured upon another stroll in the +garden. The tumult had ceased, and the setting Sabbath sun glowed +peacefully upon the battered countenance of Hush Hall. The damage +was not very extensive, for the house was stoutly built. Still, +two bedrooms, recently occupied, were a wreck of broken glass and +splintered plaster, while the gravel outside was littered with lead +sheeting and twisted chimney-cans. The shell which had aroused the +indignation of the Mess waiter by entering the dining-room window, had +in reality hit the ground directly beneath it. Six feet higher, and +the Brigadier's order to clear the house would have been entirely +superfluous. + +The Brigade Major and the Staff Captain surveyed the unruffled surface +of the lake--a haunt of ancient peace in the rays of the setting sun. +Upon the bosom thereof floated a single, majestic, one-eyed swan, +performing intricate toilet exercises. It was Edgar. + +"He must have a darned good dug-out somewhere!" observed the Brigade +Major enviously. + + + + +III + +WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS + + +I + +Hush Hall having become an even less desirable place of residence than +had hitherto been thought possible, Headquarters very sensibly sent +for their invaluable friends, Box and Cox, of the Royal Engineers, +and requested that they would proceed to make the place proof against +shells and weather, forthwith, if not sooner. + +Those phlegmatic experts made a thorough investigation of the +resources of the establishment, and departed mysteriously, after the +fashion of the common plumber of civilisation, into space. Three days +later they returned, accompanied by a horde of acolytes, who, +with characteristic contempt for the pathetic appeals upon the +notice-boards, proceeded to dump down lumber, sandbags, and corrugated +iron roofing in the most exposed portions of the garden. + +This done, some set out to shore up the ceilings of the basement with +mighty battens of wood, and to convert that region into a nest of +cunningly devised bedrooms. Others reinforced the flooring above with +a layer of earth and brick rubble three feet deep. On the top of all +this they relaid not only the original floor, but even the carpet. + +"The only difference from before, sir," explained Box to the admiring +Staff Captain, "is that people will have to walk up three steps to get +into the dining-room now, instead of going in on the level." + +"I wonder what the Marquise de Chilquichose will think of it all when +she returns to her ancestral home," mused the Staff Captain. + +"If anything," maintained the invincible Box, "we have improved it for +her. For example, she can now light the chandelier without standing on +a chair--without getting up from table, in fact! However, to resume. +The fireplace, you will observe, has not been touched. I have left a +sort of well in the floor all round it, lined with some stuff I found +in Mademoiselle's room. At least," added Box coyly, "I think it must +have been Mademoiselle's room! You can sit in the well every evening +after supper. The walls of this room"--prodding the same--"are lined +with sandbags, covered with tapestry. Pretty artistic--what?" + +"Extremely," agreed the Staff Captain. "You will excuse my raising the +point, I know, but can the apartment now be regarded as shell-proof?" + +"Against everything but a direct hit. I wouldn't advise you to sleep +on this floor much, but you could have your meals here all right. +Then, if the Boche starts putting over heavy stuff, you can pop down +into the basement and have your dessert in bed. You'll be absolutely +safe there. In fact, the more the house tumbles down the safer you +will be. It will only make your protection shell thicker. So if you +hear heavy thuds overhead, don't be alarmed!" + +"I won't," promised the Staff Captain. "I shall lie in bed, drinking +a nice hot cup of tea, and wondering whether the last crash was the +kitchen chimney, or only the drawing-room piano coming down another +storey. Now show me my room." + +"We have had to put you in the larder," explained Box apologetically, +as he steered his guest through a forest of struts with an electric +torch. "At least, I think it's the larder: it has a sort of meaty +smell. The General is in the dairy--a lovely little suite, with white +tiles. The Brigade Major has the scullery: it has a sink, so is +practically as good as a flat in Park Place. I have run up cubicles +for the others in the kitchen. Here is your little cot. It is only six +feet by four, but you can dress in the garden." + +"It's a _sweet_ little nest, dear!" replied the Staff Captain, quite +hypnotised by this time. "I'll just get my maid to put me into +something loose, and then I'll run along to your room, and we'll have +a nice cosy gossip together before dinner!" + + * * * * * + +In due course we removed our effects from the tottering and rat-ridden +dug-outs in which we had taken sanctuary during the shelling, and +prepared to settle down for the winter in our new quarters. + +"We might be _very_ much worse off!" we observed the first evening, +listening to the comfortably muffled sounds of shells overhead. + +And we were right. Three days later we received an intimation from the +Practical Joke Department that we were to evacuate our present sector +of trenches (including Hush Hall) forthwith, and occupy another part +of the line. + +In all Sports, Winter and Summer, the supremacy of the Practical Joke +Department is unchallenged. + + +II + +Meanwhile, up in the trenches, the combatants are beguiling the time +in their several ways. + +Let us take the reserve line first--the lair of Battalion Headquarters +and its appurtenances. Much of our time here, as elsewhere, is +occupied in unostentatious retirement to our dug-outs, to avoid the +effects of a bombardment. But a good amount--an increasing amount--of +it is devoted to the contemplation of our own shells bursting over the +Boche trenches. Gone are the days during which we used to sit close +and "stick it out," consoling ourselves with the vague hope that +by the end of the week our gunners might possibly have garnered +sufficient ammunition to justify a few brief hours' retaliation. The +boot is on the other leg now. For every Boche battery that opens on +us, two or three of ours thunder back a reply--and that without any +delays other than those incidental to the use of that maddening +instrument, the field-telephone. During the past six months neither +side has been able to boast much in the way of ground actually gained; +but the moral ascendancy--the initiative--the offensive--call it what +you will--has changed hands; and no one knows it better than the +Boche. We are the attacking party now. + +The trenches in this country are not arranged with such geometric +precision as in France. For instance, the reserve line is not always +connected with the firing-lines by a communication-trench. +Those persons whose duty it is to pay daily visits to the +fire-trenches--Battalion Commanders, Gunner and Sapper officers, +an occasional Staff Officer, and an occasional most devoted +Padre--perform the journey as best they may. Sometimes they skirt a +wood or hedge, sometimes they keep under the lee of an embankment, +sometimes they proceed across the open, with the stealthy caution +of persons playing musical chairs, ready to sit down in the nearest +shell-crater the moment the music--in the form of a visitation of +"whizz-bangs"--strikes up. + +It is difficult to say which kind of weather is least favourable to +this enterprise. On sunny days one's movements are visible to Boche +observers upon distant summits; while on foggy days the Boche gunners, +being able to see nothing at all, amuse themselves by generous and +unexpected contributions of shrapnel in all directions. Stormy weather +is particularly unpleasant, for the noise of the wind in the trees +makes it difficult to hear the shell approaching. Days of heavy rain +are the most desirable on the whole, for then the gunners are too +busy bailing out their gun-pits to worry their heads over adventurous +pedestrians. One learns, also, to mark down and avoid particular +danger-spots. For instance, the southeast corner of that wood, where +a reserve company are dug in, is visited by "Silent Susans" for about +five minutes each noontide: it is therefore advisable to select some +other hour for one's daily visit. (Silent Susan, by the way, is not a +desirable member of the sex. Owing to her intensely high velocity she +arrives overhead without a sound, and then bursts with a perfectly +stunning detonation and a shower of small shrapnel bullets.) There +is a fixed rifle-battery, too, which fires all day long, a shot at a +time, down the main street of the ruined and deserted village named +Vrjoozlehem, through which one must pass on the way to the front-line +trenches. Therefore in negotiating this delectable spot, one shapes +a laborious course through a series of back yards and garden-plots, +littered with broken furniture and brick rubble, allowing the +rifle-bullets the undisputed use of the street. The mention of +Vrjoozlehem--that is not its real name, but a simplified form of +it--brings to our notice the wholesale and whole-hearted fashion in +which the British Army has taken Belgian institutions under its wing. +Nomenclature, for instance. In France we make no attempt to interfere +with this: we content ourselves with devising a pronounceable +variation of the existing name. For example, if a road is called La +Rue de Bois, we simply call it "Roodiboys," and leave it at that. +On the same principle, Etaples is modified to "Eatables," and +Sailly-la-Bourse to "Sally Booze." But in Belgium more drastic +procedure is required. A Scotsman is accustomed to pronouncing +difficult names, but even he is unable to contend with words composed +almost entirely of the letters _j, z_, and _v_. So our resourceful +Ordnance Department has issued maps--admirable maps--upon which the +outstanding features of the landscape are marked in plain figures. +But instead of printing the original place-names, they put "Moated +Grange," or "Clapham Junction," or "Dead Dog Farm," which simplifies +matters beyond all possibility of error. (The system was once +responsible, though, for an unjust if unintentional aspersion upon +the character of a worthy man. The C.O. of a certain battalion had +occasion to complain to those above him of the remissness of one of +his chaplains. "He's a lazy beggar, sir," he said. "Over and over +again I have told him to come up and show himself in the front-line +trenches, but he never seems to be able to get past Leicester +Square!") + +The naming of the trenches themselves has been left largely to local +enterprise. An observant person can tell, by a study of the numerous +name-boards, which of his countrymen have been occupying the line +during the past six months. "Grainger Street" and "Jesmond Dene" give +direct evidence of "Canny N'castle." "Sherwood Avenue" and "Notts +Forest" have a Midland flavour. Lastly, no great mental effort is +required to decide who labelled two communication trenches "The +Gorbals" and "Coocaddens" respectively! + +Some names have obviously been bestowed by officers, as "Sackville +Street," "The Albany," and "Burlington Arcade" denote. "Pinch-Gut" +and "Crab-Crawl" speak for themselves. So does "Vermin Villa." Other +localities, again, have obviously been labelled by persons endowed +with a nice gift of irony. "Sanctuary Wood" is the last place on earth +where any one would dream of taking sanctuary; while "Lovers' Walk," +which bounds it, is the scene of almost daily expositions of the +choicest brand of Boche "hate." + +And so on. But one day, when the War is over, and this mighty +trench-line is thrown open to the disciples of the excellent Mr. +Cook--as undoubtedly it will be--care should be taken that these +street-names are preserved and perpetuated. It would be impossible to +select a more characteristic and fitting memorial to the brave hearts +who constructed them--too many of whom are sleeping their last sleep +within a few yards of their own cheerful handiwork. + + +III + +After this digression we at length reach the firing-line. It is quite +unlike anything of its kind that we have hitherto encountered. It +is situated in what was once a thick wood. Two fairly well-defined +trenches run through the undergrowth, from which the sentries of +either side have been keeping relentless watch upon one another, night +and day, for many months. The wood itself is a mere forest of poles: +hardly a branch, and not a twig, has been spared by the shrapnel. In +the no-man's-land between the trenches the poles have been reduced to +mere stumps a few inches high. + +It is behind the firing-trench that the most unconventional scene +presents itself. Strictly speaking, there ought to be--and generally +is--a support-line some seventy yards in rear of the first. This +should be occupied by all troops not required in the firing-trench. +But the trench is empty--which is not altogether surprising, +considering that it is half-full of water. Its rightful occupants are +scattered through the wood behind--in dug-outs, in redoubts, or _en +plein air_--cooking, washing, or repairing their residences. The whole +scene suggests a gipsy encampment rather than a fortified post. A +hundred yards away, through the trees, you can plainly discern the +Boche firing-trench, and the Boche in that trench can discern you: yet +never a shot comes. It is true that bullets are humming through the +air and glancing off trees, but these are mostly due to the enterprise +of distant machine-guns and rifle-batteries, firing from some position +well adapted for enfilade. Frontal fire there is little or none. In +the front-line trenches, at least, Brother Boche has had enough of it. +His motto now is, "Live and let live!" In fact, he frequently makes +plaintive statements to that effect in the silence of night. + +You might think, then, that life in Willow Grove would be a tranquil +affair. But if you look up among the few remaining branches of that +tall tree in the centre of the wood, you may notice shreds of some +material flapping in the breeze. Those are sandbags--or were. Last +night, within the space of one hour, seventy-three shells fell into +this wood, and the first of them registered a direct hit upon the +dug-out of which those sandbags formed part. There were eight men +in that dug-out. The telephone-wires were broken in the first few +minutes, and there was some delay before word could be transmitted +back to Headquarters. Then our big guns far in rear spoke out, until +the enemy's batteries (probably in response to an urgent appeal from +their own front line) ceased firing. Thereupon "A" Company, who at +Bobby Little's behest had taken immediate cover in the water-logged +support-trench, returned stolidly to their dug-outs in Willow Grove. +Death, when he makes the mistake of raiding your premises every day, +loses most of his terrors and becomes a bit of a bore. + +This morning the Company presents its normal appearance: its numbers +have been reduced by eight--_c'est tout_! It may be some one else's +turn to-morrow, but after all, that is what we are here for. Anyhow, +we are keeping the Boches out of "Wipers," and a bit over. So we +stretch our legs in the wood, and keep the flooded trench for the next +emergency. + +Let us approach a group of four which is squatting sociably round a +small and inadequate fire of twigs, upon which four mess-tins are +simmering. The quartette consists of Privates Cosh and Tosh, together +with Privates Buncle and Nigg, preparing their midday meal. + +"Tak' off your damp chup, Jimmy," suggested Tosh to Buncle, who was +officiating as stoker. "Ye mind what the Captain said aboot smoke?" + +"It wasna the Captain: it was the Officer," rejoined Buncle +cantankerously. + +(It may here be explained, at the risk of another digression, that no +length of association or degree of intimacy will render the average +British soldier familiar with the names of his officers. The Colonel +is "The C.O."; the Second in Command is "The Major"; your Company +Commander is "The Captain," and your Platoon Commander "The Officer." +As for all others of commissioned rank in the regiment, some +twenty-four in all, they are as nought. With the exception of the +Quartermaster, in whose shoes each member of the rank and file hopes +one day to stand, they simply do not exist.) + +"Onyway," pursued the careful Tosh, "he said that if any smoke was +shown, all fires was tae be pitten oot. So mind and see no' to get a +cauld dinner for us all, Jimmy!" + +"Cauld or het," retorted the gentleman addressed, "it's little dinner +I'll be gettin' this day! And ye ken fine why!" he added darkly. + +Private Tosh removed a cigarette from his lower lip and sighed +patiently. + +"For the last time," he announced, with the air of a righteous man +suffering long, "I did not lay ma hand on your dirrty wee bit ham!" + +"Maybe," countered the bereaved Buncle swiftly, "you did not lay your +hand upon it; but you had it tae your breakfast for all that, Davie!" + +"I never pit ma hand on it!" repeated Tosh doggedly. + +"No? Then I doot you gave it a bit kick with your foot," replied the +inflexible Buncle. + +"Or got some other body tae luft it for him!" suggested Private Nigg, +looking hard at Tosh's habitual accomplice, Cosh. + +"I had it pitten in an auld envelope from hame, addressed with my +name," continued the mourner. "It couldna hae got oot o' that by +accident!" + +"Weel," interposed Cosh, with forced geniality, "it's no a thing tae +argie-bargie aboot. Whatever body lufted it, it's awa' by this time. +It's a fine day, boys!" + +This flagrant attempt to raise the conversation to a less +controversial plane met with no encouragement. Private Buncle, +refusing to be appeased, replied sarcastically-- + +"Aye, is it? And it was a fine nicht last nicht, especially when the +shellin' was gaun on! Especially in number seeven dug-oot!" + +There was a short silence. Number seven dug-out was no more, and five +of its late occupants were now lying under their waterproof sheets, +not a hundred yards away, waiting for a Padre. Presently, however, +the pacific Cosh, who in his hours of leisure was addicted to mild +philosophical rumination, gave a fresh turn to the conversation. + +"Mphm!" he observed thoughtfully. "They say that in a war every man +has a bullet waiting for him some place or other, with his name on +it! Sooner or later, he gets it. Aye! Mphm!" He sucked his teeth +reflectively, and glanced towards the Field Ambulance. "Sooner or +later!" + +"What for would he pit his name on it, Wully?" inquired Nigg, who was +not very quick at grasping allusions. + +"He wouldna pit on the name himself," explained the philosopher. +"What I mean is, there's a bullet for each one of us somewhere over +there"--he jerked his head eastward--"in a Gairman pooch." + +"What way could a Gairman pit my name on a bullet?" demanded Nigg +triumphantly. "He doesna ken it!" + +"Man," exclaimed Cosh, shedding some of his philosophic calm, "can ye +no unnerstand that what I telled ye was jist a mainner of speakin'? +When I said that a man's name was on a bullet, I didna mean that it +was _written_ there." + +"Then what the hell _did_ ye mean?" inquired the mystified +disciple--not altogether unreasonably. + +Private Tosh made a misguided but well-meaning attempt to straighten +out the conversation. + +"He means, Sandy," he explained in a soothing voice, "that the name +was just stampit on the bullet. Like--like--like an identity disc!" he +added brilliantly. + +The philosopher clutched his temples with both hands. + +"I dinna mean onything o' the kind," he roared. "What I intend tae +imply is _this_, Sandy Nigg. Some place over there there is a bullet +in a Gairman's pooch, and one day that bullet will find its way intil +your insides as sure as if your name was written on it! _That's_ what +I meant. Jist a mainner of speakin'. Dae ye unnerstand me the noo?" + +But it was the injured Buncle who replied--like a lightning-flash. + +"Never you fear, Sandy, boy!" he proclaimed to his perturbed ally. +"That bullet has no' gotten your length yet. Maybe it never wull. +There's mony a thing in this worrld with one man's name on it that +finds its way intil the inside of some other man." He fixed Tosh with +a relentless eye. "A bit ham, for instance!" + +It was a knock-out blow. + +"For ony sake," muttered the now demoralised Tosh, "drop the subject, +and I'll gie ye a bit ham o' ma ain! There's just time tae cook it--" + +"What kin' o' a fire is this?" + +A cold shadow fell upon the group as a substantial presence inserted +itself between the debaters and the wintry sunshine. Corporal +Mucklewame was speaking, in his new and awful official voice, pointing +an accusing finger at the fire, which, neglected in the ardour of +discussion, was smoking furiously. + +"Did you wish the hale wood tae be shelled?" continued Mucklewame +sarcastically. "Put oot the fire at once, or I'll need tae bring ye +all before the Officer. It is a cauld dinner ye'll get, and ye'll +deserve it!" + + +IV + +In the fire-trench--or perhaps it would be more correct to call it the +water-trench--life may be short, and is seldom merry; but it is not +often dull. For one thing, we are never idle. + +A Boche trench-mortar knocks down several yards of your parapet. +Straightway your machine-gunners are called up, to cover the gap +until darkness falls and the gaping wound can be stanched with fresh +sandbags. A mine has been exploded upon your front, leaving a crater +into which predatory Boches will certainly creep at night. You summon +a _posse_ of bombers to occupy the cavity and discourage any +such enterprise. The heavens open, and there is a sudden deluge. +Immediately it is a case of all hands to the trench-pump! A better +plan, if you have the advantage of ground, is to cut a culvert under +the parapet and pass the inundation on to a more deserving quarter. In +any case you need never lack healthful exercise. + +While upon the subject of mines, we may note that this branch of +military industry has expanded of late to most unpleasant dimensions. +The Boche began it, of course--he always initiates these undesirable +pastimes,--and now we have followed his lead and caught him up. + +To the ordinary mortal, to become a blind groper amid the dark places +of the earth, in search of a foe whom it is almost certain death to +encounter there, seems perhaps the most idiotic of all the idiotic +careers open to those who are idiotic enough to engage in modern +warfare. However, many of us are as much at home below ground as above +it. In most peaceful times we were accustomed to spend eight hours a +day there, lying up against the "face" in a tunnel perhaps four feet +high, and wielding a pick in an attitude which would have convulsed +any ordinary man with cramp. But there are few ordinary men in +"K(1)" There is never any difficulty in obtaining volunteers for the +Tunnelling Company. + +So far as the amateur can penetrate its mysteries, mining, viewed +under our present heading--namely, Winter Sports--offers the following +advantages to its participants:-- + +(1) In winter it is much warmer below the earth than upon its surface, +and Thomas Atkins is the most confirmed "frowster" in the world. + +(2) Critics seldom descend into mines. + +(3) There is extra pay. + +The disadvantages are so obvious that they need not be enumerated +here. + +In these trenches we have been engaged upon a very pretty game of +subterranean chess for some weeks past, and we are very much on our +mettle. We have some small leeway to make up. When we took over these +trenches, a German mine, which had been maturing (apparently unheeded) +during the tenancy of our predecessors, was exploded two days after +our arrival, inflicting heavy casualties upon "D" Company. Curiously +enough, the damage to the trench was comparatively slight; but +the tremendous shock of the explosion killed more than one man by +concussion, and brought down the roofs of several dug-outs upon +their sleeping occupants. Altogether it was a sad business, and the +Battalion swore to be avenged. + +So they called upon Lieutenant Duff-Bertram--usually called Bertie the +Badger, in reference to his rodent disposition--to make the first move +in the return match. So Bertie and his troglodyte assistants sank +a shaft in a retired spot of their own selecting, and proceeded to +burrow forward towards the Boche lines. + +After certain days Bertie presented himself, covered in clay, before +Colonel Kemp, and made a report. + +Colonel Kemp considered. + +"You say you can hear the enemy working?" he said. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Near?" + +"Pretty near, sir." + +"How near?" + +"A few yards." + +"What do you propose to do?" + +Bertie the Badger--in private life he was a consulting mining engineer +with a beautiful office in Victoria Street and a nice taste in +spats--scratched an earthy nose with a muddy forefinger. + +"I think they are making a defensive gallery, sir," he announced. + +"Let us have your statement in the simplest possible language, +please," said Colonel Kemp. "Some of my younger officers," he added +rather ingeniously, "are not very expert in these matters." + +Bertie the Badger thereupon expounded the situation with solemn +relish. By a defensive gallery, it appeared that he meant a lateral +tunnel running parallel with the trench-line, in such a manner as to +intercept any tunnel pushed out by the British miners. + +"And what do you suggest doing to this Piccadilly Tube of theirs?" +inquired the Colonel. + +"I could dig forward and break into it, sir," suggested Bertie. + +"That seems a move in the right direction," said the Colonel. "But +won't the Boche try to prevent you?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"How?" + +"He will wait until the head of my tunnel gets near enough, and then +blow it in." + +"That would be very tiresome of him. What other alternatives are open +to you?" + +"I could get as near as possible, sir," replied Bertie calmly, "and +then blow up _his_ gallery." + +"That sounds better. Well, exercise your own discretion, and don't get +blown up unless you particularly want to. And above all, be quite sure +that while you are amusing yourself with the Piccadilly Tube, the +wily Boche isn't burrowing past _you_, and under my parapet, by the +Bakerloo! Good luck! Report any fresh development at once." + +So Bertie the Badger returned once more to his native element and +proceeded to exercise his discretion. This took the form of continuing +his aggressive tunnel in the direction of the Boche defensive gallery. +Next morning, encouraged by the absolute silence of the enemy's +miners, he made a farther and final push, which actually landed him in +the "Piccadilly Tube" itself. + +"This is a rum go, Howie!" he observed in a low voice to his +corporal. "A long, beautiful gallery, five by four, lined with wood, +electrically lighted, with every modern convenience--and not a Boche +in it!" + +"Varra bad discipline, sir!" replied Corporal Howie severely. + +"Are you sure it isn't a trap?" + +"It may be, sirr; but I doot the oversman is awa' to his dinner, and +the men are back in the shaft, doing naething." Corporal Howie had +been an "oversman" himself, and knew something of subterranean labour +problems. + +"Well, if you are right, the Boche must be getting demoralised. It is +not like him to present us with openings like this. However, the first +thing to do is to distribute a few souvenirs along the gallery. Pass +the word back for the stuff. Meanwhile I shall endeavour to test your +theory about the oversman's dinner-hour. I am going to creep along and +have a look at the Boche entrance to the Tube. It's down there, at the +south end, I think. I can see a break in the wood lining. If you hear +any shooting, you will know that the dinner-hour is over!" + +At the end of half an hour the Piccadilly Tube was lined with +sufficient explosive material--securely rammed and tamped--to ensure +the permanent closing of the line. Still no Boche had been seen or +heard. + +"Now, Howie," said Bertie the Badger, fingering the fuse, "what about +it?" + +"About what, sirr?" inquired Howie, who was not quite _au fait_ with +current catch-phrases. + +"Are we going to touch off all this stuff now, and clear out, or are +we going to wait and see?" + +"I would like fine--" began the Corporal wistfully. + +"So would I," said Bertie. "Tell the men to get back and out; and you +and I will hold on until the guests return from the banquet." + +"Varra good, sirr." + +For another half-hour the pair waited--Bertie the Badger like a dog in +its kennel, with his head protruding into the hostile gallery, while +his faithful henchman crouched close behind him. Deathly stillness +reigned, relieved only by an occasional thud, as a shell or +trench-mortar bomb exploded upon the ground above their heads. + +"I'm going to have another look round the corner," said Bertie at +last. "Hold on to the fuse." + +He handed the end of the fuse to his subordinate, and having wormed +his way out of the tunnel, proceeded cautiously on all-fours along the +gallery. On his way he passed the electric light. He twisted off the +bulb and crawled on in the dark. + +Feeling his way by the east wall of the gallery, he came presently to +the break in the woodwork. Very slowly, lying flat on his stomach now, +he wriggled forward until his head came opposite the opening. A low +passage ran away to his left, obviously leading back to the Boche +trenches. Three yards from the entrance the passage bent sharply to +the right, thus interrupting the line of sight. + +"There's a light burning just round that bend," said Bertie the Badger +to himself. "I wonder if it would be rash to go on and have a look at +it!" + +He was still straining at this gnat, when suddenly his elbow +encountered a shovel which was leaning against the wall of the +gallery. It tumbled down with a clatter almost stunning. Next moment +a hand came round the bend of the tunnel and fired a revolver almost +into the explorer's face. + +Another shot rang out directly after. + +The devoted Howie, hastening to the rescue, collided sharply with a +solid body crawling towards him in the darkness. + +"Curse you, Howie!" said the voice of Bertie the Badger, with +refreshing earnestness. "Get back out of this! Where's your fuse?" + +The pair scrambled back into their own tunnel, and the end of the fuse +was soon recovered. Almost simultaneously three more revolver-shots +rang out. + +"I thought I had fixed that Boche," murmured Bertie in a disappointed +voice. "I heard him grunt when my bullet hit him. Perhaps this is +another one--or several. Keep back in the tunnel, Howie, confound you, +and don't breathe up my sleeve! They are firing straight along the +gallery now. I will return the compliment. Ouch!" + +"What's the matter, sirr?" inquired the anxious voice of Howie, as his +officer, who had tried to fire round the corner with his left hand, +gave a sudden exclamation and rolled over upon his side. + +"I must have been hit the first time," he explained. "Collar-bone, I +think. I didn't know, till I rested my weight on my left elbow.... +Howie, I am going to exercise my discretion again. Somebody in this +gallery is going to be blown up presently, and if you and I don't get +a move on, p.d.q., it will be us! Give me the fuse-lighter, and wait +for me at the foot of the shaft. Quick!" + +Very reluctantly the Corporal obeyed. However, he was in due course +joined at the foot of the shaft by Bertie the Badger, groaning +profanely; and the pair made their way to the upper regions with all +possible speed. After a short interval, a sudden rumbling, followed by +a heavy explosion, announced that the fuse had done its work, and +that the Piccadilly Tube, the fruit of many toilsome weeks of Boche +calculation and labour, had been permanently closed to traffic of all +descriptions. + +Bertie the Badger received a Military Cross, and his abettor the +D.C.M. + + +V + +But the newest and most fashionable form of winter sport this season +is The Flying Matinée. + +This entertainment takes place during the small hours of the morning, +and is strictly limited to a duration of ten minutes--quite long +enough for most matinées, too. The actors are furnished by a unit of +"K(1)" and the rôle of audience is assigned to the inhabitants of the +Boche trenches immediately opposite. These matinées have proved an +enormous success, but require most careful rehearsal. + +It is two A.M., and comparative peace reigns up and down the line. The +rain of star-shells, always prodigal in the early evening, has died +down to a mere drizzle. Working and fatigue parties, which have been +busy since darkness set in at five o'clock,--rebuilding parapets, +repairing wire, carrying up rations, and patrolling debatable +areas,--have ceased their labours, and are sleeping heavily until the +coming of the wintry dawn shall rouse them, grimy and shivering, to +another day's unpleasantness. + +Private Hans Dumpkopf, on sentry duty in the Boche firing-trench, +gazes mechanically over the parapet; but the night is so dark and the +wind so high that it is difficult to see and quite impossible to hear +anything. He shelters himself beside a traverse, and waits patiently +for his relief. It begins to rain, and Hans, after cautiously +reconnoitring the other side of the traverse, to guard against +prowling sergeants, sidles a few yards to his right beneath the +friendly cover of an improvised roof of corrugated iron sheeting, laid +across the trench from parapet to parados. It is quite dry here, and +comparatively warm. Hans closes his eyes for a moment, and heaves a +gentle sigh. + +Next moment there comes a rush of feet in the darkness, followed by a +metallic clang, as of hobnailed boots on metal. Hans, lying prostrate +and half-stunned beneath the galvanised iron sheeting, which, +dislodged from its former position by the impact of a heavy body +descending from above, now forms part of the flooring of the trench, +is suddenly aware that this same trench is full of men--rough, +uncultured men, clad in short petticoats and the skins of wild +animals, and armed with knobkerries. The Flying Matinée has begun, and +Hans Dumpkopf has got in by the early door. + +Each of the performers--there are fifty of them all told--has his part +to play, and plays it with commendable aplomb. One, having disarmed +an unresisting prisoner, assists him over the parapet and escorts him +affectionately to his new home. Another clubs a recalcitrant foeman +over the head with a knobkerry, and having thus reduced him to a more +amenable frame of mind, hoists him over the parapet and drags him +after his "kamarad." + +Other parties are told off to deal with the dug-outs. As a rule, the +occupants of these are too dazed to make any resistance,--to be quite +frank, the individual Boche in these days seems rather to welcome +captivity than otherwise,--and presently more of the "bag" are on +their way to the British lines. + +But by this time the performance is drawing to a close. The alarm +has been communicated to the adjacent sections of the trench, and +preparations for the ejection of the intruders are being hurried +forward. That is to say, German bombers are collecting upon either +flank, with the intention of bombing "inwards" until the impudent foe +has been destroyed or evicted. As we are not here to precipitate a +general action, but merely to round up a few prisoners and do as much +damage as possible in ten minutes, we hasten to the finale. As in most +finales, one's actions now become less restrained--but, from a brutal +point of view, more effective. A couple of hand-grenades are thrown +into any dug-out which has not yet surrendered. (The Canadians, +who make quite a speciality of flying matinées, are accustomed, we +understand, as an artistic variant to this practice, to fasten an +electric torch along the barrel of a rifle, and so illuminate their +lurking targets while they shoot.) A sharp order passes along the +line; every one scrambles out of the trench; and the troupe makes +its way back, before the enemy in the adjacent trenches have really +wakened up, to the place from which it came. The matinée, so far as +the actors are concerned, is over. + +Not so the audience. The avenging host is just getting busy. The +bombing-parties are now marshalled and proceed with awful solemnity +and Teutonic thoroughness to clear the violated trench. The procedure +of a bombing-party is stereotyped. They begin by lobbing hand-grenades +over the first traverse into the first bay. After the ensuing +explosion, they trot round the traverse in single file and occupy +the bay. This manoeuvre is then repeated until the entire trench is +cleared. The whole operation requires good discipline, considerable +courage, and carefully timed co-operation with the other +bombing-party. In all these attributes the Boche excels. But one thing +is essential to the complete success of his efforts, and that is the +presence of the enemy. When, after methodically desolating each bay in +turn (and incidentally killing their own wounded in the process), the +two parties meet midway--practically on top of the unfortunate +Hans Dumpkopf, who is still giving an imitation of a tortoise in a +corrugated shell--it is discovered that the beautifully executed +counter-attack has achieved nothing but the recapture of an entirely +empty trench. The birds have flown, taking their prey with them. Hans +is the sole survivor, and after hearing what his officer has to say to +him upon the subject, bitterly regrets the fact. + +Meanwhile, in the British trenches a few yards away, the box-office +returns are being made up. These take the form, firstly, of some +twenty-five prisoners, including one indignant officer--he had been +pulled from his dug-out half asleep and frog-marched across the +British lines by two private soldiers well qualified to appreciate the +richness of his language--together with various souvenirs in the way +of arms and accoutrements; and secondly, of the knowledge that +at least as many more of the enemy had been left permanently +incapacitated for further warfare in the dug-outs. A grim and grisly +drama when you come to criticise it in cold blood, but not without a +certain humour of its own--and most educative for Brother Boche! + +But he is a slow pupil. He regards the profession of arms and the +pursuit of war with such intense and solemn reverence that he _cannot_ +conceive how any one calling himself a soldier can be so criminally +frivolous as to write a farce round the subject--much less present the +farce at a Flying Matinée. That possibly explains why the following +stately paragraph appeared a few days later in the periodical +communiqué which keeps the German nation in touch with its Army's +latest exploits:-- + + _During the night of Jan. 4th-5th attempts were made by strong + detachments of the enemy to penetrate our line near Sloozleschump, + S.E. of Ypres. The attack failed utterly_. + +"And they don't even realise that it was only a leg-pull!" commented +the Company Commander who had stage-managed the affair. "These people +simply don't deserve to have entertainments arranged for them at all. +Well, we must pull the limb again, that's all!" + +And it was so. + + + + +IV + +THE PUSH THAT FAILED + + +I + +"I wonder if they really mean business this time," surmised that +youthful Company Commander, Temporary Captain Bobby Little, to Major +Wagstaffe. + +"It sounds like it," said Wagstaffe, as another salvo of "whizz-bangs" +broke like inflammatory surf upon the front-line trenches. +"Intermittent _strafes_ we are used to, but this all-day performance +seems to indicate that the Boche is really getting down to it for +once. The whole proceeding reminds me of nothing so much as our own +'artillery preparation' before the big push at Loos." + +"Then you think the Boches are going to make a push of their own?" + +"I do; and I hope it will be a good fat one. When it comes, I fancy +we shall be able to put up something rather pretty in the way of a +defence. The Salient is stiff with guns--I don't think the Boche +quite realises _how_ stiff! And we owe the swine something!" he added +through his teeth. + +There was a pause in the conversation. You cannot hold the Salient for +three months without paying for the distinction; and the regiment had +paid its full share. Not so much in numbers, perhaps, as in quality. +Stray bullets, whistling up and down the trenches, coming even +obliquely from the rear, had exacted most grievous toll. Shells +and trench-mortar bombs, taking us in flank, had extinguished many +valuable lives. At this time nothing but the best seemed to satisfy +the Fates. One day it would be a trusted colour-sergeant, on another a +couple of particularly promising young corporals. Only last week the +Adjutant--athlete, scholar, born soldier, and very lovable schoolboy, +all most perfectly blended--had fallen mortally wounded, on his +morning round of the fire-trenches, by a bullet which came from +nowhere. He was the subject of Wagstaffe's reference. + +"Is it not possible," suggested Mr. Waddell, who habitually considered +all questions from every possible point of view, "that this +bombardment has been specially initiated by the German authorities, in +order to impress upon their own troops a warning that there must be no +Christmas truce this year?" + +"If that is the Kaiser's Christmas greeting to his loving followers," +observed Wagstaffe drily, "I think he might safely have left it to us +to deliver it!" + +"They say," interposed Bobby Little, "that the Kaiser is here +himself." + +"How do you know?" + +"It was rumoured in 'Comic Cuts.'" ("Comic Cuts" is the stately +Summary of War Intelligence issued daily from Olympus.) + +"If that is true," said Wagstaffe, "they probably will attack. All +this fuss and bobbery suggest something of the kind. They remind me of +the commotion which used to precede Arthur Roberts's entrance in the +old days of Gaiety burlesque. Before your time, I fancy, Bobby?" + +"Yes," said Bobby modestly. "I first found touch with the Gaiety over +'Our Miss Gibbs.' And I was quite a kid even then," he added, with +characteristic honesty. "But what about Arthur Roberts?" + +"Some forty or fifty years ago," explained Wagstaffe, "when I was +in the habit of frequenting places of amusement, Arthur Roberts was +leading man at the establishment to which I have referred. He usually +came on about half-past eight, just as the show was beginning to lose +its first wind. His entrance was a most tremendous affair. First of +all the entire chorus blew in from the wings--about sixty of them +in ten seconds--saying "Hurrah, hurrah, girls!" or something rather +subtle of that kind; after which minor characters rushed on from +opposite sides and told one another that Arthur Roberts was coming. +Then the band played, and everybody began to tell the audience about +it in song. When everything was in full blast, the great man would +appear--stepping out of a bathing-machine, or falling out of a +hansom-cab, or sliding down a chute on a toboggan. He was assisted +to his feet by the chorus, and then proceeded to ginger the show up. +Well, that's how this present entertainment impresses me. All this +noise and obstreperousness are leading up to one thing--Kaiser Bill's +entrance. Preliminary bombardment--that's the chorus getting to work! +Minor characters--the trench-mortars--spread the glad news! Band _and_ +chorus--that's the grand attack working up to boiling-point! Finally, +preceded by clouds of gas, the Arch-Comedian in person, supported +by spectacled coryphées in brass hats! How's that for a Christmas +pantomime?" + +"Rotten!" said Bobby, as a shell sang over the parapet and burst in +the wood behind. + + +II + +Kaiser or no Kaiser, Major Wagstaffe's extravagant analogy held good. +As Christmas drew nearer, the band played louder and faster; the +chorus swelled higher and shriller; and it became finally apparent +that something (or somebody) of portentous importance was directing +the storm. + +Between six and seven next morning, the Battalion, which had stood +to arms all night, lifted up its heavy head and sniffed the misty +dawn-wind--an east wind--dubiously. Next moment gongs were clanging +up and down the trench, and men were tearing open the satchels which +contained their anti-gas helmets. + +Major Wagstaffe, who had been sent up from Battalion Headquarters to +take general charge of affairs in the firing-trench, buttoned the +bottom edge of his helmet well inside his collar and clambered up on +the firing-step to take stock of the position. He crouched low, for a +terrific bombardment was in progress, and shells were almost grazing +the parapet. + +Presently he was joined by a slim young officer similarly disguised. +It was the Commander of "A" Company. Wagstaffe placed his head close +to Bobby's left ear, and shouted through the cloth-- + +"We shan't feel this gas much. They're letting it off higher up the +line. Look!" + +Bobby, laboriously inhaling the tainted air inside his helmet,--being +preserved from a gas attack is only one degree less unpleasant than +being gassed,--turned his goggles northward. + +In the dim light of the breaking day he could discern a +greenish-yellow cloud rolling across from the Boche trenches on his +left. + +"Will they attack?" he bellowed. + +Wagstaffe nodded his head, and then cautiously unbuttoned his collar +and rolled up the front of his helmet. Then, after delicately sampling +the atmosphere by a cautious sniff, he removed his helmet altogether. +Bobby followed his example. The air was not by any means so pure as +might have been desired, but it was infinitely preferable to that +inside a gas-helmet. + +"Nothing to signify," pronounced Wagstaffe. "We're only getting the +edge of it. Sergeant, pass down that men may roll up their helmets, +but must keep them on their heads. Now, Bobby, things are getting +interesting. Will they attack, or will they not?" + +"What do you think?" asked Bobby. + +"They are certainly going to attack farther north. The Boche does not +waste gas as a rule--not this sort of gas! And I think he'll attack +here too. The only reason why he has not switched on our anaesthetic +is that the wind isn't quite right for this bit of the line. I think +it is going to be a general push. Bobby, have a look through this +sniper's loophole. Can you see any bayonets twinkling in the Boche +trenches?" + +Bobby applied an eye to the loophole. + +"Yes," he said, "I can see them. Those trenches must be packed with +men." + +"Absolutely stiff with them," agreed Wagstaffe, getting out his +revolver. "We shall be in for it presently. Are your fellows all +ready, Bobby?" + +The youthful Captain ran his eye along the trench, where his Company, +with magazines loaded and bayonets fixed, were grimly awaiting the +onset. There had been an onset similar to this, with the same green, +nauseous accompaniment, in precisely the same spot eight months +before, which had broken the line and penetrated for four miles. +There it had been stayed by a forlorn hope of cooks, brakesmen, and +officers' servants, and disaster had been most gloriously retrieved. +What was going to happen this time? One thing was certain: the day of +stink-pots was over. + +"When do you think they'll attack?" shouted Bobby to Wagstaffe, +battling against the noise of bursting shells. + +"Quite soon--in a minute or two. Their guns will stop directly--to +lift their sights and set up a barrage behind us. Then, perhaps the +Boche will step over his parapet. Perhaps not!" + +The last sentence rang out with uncanny distinctness, for the German +guns with one accord had ceased firing. For a full two minutes there +was absolute silence, while the bayonets in the opposite trenches +twinkled with tenfold intent. + +Then, from every point in the great Salient of Ypres, the British guns +replied. + +Possibly the Imperial General Staff at Berlin had been misinformed as +to the exact strength of the British Artillery. Possibly they had been +informed by their Intelligence Department that Trades Unionism, had +ensured that a thoroughly inadequate supply of shells was to hand in +the Salient. Or possibly they had merely decided, after the playful +habit of General Staffs, to let the infantry in the trenches take +their chance of any retaliation that might be forthcoming. + +Whatever these great men were expecting, it is highly improbable that +they expected that which arrived. Suddenly the British batteries spoke +out, and they all spoke together. In the space of four minutes they +deposited _thirty thousand_ high-explosive shells in the Boche +front-line trenches--yea, distributed the same accurately and evenly +along all that crowded arc. Then they paused, as suddenly as they +began, while British riflemen and machine-gunners bent to their work. + +But few received the order to fire. Here and there a wave of men broke +over the German parapet and rolled towards the British lines--only to +be rolled back crumpled up by machine-guns. Never once was the goal +reached. The great Christmas attack was over. After months of weary +waiting and foolish recrimination, that exasperating race of bad +starters but great stayers, the British people, had delivered "the +goods," and made it possible for their soldiers to speak with the +enemy in the gate upon equal--nay, superior, terms. + +"Is that all?" asked Bobby Little, peering out over the parapet, a +little awe-struck, at the devastation over the way. + +"That is all," said Wagstaffe, "or I'm a Boche! There will be much +noise and some irregular scrapping for days, but the tin lid has been +placed upon the grand attack. The great Christmas Victory is off!" + +Then he added, thoughtfully, referring apparently to the star +performer:-- + +"We _have_ been and spoiled his entrance for him, haven't we?" + + + + +V + +UNBENDING THE BOW + + +I + +There is a certain type of English country-house female who is said to +"live in her boxes." That is to say, she appears to possess no home of +her own, but flits from one indulgent roof-tree to another; and owing +to the fact that she is invariably put into a bedroom whose wardrobe +is full of her hostess's superannuated ball-frocks and winter furs, +never knows what it is to have all her "things" unpacked at once. + +Well, we out here cannot be said to live in our boxes, for we do not +possess any; but we do most undoubtedly live in our haversacks and +packs. And this brings us to the matter in hand--namely, so-called +"Rest-Billets." The whole of the hinterland of this great trench-line +is full of tired men, seeking for a place to lie down in, and living +in their boxes when they find one. + +At present we are indulging in such a period of repose; and we venture +to think that on the whole we have earned it. Our last rest was in +high summer, when we lay about under an August sun in the district +round Béthune, and called down curses upon all flying and creeping +insects. Since then we have undergone certain so-called "operations" +in the neighbourhood of Loos, and have put in three months in the +Salient of Ypres. As that devout adherent of the Roman faith, Private +Reilly, of "B" Company, put it to his spiritual adviser-- + +"I doot we'll get excused a good slice of Purgatory for this, father!" + +We came out of the Salient just before Christmas, in the midst of the +mutual unpleasantness arising out of the grand attack upon the British +line which was to have done so much to restore the waning confidence +of the Hun. It was meant to be a big affair--a most majestic victory, +in fact; but our new gas-helmets nullified the gas, and our new shells +paralysed the attack; so the Third Battle of Ypres was not yet. Still, +as I say, there was considerable unpleasantness all round; and we were +escorted upon our homeward way, from Sanctuary Wood to Zillebeke, and +from Zillebeke to Dickebusche, by a swarm of angry and disappointed +shells. + +Next day we found ourselves many miles behind the firing-line, once +more in France, with a whole month's holiday in prospect, comfortably +conscious that one could walk round a corner or look over a wall +without preliminary reconnaissance or subsequent extirpation. + +As for the holiday itself, unreasonable persons are not lacking to +point out that it is of the busman's variety. It is true that we +are no longer face to face with the foe, but we--or rather, the +authorities--make believe that we are. We wage mimic warfare in full +marching order; we fire rifles and machine-guns upon improvised +ranges; we perform hazardous feats with bombs and a dummy trench. More +galling still, we are back in the region of squad-drill, physical +exercises, and handling of arms--horrors of our childhood which we +thought had been left safely interned at Aldershot. + +But the authorities are wise. The regiment is stiff and out of +condition: it is suffering from moral and intellectual "trench-feet." +Heavy drafts have introduced a large and untempered element into our +composition. Many of the subalterns are obviously "new-jined"--as the +shrewd old lady of Ayr once observed of the rubicund gentleman at +the temperance meeting. Their men hardly know them or one another by +sight. The regiment must be moulded anew, and its lustre restored by +the beneficent process vulgarly known as "spit and polish." So every +morning we apply ourselves with thoroughness, if not enthusiasm, to +tasks which remind us of last winter's training upon the Hampshire +chalk. + +But the afternoon and evening are a different story altogether. If we +were busy in the morning, we are busier still for the rest of the day. +There is football galore, for we have to get through a complete +series of Divisional cup-ties in four weeks. There is also a Brigade +boxing-tournament. (No, that was not where Private Tosh got his black +eye: that is a souvenir of New Year's Eve.) There are entertainments +of various kinds in the recreation-tent. This whistling platoon, with +towels round their necks, are on their way to the nearest convent, or +asylum, or École des Jeunes Filles--have no fear; these establishments +are untenanted!--for a bath. There, in addition to the pleasures of +ablution, they will receive a partial change of raiment. + +Other signs of regeneration are visible. That mysterious-looking +vehicle, rather resembling one of the early locomotives exhibited +in the South Kensington Museum, standing in the mud outside a +farm-billet, its superheated interior stuffed with "C" Company's +blankets, is performing an unmentionable but beneficent work. + +Buttons are resuming their polish; the pattern of our kilts is +emerging from its superficial crust; and Church Parade is once more +becoming quite a show affair. + +Away to the east the guns still thunder, and at night the star-shells +float tremblingly up over the distant horizon. But not for us. Not +yet, that is. In a few weeks' time we shall be back in another part of +the line. Till then--Company drill and Cup-Ties! _Carpe diem!_ + + +II + +It all seemed very strange and unreal to Second-Lieutenant Angus +M'Lachlan, as he alighted from the train at railhead, and supervised +the efforts of his solitary N.C.O. to arrange the members of his draft +in a straight line. There were some thirty of them in all. Some were +old hands--men from the First and Second Battalions, who had been +home wounded, and had now been sent out to leaven "K(1)." Others were +Special Reservists from the Third Battalion. These had been at the +Dépôt for a long time, and some of them stood badly in need of a +little active service. Others, again, were new hands altogether--the +product of "K to the _nth_." Among these Angus M'Lachlan numbered +himself, and he made no attempt to conceal the fact. The novelty of +the sights around him was almost too much for his _insouciant_ dignity +as a commissioned officer. + +Angus M'Lachlan was a son of the Manse, and incidentally a child of +Nature. The Manse was a Highland Manse; and until a few months +ago Angus had never, save for a rare visit to distant Edinburgh, +penetrated beyond the small town which lay four miles from his native +glen, and of whose local Academy he had been "dux." When the War broke +out he had been upon the point of proceeding to Edinburgh University, +where he had already laid siege to a bursary, and captured the same; +but all these plans, together with the plans of countless more +distinguished persons, had been swept to the winds by the invasion of +Belgium. On that date Angus summoned up his entire stock of physical +and moral courage and informed his reverend parent of his intention +to enlist for a soldier. Permission was granted with quite stunning +readiness. Neil M'Lachlan believed in straight hitting both in +theology and war, and was by no means displeased at the martial +aspirations of his only son. If he quitted himself like a man in the +forefront of battle, the boy could safely look forward to being +cock of his own Kirk-Session in the years that came afterwards. One +reservation the old man made. His son, as a Highland gentleman, would +lead men to battle, and not merely accompany them. So the impatient +Angus was bidden to apply for a Commission--his attention during the +period of waiting being directed by his parent to the study of the +campaigns of Joshua, and the methods employed by that singular but +successful strategist in dealing with the Philistine. + +Angus had a long while to wait, for all the youth of England--and +Scotland too--was on fire, and others nearer the fountain of honour +had to be served first. But his turn came at last; and we now behold +him, as typical a product of "K to the _nth_" as Bobby Little had been +of "K(1)," standing at last upon the soil of France, and inquiring +in a soft Highland voice for the Headquarters of our own particular +Battalion. + +He had half expected, half hoped, to alight from the train amidst a +shower of shells, as he knew the Old Regiment had done many months +before, just after the War broke out. But all he saw upon his arrival +was an untidy goods yard, littered with military stores, and peopled +by British privates in the _déshabille_ affected by the British Army +when engaged in menial tasks. + +Being quite ignorant of the whereabouts of his regiment--when last +heard of they had been in trenches near Ypres--and failing to +recollect the existence of that autocratic but indispensable _genius +loci_, the R.T.O., Angus took uneasy stock of his surroundings and +wondered what to do next. + +Suddenly a friendly voice at his elbow remarked-- + +"There's a queer lot o' bodies hereaboot, sirr." + +Angus turned, to find that he was being addressed by a short, stout +private of the draft, in a kilt much too big for him. + +"Indeed, that is so," he replied politely. "What is your name?" + +"Peter Bogle, sirr. I am frae oot of Kirkintilloch." Evidently +gratified by the success of his conversational opening, the little man +continued-- + +"I would like fine for tae get a contrack oot here after the War. +This country is in a terrible state o' disrepair." Then he added +confidentially-- + +"I'm a hoose-painter tae a trade." + +"I should not like to be that myself," replied Angus, whose early +training as a minister's son was always causing him to forget the +social gulf which is fixed between officers and the rank-and-file. +"Climbing ladders makes me dizzy." + +"Och, it's naething! A body gets used tae it," Mr. Bogle assured him. + +Angus was about to proceed further with the discussion, when the cold +and disapproving voice of the Draft-Sergeant announced in his ear-- + +"An officer wishes to speak to you, sir." + +Second-Lieutenant M'Lachlan, suddenly awake to the enormity of his +conduct, turned guiltily to greet the officer, while the Sergeant +abruptly hunted the genial Private Bogle back into the ranks. + +Angus found himself confronted by an immaculate young gentleman +wearing two stars. Angus, who only wore one, saluted hurriedly. + +"Morning," observed the stranger. "You in charge of this draft?" + +"Yes, sir," said Angus respectfully. + +"Right-o! You are to march them to 'A' Company billets. I'll show you +the way. My name's Cockerell. Your train is late. What time did you +leave the Base?" + +"Indeed," replied Angus meekly, "I am not quite sure. We had barely +landed when they told me the train would start at seventeen-forty. +What time would that be--sir?" + +"About a quarter to ten: more likely about midnight! Well, get your +bunch on to the road, and--Hallo, what's the matter? Let go!" + +The new officer was gripping him excitedly by the arm, and as the +new officer stood six-foot-four and was brawny in proportion, Master +Cockerell's appeal was uttered in a tone of unusual sincerity. + +"Look!" cried Angus excitedly. "The dogs, the dogs!" + +A small cart was passing swiftly by, towed by two sturdy hounds of +unknown degree. They were pulling with the feverish enthusiasm which +distinguishes the Dog in the service of Man, and were being urged to +further efforts by a small hatless girl carrying the inevitable large +umbrella. + +"All right!" explained Cockerell curtly. "Custom of the country, and +all that." + +The impulsive Angus apologised; and the draft, having been safely +manoeuvred on to the road, formed fours and set out upon its march. + +"Are the Battalion in the trenches at present, sir?" inquired Angus. + +"No. Rest-billets two miles from here. About time, too! You'll get +lots of work to do, though." + +"I shall welcome that," said Angus simply. "In the dépôt at home we +were terribly idle. There is a windmill!" + +"Yes; one sees them occasionally out here," replied Cockerell drily. + +"Everything is so strange!" confessed the open-hearted Angus. "Those +dogs we saw just now--the people with their sabots--the country +carts, like wheelbarrows with three wheels--the little shrines at the +cross-roads--the very children talking French so glibly--" + +"Wonderful how they pick it up!" agreed Cockerell. But the sarcasm +was lost on his companion, whose attention was now riveted upon an +approaching body of infantry, about fifty strong. + +"What troops are those, please?" + +Cockerell knitted his brows sardonically. + +"It's rather hard to tell at this distance," he said; "but I rather +think they are the Grenadier Guards." + +Two minutes later the procession had been met and passed. It consisted +entirely of elderly gentlemen in ill-fitting khaki, clumping along +upon their flat feet and smoking clay pipes. They carried shovels on +their shoulders, and made not the slightest response when called upon +by the soldierly old corporal who led them to give Mr. Cockerell "eyes +left!" On the contrary, engaged as they were in heated controversy or +amiable conversation with one another, they cut him dead. + +Angus M'Lachlan said nothing for quite five minutes. Then-- + +"I suppose," he said almost timidly, "that those were members of a +_Reserve_ Regiment of the Guards?" + +Cockerell, who had never outgrown certain characteristics which most +of us shed upon emerging from the Lower Fourth, laughed long and loud. + +"That crowd? They belong to one of the Labour Battalions. They make +roads, and dig support trenches, and sling mud about generally. +Wonderful old sportsmen! Pleased as Punch when a shell falls within +half a mile of them. Something to write home about. What? I say, I +pulled your leg that time! Here we are at Headquarters. Come and +report to the C.O. Grenadier Guards! My aunt!" + + * * * * * + +Angus, although his Celtic enthusiasm sometimes led him into traps, +was no fool. He soon settled down in his new surroundings, and found +favour with Colonel Kemp, which was no light achievement. + +"You won't find that the War, in its present stage, calls for any +display of genius," the Colonel explained to Angus at their first +interview. "I don't expect my officers to exhibit any quality but the +avoidance of _sloppiness_. If I detail you to be at a certain spot, +at a certain hour, with a certain number of men--a ration-party, or a +working-party, or a burial-party, or anything you like,--all I ask is +that you will be _there_, at the appointed hour, with the whole +of your following. That may not sound a very difficult feat, but +experience has taught me that if a man can achieve it, and can be +_relied_ upon to achieve it, say, nine times out of ten--well, he is +a pearl of price; and there is not a C.O. in the British Army who +wouldn't scramble to get him! That's all, M'Lachlan. Good morning!" + +By punctilious attention to this sound advice Angus soon began to +build up a reputation. He treated war-worn veterans like Bobby +Little with immense respect, and this, too, was counted to him for +righteousness. He exercised his platoon with appalling vigour. Upon +Company route-marches he had to be embedded in some safe place in the +middle of the column; in fact, his enormous stride and pedestrian +enthusiasm would have reduced his followers to pulp. At Mess he was +mute: like a wise man, he was feeling for his feet. + +But being, like Moses, slow of tongue, he provided himself with an +Aaron. Quite inadvertently, be it said. Bidden to obtain a servant for +his personal needs, he selected the only man in the Battalion whose +name he knew--Private Bogle, the _ci-devant_ painter of houses. That +friendly creature obeyed the call with alacrity. If his house-painting +was no better than his valeting, then his prospects of a "contrack" +after the War were poor indeed; but as a Mess waiter he was a joy for +ever. Despite the blood-curdling whispers of the Mess Corporal, his +natural urbanity of disposition could not be stemmed. Of the comfort +of others he was solicitous to the point of oppressiveness. A Mess +waiter's idea of efficiency as a rule is to stand woodenly at +attention in an obscure corner of the room. When called upon, he +starts forward with a jerk, and usually trips over something--probably +his own feet. Not so Private Bogle. + +"Wull you try another cup o' tea, Major?" he would suggest at +breakfast to Major Wagstaffe, leaning affectionately over the back of +his chair. + +"No, thank you, Bogle," Major Wagstaffe would reply gravely. + +"Weel, it's cauld onyway," Bogle would rejoin, anxious to endorse his +superior's decision. + +Or--in the same spirit-- + +"Wull I luft the soup now, sir?" + +"_No!_" + +"Varra weel: I'll jist let it bide the way it is." + + * * * * * + +Lastly, Angus M'Lachlan proved himself a useful +acquisition--especially in rest-billets--as an athlete. He arrived +just in time to take part--no mean part, either--in a Rugby Football +match played between the officers of two Brigades. Thanks very largely +to his masterly leading of the forwards, our Brigade were preserved +from defeat at the hands of their opponents, who on paper had appeared +to be irresistible. + +Rugby Football "oot here" is a rarity, though Association, being +essentially the game of the rank-and-file, flourishes in every green +field. But an Inverleith or Queen's Club crowd would have recognised +more than one old friend among the thirty who took the field that day. +There were those participating whose last game had been one of the +spring "Internationals" in 1914, and who had been engaged in a +prolonged and strenuous version of an even greater International ever +since August of that fateful year. Every public school in Scotland +was represented--sometimes three or four times over--and there were +numerous doughty contributions from establishments south of the Tweed. + +The lookers-on were in different case. They were to a man +devoted--nay, frenzied--adherents of the rival code. In less spacious +days they had surged in their thousands every Saturday afternoon to +Ibrox, or Tynecastle, or Parkhead, there to yell themselves into +convulsions--now exhorting a friend to hit some one a kick on the +nose, now recommending the foe to play the game, now hoarsely +consigning the referee to perdition. To these, Rugby Football--the +greatest of all manly games--was a mere name. Their attitude when the +officers appeared upon the field was one of indulgent superiority--the +sort of superiority that a brawny pitman exhibits when his Platoon +Commander steps down into a trench to lend a hand with the digging. + +But in five minutes their mouths were agape with scandalised +astonishment; in ten, the heavens were rent with their protesting +cries. Accustomed to see football played with the feet, and to demand +with one voice the instant execution of any player (on the other side) +who laid so much as a finger upon the ball or the man who was playing +it, the exhibition of savage and promiscuous brutality to which their +superior officers now treated them shocked the assembled spectators +to the roots of their sensitive souls. Howls of virtuous indignation +burst forth upon all sides. + +When the three-quarter-backs brought off a brilliant passing run, +there were stern cries of "Haands, there, referee!" When Bobby Little +stopped an ugly rush by hurling himself on the ball, the supporters +of the other Brigade greeted his heroic devotion with yells of +execration. When Angus M'Lachlan saved a certain try by tackling a +speedy wing three-quarter low and bringing him down with a crash, a +hundred voices demanded his removal from the field. And, when Mr. +Waddell, playing a stuffy but useful game at half, gained fifty yards +for his side by a series of judicious little kicks into touch, the +spectators groaned aloud, and remarked caustically-- + +"This maun be a Cup-Tie, boys! They are playin' for a draw, for tae +get a second gate!" + +Altogether a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon, both for players and +spectators. And so home to tea, domesticity, and social intercourse. +In this connection it may be noted that our relations with the +inhabitants are of the friendliest. On the stroke of six--oh yes, we +have our licensing restrictions out here too!--half a dozen kilted +warriors stroll into the farm-kitchen, and mumble affably to Madame-- + +"Bone sworr! Beer?" + +France boasts one enormous advantage over Scotland. At home, you have +at least to walk to the corner of the street to obtain a drink: "oot +here" you can purchase beer in practically every house in a village. +The French licensing laws are a thing of mystery, but the system +appears roughly to be this. Either you possess a license, or you do +not. If you do you may sell beer, and nothing else. If you do not, you +may--or at any rate do--sell anything you like, including beer. + +However, we have left our friends thirsty. + +Their wants are supplied with cheerful alacrity, and, having been +accommodated with seats round the stove, they converse with the +family. Heaven only knows what they talk about, but talk they do--in +the throaty unintelligible Doric of the Clydeside, with an occasional +Gallicism, like, "Allyman no bon!" or "Compree?" thrown in as a sop to +foreign idiosyncracies. Madame and family respond, chattering French +(or Flemish) at enormous speed. The amazing part of it all is that +neither side appears to experience the slightest difficulty in +understanding the other. One day Mr. Waddell, in the course of a +friendly chat with his hostess of the moment--she was unable to +speak a word of English--received her warm congratulations upon his +contemplated union with a certain fair one of St. Andrew (to whom +reference has previously been made in these pages). Mr. Waddell, a +very fair linguist, replied in suitable but embarrassed terms, and +asked for the source of the good lady's information. + +"Mais votre ordonnance, m'sieur!" was the reply. + +Tackled upon the subject, the "ordonnance" in question, Waddell's +servant--a shock-headed youth from Dundee--admitted having +communicated the information; and added-- + +"She's a decent body, sirr, the lady o' the hoose. She lost her +husband, she was tellin' me, three years ago. She has twa sons in the +Airmy. Her auld Auntie is up at the top o' the hoose--lyin' badly, and +no expectin' tae rise." + +And yet some people study Esperanto! + +We also make ourselves useful. "K(1)" contains members of every craft. +If the pig-sty door is broken, a carpenter is forthcoming to mend it. +Somebody's elbow goes through a pane of glass in the farm-kitchen: +straightway a glazier materialises from the nearest platoon, and puts +in another. The ancestral eight-day clock of the household develops +internal complications; and is forthwith dismembered and reassembled, +"with punctuality, civility, and despatch," by a gentleman who until a +few short months ago had done nothing else for fifteen years. + +And it was in this connection that Corporal Mucklewame stumbled on to +a rare and congenial job, and incidentally made the one joke of his +life. + +One afternoon a cow, the property of Madame _la fermière_, developed +symptoms of some serious disorder. A period of dolorous bellowing was +followed by an outburst of homicidal mania, during which "A" Company +prudently barricaded itself into the barn, the sufferer having taken +entire possession of the farmyard. Next, and finally--so rapidly did +the malady run its course--a state of coma intervened; and finally the +cow, collapsing upon the doorstep of the Officers' Mess, breathed her +last before any one could be found to point out to her the liberty she +was taking. + +It was decided to hold a _post-mortem_--firstly, to ascertain the +cause of death; secondly, because it is easier to remove a dead cow +after dissection than before. Madame therefore announced her intention +of sending for the butcher, and was upon the point of doing so when +Corporal Mucklewame, in whose heart, at the spectacle of the stark and +lifeless corpse, ancient and romantic memories were stirring--it may +be remembered that before answering to the call of "K(1)" Mucklewame +had followed the calling of butcher's assistant at Wishaw--volunteered +for the job. His services were cordially accepted by thrifty Madame; +and the Corporal, surrounded by a silent and admiring crowd, set to +work. + +The officers, leaving the Junior Subaltern in charge, went with one +accord for a long country walk. + +Half an hour later Mucklewame arrived at the seat of the deceased +animal's trouble--the seat of most of the troubles of mankind--its +stomach. After a brief investigation, he produced therefrom a small +bag of nails, recently missed from the vicinity of a cook-house in +course of construction in the corner of the yard. + +Abandoning the rôle of surgical expert for that of coroner, Mucklewame +held the trophy aloft, and delivered his verdict-- + +"There, boys! That's what comes of eating your iron ration without +authority!" + + +III + +Here is an average billet, and its personnel. + +The central feature of our residence is the refuse-pit, which fills +practically the whole of the rectangular farmyard, and resembles +(in size and shape _only_) an open-air swimming bath. Its abundant +contents are apparently the sole asset of the household; for if you +proceed, in the interests of health, to spread a decent mantle of +honest earth thereover, you do so to the accompaniment of a harmonised +chorus of lamentation, very creditably rendered by the entire family, +who are grouped _en masse_ about the spot where the high diving-board +ought to be. + +Round this perverted place of ablution runs a stone ledge, some four +feet wide, and round that again run the farm buildings--the house at +the top end, a great barn down one side, and the cowhouse, together +with certain darksome piggeries and fowl-houses, down the other. These +latter residences are occupied only at night, their tenants preferring +to spend the golden hours of day in profitable occupation upon the +happy hunting ground in the middle. + +Within the precincts of this already overcrowded establishment are +lodged some two hundred British soldiers and their officers. The +men sleep in the barn, their meals being prepared for them upon the +Company cooker, which stands in the muddy road outside, and resembles +the humble vehicle employed by Urban District Councils for the +preparation of tar for road-mending purposes. The officers occupy any +room which may be available within the farmhouse itself. The Company +Commander has the best bedroom--a low-roofed, stone-floored apartment, +with a very small window and a very large bed. The subalterns sleep +where they can--usually in the _grenier_, a loft under the tiles, +devoted to the storage of onions and the drying, during the winter +months, of the family washing, which is suspended from innumerable +strings stretched from wall to wall. + +For a Mess, there is usually a spare apartment of some kind. If not, +you put your pride in your pocket and take your meals at the kitchen +table, at such hours as the family are not sitting humped round the +same with their hats on, partaking of soup or coffee. (This appears +to be their sole sustenance.) A farm-kitchen in northern France is a +scrupulously clean place--the whole family gets up at half-past four +in the morning and sees to the matter--and despite the frugality of +her own home _menu_, the _fermière_ can produce you a perfect omelette +at any hour of the day or night. + +This brings us to the kitchen-stove, which is a marvel. No massive and +extravagant English ranges here! There is only one kind: we call +it the Coffin and Flower-pot. The coffin--small, black, and highly +polished--projects from the wall about four feet, the further end +being supported by what looks like an ornamental black flower-pot +standing on a pedestal. The coffin is the oven, and the flower-pot is +the stove. Given a handful of small coal or charcoal, Madame appears +capable of keeping it at work all day, and of boiling, baking, or +roasting you innumerable dishes. + +Then there is the family. Who or what they all are, and where they all +sleep, is a profound mystery. The family tree is usually headed by a +decrepit and ruminant old gentleman in a species of yachting-cap. He +sits behind the stove--not exactly with one foot in the grave, but +with both knees well up against the coffin--and occasionally offers +a mumbled observation of which no one takes the slightest notice. +Sometimes, too, there is an old, a very old, lady. Probably she is +some one's grandmother, or great-grandmother, but she does not appear +to be related to the old gentleman. At least, they never recognise one +another's existence in any way. + +There are also vague people who possess the power of becoming +invisible at will. They fade in and out of the house like wraiths: +their one object in life appears to be to efface themselves as much +as possible. Madame refers to them as "_refugiés_"; this the +sophisticated Mr. Cockerell translates, "German spies." + +Next in order come one or two farmhands--usually addressed as "'Nri!" +and "'Seph!" They are not as a rule either attractive in appearance or +desirable in character. Every man in this country, who _is_ a man, is +away, as a matter of course, doing a man's only possible duty under +the circumstances. This leaves 'Nri and 'Seph, who through physical or +mental shortcomings are denied the proud privilege, and shamble about +in the muck and mud of the farm, leering or grumbling, while Madame +exhorts them to further activity from the kitchen door. They take +their meals with the family: where they sleep no one knows. External +evidence suggests the cow-house. + +Then, the family. First, Angèle. She may be twenty-five, but is more +probably fifteen. She acts as Adjutant to Madame, and rivals her +mother as deliverer of sustained and rapid recitative. She milks the +cows, feeds the pigs, and dragoons her young brothers and sisters. But +though she works from morning till night, she has always time for +a smiling salutation to all ranks. She also speaks English quite +creditably--a fact of which Madame is justly proud. "Collège!" +explains the mother, full of appreciation for an education which she +herself has never known, and taps her learned daughter affectionately +upon the head. + +Next in order comes Émile. He must be about fourteen, but War has +forced manhood on him. All day long he is at work, bullying very large +horses, digging, hoeing, even ploughing. He is very much a boy, for +all that. He whistles excruciatingly--usually English music-hall +melodies--grins sheepishly at the officers, and is prepared at any +moment to abandon the most important tasks, in order to watch a man +cleaning a rifle or oiling a machine-gun. We seem to have encountered +Émile in other countries than this. + +After Émile, Gabrielle. Her age is probably seven. If you were to give +her a wash and brush-up, dress her in a gauzy frock, and exchange +her thick woollen stockings and wooden sabots for silk and dancing +slippers, she would make a very smart little fairy. Even in her native +state she is a most attractive young person, of an engaging coyness. +If you say: "Bonjour, Gabrielle!" she whispers: "B'jour M'sieur le +Capitaine"--or, "M'sieur le Caporal"; for she knows all badges of +rank--and hangs her head demurely. But presently, if you stand quite +still and look the other way, Gabrielle will sidle up to you and +squeeze your hand. This is gratifying, but a little subversive of +strict discipline if you happen to be inspecting your platoon at the +moment. + +Gabrielle is a firm favourite with the rank and file. Her particular +crony is one Private Mackay, an amorphous youth with flaming red hair. +He and Gabrielle engage in lengthy conversations, which appear to be +perfectly intelligible to both, though Mackay speaks with the solemn +unction of the Aberdonian, and Gabrielle prattles at express speed +in a _patois_ of her own. Last week some unknown humorist, evidently +considering that Gabrielle was not making sufficient progress in her +knowledge of English, took upon himself to give her a private lesson. +Next morning Mackay, on sentry duty at the farm gate, espied his +little friend peeping round a corner. + +"Hey, Garibell!" he observed cheerfully. (No Scottish private ever yet +mastered a French name quite completely.) + +Gabrielle, anxious to exhibit her new accomplishment, drew nearer, +smiled seraphically, and replied-- + +"'Ello, Gingeair!" + +Last of the bunch comes Petit Jean, a chubby and close-cropped +youth of about six. Petit Jean is not his real name, as he himself +indignantly explained when so addressed by Major Wagstaffe. + +"Moi, z'ne suis pas Petit Jean; z'suis Maurrrice!" + +Major Wagstaffe apologised most humbly, but the name stuck. + +Petit Jean is an enthusiast upon matters military. He possesses a +little wooden rifle, the gift of a friendly "Écossais," tipped with a +flashing bayonet cut from a biscuit-tin; and spends most of his time +out upon the road, waiting for some one to salute. At one time he used +to stand by the sentry, with an ancient glengarry crammed over his +bullet head, and conform meticulously to his comrade's slightest +movement. This procedure was soon banned, as being calculated to bring +contempt and ridicule upon the King's uniform, and Petit Jean was +assigned a beat of his own. Behold him upon sentry-go. + +A figure upon horseback swings round the bend in the road. + +"Here's an officer, Johnny!" cries a friendly voice from the farm +gate. + +Petit Jean, as upright as a post, brings his rifle from stand-at-ease +to the order, and from the order to the slope, with the epileptic +jerkiness of a marionette, and scrutinises the approaching officer +for stars and crowns. If he can discern nothing but a star or two, he +slaps the small of his butt with ferocious solemnity; but if a crown, +or a red hatband, reveals itself, he blows out his small chest to its +fullest extent and presents arms. If the salute is acknowledged--as it +nearly always is--Petit Jean is crimson with gratification. Once, when +a friendly subaltern called his platoon to attention, and gave the +order, "Eyes right!" upon passing the motionless little figure at the +side of the road, Petit Jean was so uplifted that he committed the +military crime of deserting his post while on duty--in order to run +home and tell his mother about it. + + * * * * * + +Last of all we arrive at the keystone of the whole fabric--Madame +herself. She is one of the most wonderful women in the world. +Consider. Her husband and her eldest son are away--fighting, she knows +not where, amid dangers and privations which can only be imagined. +During their absence she has to manage a considerable farm, with the +help of her children and one or two hired labourers of more than +doubtful use or reliability. In addition to her ordinary duties as a +parent and _fermière_, she finds herself called upon, for months +on end, to maintain her premises as a combination of barracks and +almshouse. Yet she is seldom cross--except possibly when the +_soldats_ steal her apples and pelt the pigs with the cores--and no +accumulations of labour can sap her energy. She is up by half-past +four every morning; yet she never appears anxious to go to bed at +night. The last sound which sleepy subalterns hear is Madame's voice, +uplifted in steady discourse to the circle round the stove, sustained +by an occasional guttural chord from 'Nri and 'Seph. She has been +doing this, day in, day out, since the combatants settled down to +trench-warfare. Every few weeks brings a fresh crop of tenants, with +fresh peculiarities and unknown proclivities; and she assimilates them +all. + +The only approach to a breakdown comes when, after paying her little +bill--you may be sure that not an omelette nor a broken window will +be missing from the account--and wishing her "Bonne chance!" ere +you depart, you venture on a reference, in a few awkward, stumbling +sentences, to the absent husband and son. Then she weeps, copiously, +and it seems to do her a world of good. All hail to you, Madame--the +finest exponent, in all this War, of the art of Carrying On! We know +now why France is such a great country. + + + + +VI + +YE MERRIE BUZZERS + + +I + +Practically all the business of an Army in the field is transacted by +telephone. If the telephone breaks down, whether by the Act of God +or of the King's Enemies, that business is at a standstill until the +telephone is put right again. + +The importance of the disaster varies with the nature of the business. +For instance, if the wire leading to the Round Game Department is +blown down by a March gale, and your weekly return of Men Recommended +for False Teeth is delayed in transit, nobody minds very much--except +possibly the Deputy Assistant Director of Auxiliary Dental Appliances. +But if you are engaged in battle, and the wires which link up the +driving force in front with the directing force behind are +devastated by a storm of shrapnel, the matter assumes a more--nay, +a most--serious aspect. Hence the superlative importance in modern +warfare of the Signal Sections of the Royal Engineers--tersely +described by the rank-and-file as the "Buzzers," or the +"Iddy-Umpties." + +During peace-training, the Buzzer on the whole has a very pleasant +time of it. Once he has mastered the mysteries of the Semaphore +and Morse codes, the most laborious part of his education is over. +Henceforth he spends his days upon some sheltered hillside, in company +with one or two congenial spirits, flapping cryptic messages out of a +blue-and-white flag at a similar party across the valley. + +A year ago, for instance, you might have encountered an old friend, +Private M'Micking,--one of the original "Buzzers" of "A" Company, and +ultimately Battalion Signal Sergeant--under the lee of a pine wood +near Hindhead, accompanied by Lance-Corporal Greig and Private +Wamphray, regarding with languid interest the frenzied efforts of +three of their colleagues to convey a message from a sunny hillside +three quarters of a mile away. + +"Here a message comin' through, boys," announces the Lance-Corporal. +"They're in a sair hurry: I doot the officer will be there. Jeams, +tak' it doon while Sandy reads it." + +Mr. James M'Micking seats himself upon a convenient log. In order +not to confuse his faculties by endeavouring to read and write +simultaneously, he turns his back upon the fluttering flag, and bends +low over his field message-pad. Private Wamphray stands facing him, +and solemnly spells out the message over his head. + +"Tae g-o-c--I dinna ken what that means--r-e-d, _reid_--a-r-m-y, +_airmy_--h-a-z--" + +"All richt; that'll be Haslemere," says Private M'Micking, scribbling +down the word. "Go on, Sandy!" + +Private Wamphray, pausing to expectorate, continues-- + +"R-e-c-o-n-n-o-i-t-r--Cricky, what a worrd! Let's hae it repeatit." + +Wamphray flaps his flag vigorously,--he knows this particular signal +only too well,--and the word comes through again. The distant +signaller, slowing down a little, continues,-- + +"'Reconnoitring patrol reports hostile cavalry scou--'" + +"That'll be 'scouts,'" says the ever-ready M'Micking. "Carry on!" + +Wamphray continues obediently,--"'Country'; stop; 'Have thrown out +flank guns'; stop; 'Shall I advance or re--'" + +"--tire," gabbles M'Micking, writing it down. + +"--'where I am'; stop; 'From O C Advance Guard'; stop; message ends." + +"And aboot time, too!" observes the scribe severely. "Haw, Johnny!" + +The Lance-Corporal, who has been indulging in a pleasant reverie upon +a bank of bracken, wakes up and reads the proffered message. + + * * * * * + +"Tae G O C, Reid Airmy, Hazlemere. Reconnoitring patrol reports +hostile cavalry scouts country. Have thrown oot flank guns. Shall I +advance or retire where I am? From O C Advance Guard." + +"This message doesna sound altogether sense," he observes mildly. +"That 'shall' should be 'wull,' onyway. Would it no' be better to get +it repeatit? The officer--" + +"I've given the 'message-read' signal now," objects the indolent +Wamphray. + +"How would it be," suggests the Lance-Corporal, whose besetting sin is +a _penchant_ for emendation, "if we were tae transfair yon stop, and +say: 'Reconnoitring patrol reports hostile cavalry scouts. Country has +thrown oot flank guns'?" + +"What does that mean?" inquires M'Micking scornfully. + +"I dinna ken; but these messages about Generals and sic'-like +bodies--" + +At this moment, as ill-luck will have it, the Signal Sergeant appears +breasting the hillside. He arrives puffing--he has seen twenty years' +service--and scrutinises the message. + +"You boys," he says reproachfully, "are an aggravate altogether. Here +you are, jumping at your conclusions again! After all I have been +telling you! See! That worrd in the address should no' be Haslemere at +all. It's just a catch! It's Hazebroucke--a Gairman city that we'll +be capturing this time next year. 'Scouts' is no 'scouts,' but +'scouring'--meaning 'sooping up.' 'Guns' should be 'guarrd,' and +'retire' should be 'remain.' Mind me, now; next time, you'll be up +before the Captain for neglect of duty. Wamphray, give the 'C.I.,' and +let's get hame to oor dinners!" + + +II + +But "oot here" there is no flag-wagging. The Buzzer's first proceeding +upon entering the field of active hostilities is to get underground, +and stay there. + +He is a seasoned vessel, the Buzzer of to-day, and a person of marked +individuality. He is above all things a man of the world. Sitting day +and night in a dug-out, or a cellar, with a telephone receiver clamped +to his ear, he sees little; but he hears much, and overhears more. He +also speaks a language of his own. His one task in life is to prevent +the letter B from sounding like C, or D, or P, or T, or V, over the +telephone; so he has perverted the English language to his own uses. +He calls B "Beer," and D "Don," and so on. He salutes the rosy dawn as +"Akk Emma," and eventide as "Pip Emma." He refers to the letter S as +"Esses," in order to distinguish it from F. He has no respect for the +most majestic military titles. To him the Deputy Assistant Director of +the Mobile Veterinary Section is merely a lifeless formula, entitled +Don Akk Don Emma Vic Esses. + +He is also a man of detached mind. The tactical situation does not +interest him. His business is to disseminate news, not to write +leading articles about it. (_O si sic omnes!_) You may be engaged in a +life-and-death struggle for the possession of your own parapet with a +Boche bombing-party; but this does not render you immune from a pink +slip from the Signal Section, asking you to state your reasons in +writing for having mislaid fourteen pairs of "boots, gum, thigh," +lately the property of Number Seven Platoon. A famous British soldier +tells a story somewhere in his reminiscences of an occasion upon +which, in some long-forgotten bush campaign, he had to defend a zareba +against a heavy attack. For a time the situation was critical. Help +was badly needed, but the telegraph wire had been cut. Ultimately +the attack withered away, and the situation was saved. Almost +simultaneously the victorious commander was informed that telegraphic +communication with the Base had been restored. A message was already +coming through. + +"News of reinforcements, I hope!" he remarked to his subordinate. + +But his surmise was incorrect. The message said, quite simply:-- + + "Your monthly return of men wishing to change their religion is + twenty-four hours overdue. Please expedite." + +There was a time when one laughed at that anecdote as a playful +invention. But we know now that it is true, and we feel a sort of +pride in the truly British imperturbability of our official machinery. + +Thirdly, the Buzzer is a humourist, of the sardonic variety. The +constant clash of wits over the wires, and the necessity of framing +words quickly, sharpens his faculties and acidulates his tongue. +Incidentally, he is an awkward person to quarrel with. One black +night, Bobby Little, making his second round of the trenches about an +hour before "stand-to," felt constrained to send a telephone message +to Battalion Headquarters. Taking a good breath,--you always do this +before entering a trench dug-out,--he plunged into the noisome cavern +where his Company Signallers kept everlasting vigil. The place was in +total darkness, except for the illumination supplied by a strip of +rifle-rag burning in a tin of rifle-oil. The air, what there was of +it, was thick with large, fat, floating particles of free carbon. +The telephone was buzzing plaintively to itself, in unsuccessful +competition with a well-modulated quartette for four nasal organs, +contributed by Bobby's entire signalling staff, who, locked in the +inextricable embrace peculiar to Thomas Atkins in search of warmth, +were snoring harmoniously upon the earthen floor. + +The signaller "on duty"--one M'Gurk--was extracted from the heap and +put under arrest for sleeping at his post. The enormity of his crime +was heightened by the fact that two undelivered messages were found +upon his person. + +Divers pains and penalties followed. Bobby supplemented the sentence +with a homily on the importance of vigilance and despatch. M'Gurk, +deeply aggrieved at forfeiting seven days' pay, said nothing, but +bided his time. Two nights later the Battalion came out of trenches +for a week's rest, and Bobby, weary and thankful, retired to bed in +his hut at 9 P.M., in comfortable anticipation of a full night's +repose. + +His anticipations were doomed to disappointment. He was roused from +slumber--not without difficulty--by Signaller M'Gurk, who appeared +standing by his bedside with a guttering candle-end in one hand and a +pink despatch-form in the other. The message said:-- + +"Prevailing wind for next twenty-four hours probably S.W., with some +rain." + +Mindful of his own recent admonitions, Bobby thanked M'Gurk politely, +and went to sleep again. + +M'Gurk called again at half-past two in the morning, with another +message, which announced:-- + +"Baths will be available for your Company from 2 to 3 P.M. to-morrow." + +Bobby stuffed the missive under his air-pillow, and rolled over +without a word. M'Gurk withdrew, leaving the door of the hut open. + +His next visit was about four o'clock. This time the message said:-- + +"A Zeppelin is reported to have passed over Dunkirk at 5 P.M. +yesterday afternoon, proceeding in a northerly direction." + +Bobby informed M'Gurk that he was a fool and a dotard, and cast him +forth. + +M'Gurk returned at five-thirty, bearing written evidence that the +Zeppelin had been traced as far as Ostend. + +This time his Company Commander promised him that if he appeared again +that night he would be awarded fourteen days' Field Punishment Number +One. + +The result was that upon sitting down to breakfast at nine next +morning, Bobby found upon his plate yet another message--from his +Commanding Officer--summoning him to the Orderly-room on urgent +matters at eight-thirty. + +But Bobby scored the final and winning trick. Sending for M'Gurk and +Sergeant M'Micking, he said:-- + +"This man, Sergeant, appears to be unable to decide when a message +is urgent and when it is not. In future, whenever M'Gurk is on night +duty, and is in doubt as to whether a message should be delivered at +once or put aside till morning, he will come to you and ask for your +guidance in the matter. Do you understand?" + +"Perrfectly, sirr!" replied the Sergeant, outwardly calm. + +"M'Gurk, do _you_ understand?" + +M'Gurk looked at Bobby, and then round at Sergeant M'Micking. He +received a glance which shrivelled his marrow. The game was up. He +grinned sheepishly, and answered,-- + +"Yis, sirr!" + + +III + +Having briefly set forth the character and habits of the Buzzer, we +will next proceed to visit the creature in his lair. This is an easy +feat. We have only to walk up the communication-trench which leads +from the reserve line to the firing-line. Upon either side of the +trench, neatly tacked to the muddy wall by a device of the hairpin +variety, run countless insulated wires, clad in coats of various +colours and all duly ticketed. These radiate from various Headquarters +in the rear to numerous signal stations in the front, and were laid by +the Signallers themselves. (It is perhaps unnecessary to mention that +that single wire running, in defiance of all regulations, across the +top of the trench, which neatly tipped your cap off just now, was laid +by those playful humourists, the Royal Artillery.) It follows that if +we accompany these wires far enough we shall ultimately find ourselves +in a signalling station. + +Our only difficulty lies in judicious choice, for the wires soon begin +to diverge up numerous byways. Some go to the fire-trench, others to +the machine-guns, others again to observation posts--or O.P.'s--whence +a hawk-eyed Forward Observing Officer, peering all day through a chink +in a tumble-down chimney or sandbagged loophole, is sometimes enabled +to flash back the intelligence that he can discern transport upon such +a road in rear of the Boche trenches, and will such a battery kindly +attend to the matter at once? + +However, chance guides us to the Signal dug-out of "A" Company, +where, by the best fortune in the world, Private M'Gurk in person is +installed as officiating sprite. Let us render ourselves invisible, +sit down beside him, and "tap" his wire. + +In the dim and distant days before such phrases as "Boche," and +"T.N.T.," and "munitions," and "economy" were invented; when we lived +in houses which possessed roofs, and never dreamed of lying down +motionless by the roadside when we heard a taxi-whistle blown thrice, +in order to escape the notice of approaching aeroplanes,--in short, in +the days immediately preceding the war,--some of us said in our haste +that the London Telephone Service was The Limit! Since then we have +made the acquaintance of the military field-telephone, and we feel +distinctly softened towards the young woman at home who, from her +dug-out in "Gerrard," or "Vic.," or "Hop.," used to goad us to +impotent frenzy. She was at least terse and decided. If you rang her +up and asked for a number, she merely replied,-- + +(a) "Number engaged"; + +(b) "No reply"; + +(c) "Out of order"-- + +as the case might be, and switched you off. After that you took a taxi +to the place with which you wished to communicate, and there was an +end of the matter. Above all, she never explained, she never wrangled, +she spoke tolerably good English, and there was only one of her--or at +least she was of a uniform type. + +Now, if you put your ear to the receiver of a field-telephone, you +find yourself, as it were, suddenly thrust into a vast subterranean +cavern, filled with the wailings of the lost, the babblings of the +feeble-minded, and the profanity of the exasperated. If you ask a +high-caste Buzzer--say, an R.E. Signalling Officer--why this should be +so, he will look intensely wise and recite some solemn gibberish about +earthed wires and induced currents. + +The noises are of two kinds, and one supplements the other. The human +voice supplies the libretto, while the accompaniment is provided by a +syncopated and tympanum-piercing _ping-ping_, suggestive of a giant +mosquito singing to its young. + +The instrument with which we are contending is capable (in theory) of +transmitting a message either telephonically or telegraphically. In +practice, this means that the signaller, having wasted ten sulphurous +minutes in a useless attempt to convey information through the medium +of the human voice, next proceeds, upon the urgent advice of the +gentleman at the other end, and to the confusion of all other +inhabitants of the cavern, to "buzz" it, employing the dots and dashes +of the Morse code for the purpose. + +It is believed that the wily Boche, by means of ingenious and delicate +instruments, is able to "tap" a certain number of our trench telephone +messages. If he does, his daily Intelligence Report must contain some +surprising items of information. At the moment when we attach our +invisible apparatus to Mr. M'Gurk's wire, the Divisional Telephone +system appears to be fairly evenly divided between-- + +(1) A Regimental Headquarters endeavouring to ring up its Brigade. + +(2) A glee-party of Harmonious Blacksmiths, indulging in the Anvil +Chorus. + +(3) A choleric Adjutant on the track of a peccant Company Commander. + +(4) Two Company Signallers, engaged in a friendly chat from different +ends of the trench line. + +(5) An Artillery F.O.O., endeavouring to convey pressing and momentous +information to his Battery, two miles in rear. + +(6) The Giant Mosquito aforesaid. + +The consolidated result is something like this:-- + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS (_affably_). Hallo, Brigade! Hallo, Brigade! +HALLO, BRIGADE! + +THE MOSQUITO. Ping! + +THE ADJUTANT (_from somewhere in the Support Line, fiercely_). Give me +B Company! + +THE FORWARD OBSERVING OFFICER (_from his eyrie_). Is that C Battery? +There's an enemy working-party-- + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER (_from B Company's Station_). Is that yoursel', +Jock? How's a' wi' you? + +SECOND CHATTY SIGNALLER (_from D Company's Station_). I'm daen fine! +How's your-- + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS. HALLO, BRIGADE! + +THE ADJUTANT. Is that B Company? + +A MYSTERIOUS AND DISTANT VOICE (_politely_.) No, sir; this is Akk and +Esses Aitch. + +THE ADJUTANT (_furiously_). Then for the Lord's sake get off the line! + +THE MOSQUITO. Ping! Ping! + +THE ADJUTANT. And stop that ---- ---- ---- buzzing! + +THE MOSQUITO. Ping! _Ping_! PING! + +THE F.O.O. Is that C Battery? There's-- + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER (_peevishly_). What's that you're sayin'? + +THE F.O.O. (_perseveringly_). Is that C Battery? There's an enemy +working-party in a coppice at-- + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. This is Beer Company, sir. Weel, Jock, did ye +get a quiet nicht? + +SECOND CHATTY SIGNALLER. Oh, aye. There was a wee-- + +THE F.O.O. Is that C Battery? There's-- + +SECOND CHATTY SIGNALLER. No, sir. This is Don Company. Weel, Jimmy, +there was a couple whish-bangs came intil-- + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS. HALLO, BRIGADE! + +A CHEERFUL COCKNEY VOICE. Well, my lad, what abaht it? + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS (_getting to work at once_). Hold the line, +Brigade. Message to Staff Captain. "Ref. your S.C. fourr stroke seeven +eight six, the worrking-parrty in question--" + +THE F.O.O. (_seeing a gleam of hope_). Working-party? Is that C +Battery? I want to speak to-- + +THE ADJUTANT. } +BRIGADE HEADQUARTERS. } Get off the line! +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS. } + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. Haw, Jock, was ye hearin' aboot Andra? + +SECOND CHATTY SIGNALLER. No. Whit was that? + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. Weel-- + +THE F.O.O. (_doggedly_). Is that C Battery? + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS (_resolutely_). "The worrking-parrty in +question was duly detailed for tae proceed to the rendiss vowse at"-- + +THE ADJUTANT. Is that B Company, curse you? + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS (_quite impervious to this sort of +thing_),--"the rendiss vowse, at seeven thirrty Akk Emma, at point +H two B eight nine, near the cross-roads by the Estamint Repose dee +Bicyclistees, for tae"--honk! honkle! honk! + +BRIGADE HEADQUARTERS (_compassionately_). You're makin' a 'orrible +mess of this message, ain't you? Shake your transmitter, do! + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS (_after dutifully performing this operation_). +Honkle, honkle, honk. Yang! + +BRIGADE HEADQUARTERS. Buzz it, my lad, buzz it! + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS (_dutifully_). Ping, ping! Ping, ping! Ping, +ping, ping! Ping-- + +GENERAL CHORUS. Stop that ----, ----, ----, ---- buzzing! + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. Weel, Andra says tae the Sergeant-Major of +Beer Company, says he-- + +THE ADJUTANT. Is that B Company? + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. No, sir; this is Beer Company. + +THE ADJUTANT (_fortissimo_). I _said_ Beer Company! + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. Oh! I thocht ye meant Don Company, sir. + +THE ADJUTANT. Why the blazes haven't you answered me sooner? + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER (_tactfully_). There was other messages comin' +through, sir. + +THE ADJUTANT. Well, get me the Company Commander. + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. Varra good, sirr. + +_A pause. Regimental Headquarters being engaged in laboriously +"buzzing" its message through to the Brigade, all other conversation +is at a standstill. The Harmonious Blacksmiths seize the opportunity +to give a short selection. Presently, as the din dies down_-- + +THE F.O.O. (_faint, yet pursuing_). Is that C Battery? + +A JOVIAL VOICE. Yes. + +THE F.O.O. What a shock! I thought you were all dead. Is that you, +Chumps? + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. It is. What can I do for you this morning? + +THE F.O.O. You can boil your signal sentry's head! + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. What for? + +THE F.O.O. For keeping me waiting. + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. Righto! And the next article? + +THE F.O.O. There's a Boche working-party in a coppice two hundred +yards west of a point-- + +THE MOSQUITO (_with renewed vigour_). Ping, ping! + +THE F.O.O. (_savagely_). Shut up! + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. Working-party? I'll settle them. What's the map +reference? + +THE F.O.O. They are in Square number-- + +THE HARMONIOUS BLACKSMITHS (_suddenly and stunningly_). Whang! + +THE F.O.O. Shut up! They are in Square-- + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. Hallo, Headquarters! Is the Adjutant there? +Here's the Captain tae speak with him. + +AN EAGER VOICE. Is that the Adjutant? + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS. No, sirr. He's away tae his office. Hold the +line while I'll-- + +THE EAGER VOICE. No you don't! Put me straight through to C +Battery--quick! Then get off the line, and stay there! (_Much +buzzing_.) Is that C Battery? + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. Yes, sir. + +THE EAGER VOICE. I am O.C. Beer Company. They are shelling my front +parapet, at L8, with pretty heavy stuff. I want retaliation, please. + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. Very good, sir. (_The voice dies away_.) + +A SOUND OVER OUR HEADS (_thirty seconds later_). Whish! Whish! Whish! + +SECOND CHATTY SIGNALLER. Did ye hear that, Jimmy? + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER (_with relish_). Mphm! That'll sorrt them! + +THE F.O.O. Is that C Battery? + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. Yes. What luck, old son? + +THE F.O.O. You have obtained two direct hits on the Boche parapet. +Will you have a cocoanut or a ci-- + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. A little less lip, my lad! Now tell me all about +your industrious friends in the Coppice, and we will see what we can +do for _them!_ + + * * * * * + +And so on. Apropos of Adjutants and Company Commanders, Private +Wamphray, whose acquaintance we made a few pages back, was ultimately +relieved of his position as a Company Signaller, and returned +ignominiously to duty, for tactless if justifiable interposition in +one of these very dialogues. + +It was a dark and cheerless night in mid-winter. Ominous noises in +front of the Boche wire had raised apprehensive surmises in the breast +of Brigade Headquarters. A forward sap was suspected in the region +opposite the sector of trenches held by "A" Company. The trenches at +this point were barely forty yards apart, and there was a very real +danger that Brother Boche might creep under his own wire, and possibly +under ours too, and come tumbling over our parapet. + +To Bobby Little came instructions to send a specially selected patrol +out to investigate the matter. Three months ago he would have led the +expedition himself. Now, as a full-blown Company Commander, he was +officially precluded from exposing his own most responsible person to +gratuitous risks. So he chose out that recently-joined enthusiast, +Angus M'Lachlan, and put him over the parapet on the dark night in +question, accompanied by Corporal M'Snape and two scouts, with orders +to probe the mystery to its depth and bring back a full report. + +It was a ticklish enterprise. As is frequently the case upon these +occasions, nervous tension manifested itself much more seriously at +Headquarters than in the front-line trenches. The man on the spot is, +as a rule, much too busy with the actual execution of the enterprise +in hand to distress himself by speculation upon its ultimate outcome. +It may as well be stated at once that Angus duly returned from his +quest, with an admirable and reassuring report. But he was a long time +absent. Hence this anecdote. + +Bobby had strict orders to report all "developments," as they +occurred, to Headquarters by telephone. At half-past eleven that +night, as Angus M'Lachlan's colossal form disappeared, crawling, +into the blackness of night, his superior officer dutifully rang up +Battalion Headquarters, and announced that the venture was launched. +It is possible that the Powers Behind were in possession of +information as to the enemy's intentions unrevealed to Bobby; for as +soon as his opening announcement was received, he was switched right +through to a very august Headquarters indeed, and commanded to report +direct. + +Long-distance telephony in the field involves a considerable amount +of "linking-up." Among other slaves of the Buzzer who assisted in +establishing the necessary communications upon this occasion was +Private Wamphray. For the next hour and a half it was his privilege in +his subterranean exchange, to sit, with his receiver clamped to his +ear, an unappreciative auditor of dialogues like the following:-- + +"Is that 'A' Company?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Any news of your patrol?" + +"No, sir." + +Again, five minutes later:-- + +"Is that 'A' Company?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Has your officer returned yet?" + +"No, sir. I will notify you when he does." + +This sort of thing went on until nearly one o'clock in the morning. +Towards that hour, Bobby, who was growing really concerned over +Angus's prolonged absence, cut short his august interlocutor's +fifteenth inquiry and joined his Sergeant-Major on the firing-step. +The two had hardly exchanged a few low-pitched sentences when Bobby +was summoned back to the telephone. + +"Is that Captain Little?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Has your patrol come in?" + +"No, sir." + +Captain's Little's last answer was delivered in a distinctly +insubordinate manner. Feeling slightly relieved, he returned to the +firing-step. Two minutes later Angus M'Lachlan and his posse rolled +over the parapet, safe and sound, and Bobby was able, to his own great +content and that of the weary operators along the line, to announce,-- + +"The patrol has returned, sir, and reports everything quite +satisfactory. I am forwarding a detailed statement." + +Then he laid down the receiver with a happy sigh, and crawled out of +the dug-out on to the duck-board. + +"Now we'll have a look round the sentries, Sergeant-Major," he said. + +But the pair had hardly rounded three traverses when Bobby was haled +back to the Signal Station. + +"Why did you leave the telephone just now?" inquired a cold voice. + +"I was going to visit my sentries, sir." + +"But _I_ was speaking to you." + +"I thought you had finished, sir." + +"I had _not_ finished. If I had finished, I should have informed you +of the fact, and would have said' Good-night!'" + +"How _does_ one choke off a tripe-merchant of this type?" wondered the +exhausted officer. + +From the bowels of the earth came the answer to his unspoken +question--delivered in a strong Paisley accent-- + +"For Goad's sake, kiss him, and say 'Good-Nicht,' and hae done with +it!" + +As already stated, Private Wamphray was returned to his platoon next +morning. + + +IV + +But to regard the Buzzer simply and solely as a troglodyte, of +sedentary habits and caustic temperament, is not merely hopelessly +wrong: it is grossly unjust. Sometimes he goes for a walk--under some +such circumstances as the following. + +The night is as black as Tartarus, and it is raining heavily. Brother +Boche, a prey to nervous qualms, is keeping his courage up by +distributing shrapnel along our communication-trenches. Signal-wires +are peculiarly vulnerable to shrapnel. Consequently no one in the +Battalion Signal Station is particularly surprised when the line to +"Akk" Company suddenly ceases to perform its functions. + +Signal-Sergeant M'Micking tests the instrument, glances over his +shoulder, and observes,-- + +"Line BX is gone, some place or other. Away you, Duncan, and sorrt +it!" + +Mr. Duncan, who has been sitting hunched over a telephone, temporarily +quiescent, smoking a woodbine, heaves a resigned sigh, extinguishes the +woodbine and places it behind his ear; hitches his repairing-wallet +nonchalantly over his shoulder, and departs into the night--there to +grope in several inches of mud for the two broken ends of the wire, +which may be lying fifty yards apart. Having found them, he proceeds to +effect a junction, his progress being impeded from time to time by +further bursts of shrapnel. This done, he tests the new connection, +relights his woodbine, and splashes his way back to Headquarters. That +is a Buzzer's normal method of obtaining fresh air and exercise. + +More than that. He is the one man in the Army who can fairly describe +himself as indispensable. + +In these days, when whole nations are deployed against one another, +no commander, however eminent, can ride the whirlwind single-handed. +There are limits to individual capacity. There are limits to direct +control. There are limits to personal magnetism. We fight upon a +collective plan nowadays. If we propose to engage in battle, we begin +by welding a hundred thousand men into one composite giant. We weld a +hundred thousand rifles, a million bombs, a thousand machine-guns, and +as many pieces of artillery, into one huge weapon of offence, with +which we arm our giant. Having done this, we provide him with a +brain--a blend of all the experience and wisdom and military genius at +our disposal. But still there is one thing lacking--a nervous system. +Unless our giant have that,--unless his brain be able to transmit its +desires to his mighty limbs,--he has nothing. He is of no account; the +enemy can make butcher's-meat of him. And that is why I say that +the purveyor of this nervous system--our friend the Buzzer--is +indispensable. You can always create a body of sorts and a brain of +sorts. But unless you can produce a nervous system of the highest +excellence, you are foredoomed to failure. + +Take a small instance. Supposing a battalion advances to the attack, +and storms an isolated, exposed position. Can they hold on, or can +they not? That question can only be answered by the Artillery behind +them. If the curtain of shell-fire which has preceded the advancing +battalion to its objective can be "lifted" at the right moment and +put down again, with precision, upon a certain vital zone beyond the +captured line, counter-attacks can be broken up and the line held. +But the Artillery lives a long way--sometimes miles--in rear. Without +continuous and accurate information it will be more than useless; it +will be dangerous. (A successful attacking party has been shelled out +of its hardly won position by its own artillery before now--on both +sides!) Sometimes a little visual signalling is possible: sometimes a +despatch-runner may get back through the enemy's curtain of fire; but +in the main your one hope of salvation hangs upon a slender thread of +insulated wire. And round that wire are strung some of the purest gems +of heroism that the War has produced. + +At the Battle of Loos, half a battalion of "K(1)" pushed forward into +a very advanced hostile position. There they hung, by their teeth. +Their achievement was great; but unless Headquarters could be informed +of their exact position and needs, they were all dead men. So Corporal +Greig set out to find them, unreeling wire as he went. He was blown to +pieces by an eight-inch shell, but another signaller was never +lacking to take his place. They pressed forward, these lackadaisical +non-combatants, until the position was reached and communication +established. Again and again the wire was cut by shrapnel, and again +and again a Buzzer crawled out to find the broken ends and piece them +together. And ultimately, the tiny, exposed limb in front having been +enabled to explain its exact requirements to the brain behind, the +necessary help was forthcoming and the Fort was held. + +Next time you pass a Signaller's Dug-out peep inside. You will find +it occupied by a coke brazier, emitting large quantities of carbon +monoxide, and an untidy gentleman in khaki, with a blue-and-white +device upon his shoulder-straps, who is humped over a small black +instrument, luxuriating in a "frowst" most indescribable. He is +reading a back number of a rural Scottish newspaper which you never +heard of. Occasionally, in response to a faint buzz, he takes up his +transmitter and indulges in an unintelligible altercation with a +person unseen. You need feel no surprise if he is wearing the ribbon +of the Distinguished Conduct Medal. + + + + +VII + +PASTURES NEW + + +I + +The outstanding feature of to-day's intelligence is that spring is +coming--has come, in fact. + +It arrived with a bump. March entered upon its second week with seven +degrees of frost and four inches of snow. We said what was natural and +inevitable to the occasion, wrapped our coats of skins more firmly +round us, and made a point of attending punctually when the rum ration +was issued. + +Forty-eight hours later winter had disappeared. The sun was blazing +in a cloudless sky. Aeroplanes were battling for photographic rights +overhead; the brown earth beneath our feet was putting forth its +first blades of tender green. The muck-heap outside our rest-billet +displayed unmistakable signs of upheaval from its winter sleep. +Primroses appeared in Bunghole Wood; larks soared up into the sky +above No Man's Land, making music for the just and the unjust. +Snipers, smiling cheerfully over the improved atmospheric conditions, +polished up their telescopic sights. The artillery on each side hailed +the birth of yet another season of fruitfulness and natural +increase with some more than usually enthusiastic essays in mutual +extermination. Half the Mess caught colds in their heads. + +Frankly, we are not sorry to see the end of winter. Caesar, when he +had concluded his summer campaign, went into winter quarters. Caesar, +as Colonel Kemp once huskily remarked, knew something! + +Still, each man to his taste. Corporal Mucklewame, for one, greatly +prefers winter to summer. + +"In the winter," he points out to Sergeant M'Snape, "a body can +breathe withoot swallowing a wheen bluebottles and bum-bees. A body +can aye streitch himself doon under a tree for a bit sleep withoot +getting wasps and wee beasties crawling up inside his kilt, and +puddocks craw-crawing in his ear! A body can keep himself frae +sweitin'--" + +"He can that!" assents M'Snape, whose spare frame is more vulnerable +to the icy breeze than that of the stout corporal. + +However, the balance of public opinion is against Mucklewame. Most +of us are unfeignedly glad to feel the warmth of the sun again. +That working-party, filling sandbags just behind the machine-gun +emplacement, are actually singing. Spring gets into the blood, even +in this stricken land. The Boche over the way resents our efforts at +harmony. + + Sing us a song, a song of Bonnie Scotland! + Any old song will do. + By the old camp-fire, the rough-and-ready choir + Join in the chorus too. + "You'll tak' the high road and I'll tak' the low road"-- + 'Tis a song that we all know, + To bring back the days in Bonnie Scotland, + Where the heather and the bluebells-- + +_Whang_! + +The Boche, a Wagnerian by birth and upbringing, cannot stand any more +of this, so he has fired a rifle-grenade at the glee-party--on the +whole a much more honest and direct method of condemnation than that +practiced by musical critics in time of peace. But he only elicits an +encore. Private Nigg perches a steel helmet on the point of a bayonet, +and patronisingly bobs the same up and down above the parapet. + +These steel helmets have not previously been introduced to the +reader's notice. They are modelled upon those worn in the French +Army--and bear about as much resemblance to the original pattern as a +Thames barge to a racing yacht. When first issued, they were greeted +with profound suspicion. Though undoubtedly serviceable,--they saved +many a crown from cracking round The Bluff the other day,--they were +undeniably heavy, and they were certainly not becoming to the peculiar +type of beauty rampant in "K(1)." On issue, then, their recipients +elected to regard the wearing of them as a peculiarly noxious form +of "fatigue." Private M'A. deposited his upon the parapet, like a +foundling on a doorstep, and departed stealthily round the nearest +traverse, to report his new headpiece "lost through the exigencies of +military service." Private M'B. wore his insecurely perched upon the +top of his tam-o'-shanter bonnet, where it looked like a very large +ostrich egg in a very small khaki nest. Private M'C. set his up on +a convenient post, and opened rapid fire upon it at a range of six +yards, surveying the resulting holes with the gloomy satisfaction of +the vindicated pessimist. Private M'D. removed the lining from his, +and performed his ablutions in the inverted crown. + +"This," said Colonel Kemp, "will never do. We must start wearing the +dashed things ourselves." + +And it was so. Next day, to the joy of the Battalion, their officers +appeared in the trenches selfconsciously wearing what looked like +small sky-blue wash-hand basins balanced upon their heads. But +discipline was excellent. No one even smiled. In fact, there was a +slight reaction in favour of the helmets. Conversations like the +following were overheard:-- + +"I'm tellin' you, Jimmy, the C.O. is no the man for tae mak' a show of +himself like that for naething. These tin bunnets must be some use. +Wull we pit oors on?" + +"Awa' hame, and bile your held!" replied the unresponsive James. + +"They'll no stop a whish-bang," conceded the apostle of progress, "but +they would keep off splunters, and a wheen bullets, and--and--" + +"And the rain!" supplied Jimmy sarcastically. + +This gibe suddenly roused the temper of the other participant in the +debate. + +"I tell you," he exclaimed, in a voice shrill with indignation, "that +these ---- helmets are some ---- use!" + +"And I tell _you_," retorted James earnestly, "that these ---- helmets +are no ---- ---- use!" + +When two reasonable persons arrive at a controversial _impasse_, they +usually agree to differ and go their several ways. But in "K(1)" we +prefer practical solutions. The upholder of helmets hastily thrust his +upon his head. + +"I'll show you, Jimmy!" he announced, and clambered up on the +firing-step. + +"And I'll ---- well show _you_, Wullie!" screamed James, doing +likewise. + +Simultaneously the two zealots thrust their heads over the parapet, +and awaited results. These came. The rifles of two Boche snipers rang +out, and both demonstrators fell heavily backwards into the arms of +their supporters. + +By all rights they ought to have been killed. But they were both very +much alive. Each turned to the other triumphantly, and exclaimed,-- + +"I tellt ye so!" + +There was a hole right through the helmet of Jimmy, the unbeliever. +The fact that there was not also a hole through his head was due to +his forethought in having put on a tam-o'-shanter underneath. The net +result was a truncated "toorie." Wullie's bullet had struck his helmet +at a more obtuse angle, and had glanced off, as the designer of the +smooth exterior had intended it to do. + +At first glance, the contest was a draw. But subsequent investigation +elicited the fact that Jimmy in his backward fall had bitten his +tongue to the effusion of blood. The verdict was therefore awarded, on +points, to Wullie, and the spectators dispersed in an orderly manner +just as the platoon sergeant came round the traverse to change the +sentry. + + +II + +We have occupied our own present trenches since January. There was +a time when this sector of the line was regarded as a Vale of Rest. +Bishops were conducted round with impunity. Members of Parliament +came out for the week-end, and returned to their constituents with +first-hand information about the horrors of war. Foreign journalists, +and sight-seeing parties of munition-workers, picnicked in Bunghole +Wood. In the village behind the line, if a chance shell removed tiles +from the roof of a house, the owner, greatly incensed, mounted a +ladder and put in some fresh ones. + +But that is all over now. "K(1)"--hard-headed men of business, +bountifully endowed with munitions--have arrived upon the scene, and +the sylvan peace of the surrounding district is gone. Pan has dug +himself in. + +The trouble began two months ago, when our Divisional Artillery +arrived. Unversed in local etiquette, they commenced operations by +"sending up"--to employ a vulgar but convenient catch-phrase--a +strongly fortified farmhouse in the enemy's support line. The Boche, +by way of gentle reproof, deposited four or five small "whizz-bangs" +in our front-line trenches. The tenants thereof promptly telephoned to +"Mother," and Mother came to the assistance of her offspring with a +salvo of twelve-inch shells. After that. Brother Boche, realising that +the golden age was past, sent north to the Salient for a couple of +heavy batteries, and settled down to shell Bunghole village to pieces. +Within a week he had brought down the church tower: within a fortnight +the population had migrated farther back, leaving behind a few +patriots, too deeply interested in the sale of small beer and picture +postcards to uproot themselves. Company Headquarters in Bunghole Wood +ceased to grow primroses and began to fill sandbags. + +A month ago the village was practically intact. The face of the church +tower was badly scarred, but the houses were undamaged. The little +shops were open; children played in the streets. Now, if you stand at +the cross-roads where the church rears its roofless walls, you will +understand what the Abomination of Desolation means. Occasionally a +body of troops, moving in small detachments at generous intervals, +trudges by, on its way to or from the trenches. Occasionally a big +howitzer shell swings lazily out of the blue and drops with a crash or +a dull thud--according to the degree of resistance encountered--among +the crumbling cottages. All is solitude. + +But stay! Right on the cross-roads, in the centre of the village, just +below the fingers of a sign-post which indicates the distance to four +French townships, whose names you never heard of until a year ago, +and now will never forget, there hangs a large, white, newly painted +board, bearing a notice in black letters six inches high. Exactly +underneath the board, rubbing their noses appreciatively against +the sign-post, stand two mules, attached to a limbered waggon, the +property of the A.S.C. Their charioteers are sitting adjacent, in a +convenient shell-hole, partaking of luncheon. + +"That was a rotten place we' ad to wait in yesterday, Sammy," observes +Number One. "The draught was somethink cruel." + +The recumbent Samuel agrees. "This little 'oiler is a bit of all +right," he remarks. "When you've done strarfin' that bully-beef, 'and +it over, ole man!" + +He leans his head back upon the lip of the shell-hole, and gazes +pensively at the notice-board six feet away. It says:-- + + VERY DANGEROUS. + DO NOT + LOITER + HERE. + + +III + +Here is another cross-roads, a good mile farther forward--and less +than a hundred yards behind the fire-trench. It is dawn. + +The roads themselves are not so distinct as they were. They are +becoming grass-grown: for more than a year--in daylight at least--no +human foot has trodden them. The place is like hundreds of others that +you may see scattered up and down this countryside--two straight, +flat, metalled country roads, running north and south and east and +west, crossing one another at a faultless right angle. + +Of the four corners thus created, one is--or was--occupied by an +estaminet: you can still see the sign, _Estaminet au Commerce_, over +the door. Two others contain cottages,--the remains of cottages. At +the fourth, facing south and east, stands what is locally known as a +"Calvaire,"--bank of stone, a lofty cross, and a life-size figure of +Christ, facing east, towards the German lines. + +This spot is shelled every day--has been shelled every day for months. +Possibly the enemy suspects a machine-gun or an observation post amid +the tumble-down buildings. Hardly one brick remains upon another. +And yet--the sorrowful Figure is unbroken. The Body is riddled +with bullets--in the glowing dawn you may Count not five but fifty +wounds--but the Face is untouched. It is the standing miracle of this +most materialistic war. Throughout the length of France you will see +the same thing. + +Agnostics ought to come out here, for a "cure." + + +IV + +With spring comes also the thought of the Next Push. + +But we do not talk quite so glibly of pushes as we did. Neither, for +that matter, does Brother Boche. He has just completed six weeks' +pushing at Verdun, and is beginning to be a little uncertain as to +which direction the pushing is coming from. + +No; once more the military textbooks are being rewritten. We started +this war under one or two rather fallacious premises. One was that +Artillery was more noisy than dangerous. When Antwerp fell, we +rescinded that theory. Then the Boche set out to demonstrate that an +Attack, provided your Artillery preparation is sufficiently thorough, +and you are prepared to set _no_ limit to your expenditure of +Infantry, must ultimately succeed. To do him justice, the Boche +supported his assertions very plausibly. His phalanx bundled the +Russians all the way from Tannenburg to Riga. The Austrians adopted +similar tactics, with similar results. + +We were duly impressed. The world last summer did not quite realize +how far the results of the campaign were due to German efficiency and +how far to Russian unpreparedness. (Russia, we realise now, found +herself in the position of the historic Mrs. Partington, who +endeavoured to repel the Atlantic with a mop. This year, we +understand, she is in a position to discard the mop in favour of +something far, far better.) + +Then came--Verdun. Military science turned over yet another page, and +noted that against consummate generalship, unlimited munitions, and +selfless devotion on the part of the defence, the most spectacular and +highly-doped phalanx can spend itself in vain. Military science also +noted that, under modern conditions, the capture of this position or +that signifies nothing: the only method of computing victory is to +count the dead on either side. On that reckoning, the French at Verdun +have already gained one of the great victories of all time. + +"In fact," said Colonel Kemp, "this war will end when the Boche has +lost so many men as to be unable to man his present trench-line, and +not before." + +"You don't think, sir, that we shall make another Push?" suggested +Angus M'Lachlan eagerly. The others were silent: they had experienced +a Push already. + +"Not so long as the Boche continues to play our game for us, by +attacking. If he tumbles to the error he is making, and digs himself +in again--well, it may become necessary to draw him. In that case, +M'Lachlan, you shall have first chop at the Victoria Crosses. Afraid I +can't recommend you for your last exploit, though I admit it must have +required some nerve!" + +There was unseemly laughter at this allusion. Four nights previously +Angus had been sent out in charge of a wiring-party. He had duly +crawled forth with his satellites, under cover of darkness, on to No +Man's Land; and, there selecting a row of "knife-rests" which struck +him as being badly in need of repair, had well and truly reinforced +the same with many strands of the most barbarous brand of barbed wire. +This, despite more than usually fractious behaviour upon the part of +the Boche. + +Next morning, through a sniper's loophole, he exhibited the result of +his labours to Major Wagstaffe. The Major gazed long and silently upon +his subordinate's handiwork. There was no mistaking it. It stood out +bright and gleaming in the rays of the rising sun, amid its dingy +surroundings of rusty ironmongery. Angus M'Lachlan waited anxiously +for a little praise. + +"Jolly good piece of work," said Major Wagstaffe at last. "But tell +me, why have you repaired the Boche wire instead of your own?" + +"The only enemy we have to fear," continued Colonel Kemp, rubbing his +spectacles savagely, "is the free and independent British voter--I +mean, the variety of the species that we have left at home. Like the +gentleman in Jack Point's song, 'He likes to get value for money'; and +he is quite capable of asking us, about June or July, 'if we know that +we are paid to be funny?'--before we are ready. What's your view of +the situation at home, Wagstaffe? You're the last off leave." + +Wagstaffe shook his head. + +"The British Nation," he said, "is quite mad. That fact, of course, +has been common property on the Continent of Europe ever since Cook's +Tours were invented. But what irritates the orderly Boche is that +there is no method in its madness. Nothing you can go upon, or take +hold of, or wring any advantage from." + +"As how?" + +"Well, take compulsory service. For generations the electorate of +our country has been trained by a certain breed of politician--the +_Bandar-log_ of the British Constitution--to howl down such a low and +degrading business as National Defence. A nasty Continental custom, +they called it. Then came the War, and the glorious Voluntary System +got to work." + +"Aided," the Colonel interpolated, "by a campaign of mural +advertisement which a cinema star's press agent would have boggled +at!" + +"Quite so," agreed Wagstaffe. "Next, when the Voluntary System had +done its damnedest--in other words, when the willing horse had been +worked to his last ounce--we tried the Derby Scheme. The manhood of +the nation was divided into groups, and a fresh method of touting for +troops was adopted. Married shysters, knowing that at least twenty +groups stood between them and a job of work, attested in comparatively +large numbers. The single shysters were less reckless--so much less +reckless, in fact, that compulsion began to materialise at last." + +"But only for single shysters," said Bobby Little regretfully. + +"Yes; and the married shyster rejoiced accordingly. But the single +shyster is a most subtle reptile. On examination, it was found that +the single members of this noble army of martyrs were all 'starred,' +or 'reserved', or 'ear-marked'--or whatever it is that they do to +these careful fellows. So the poor old married shyster, who had only +attested to show his blooming patriotism and encourage the others, +suddenly found himself confronted with the awful prospect of having to +defend his country personally, instead of by letter to the halfpenny +press. Then the fat was fairly in the fire! The married martyr--" + +"Come, come, old man! Not all of them!" said Colonel Kemp. "I have a +married brother of my own, a solicitor of thirty-eight, who is simply +clamouring for active service!" + +"I know that, sir," admitted Wagstaffe quickly. "Thank God, these +fellows are only a minority, and a freak minority at that; but freak +minorities seem to get the monopoly of the limelight in our unhappy +country." + +"The whole affair," mused the Colonel, "can hardly be described as a +frenzied rally round the Old Flag. By God," he broke out suddenly, +"it fairly makes one's blood boil! When I think of the countless good +fellows, married and single, but mainly married, who left _all_ and +followed the call of common decency and duty the moment the War broke +out--most of them now dead or crippled; and when I see this miserable +handful of shirkers, holding up vital public business while the pros +and cons of their wretched claims to exemption are considered--well, I +almost wish I had been born a Boche!" + +"I don't think you need apply for naturalisation papers yet, Colonel," +said Wagstaffe. "The country is perfectly sound at heart over this +question, and always was. The present agitation, as I say, is being +engineered by the more verminous section of our incomparable daily +Press, for its own ends. It makes our Allies lift their eyebrows a +bit; but they are sensible people, and they realise that although we +are a nation of lunatics, we usually deliver the goods in the end. As +for the Boche, poor fellow, the whole business makes him perfectly +rabid. Here he is, with all his splendid organisation and brutal +efficiency, and he can't even knock a dent into our undisciplined, +back-chatting, fool-ridden, self-depreciating old country! I, for one, +sympathise with the Boche profoundly. On paper, we don't _deserve_ to +win!" + +"But we shall!" remarked that single-minded paladin, Bobby Little. + +"Of course we shall! And what's more, we are going to derive a +national benefit out of this war which will in itself be worth the +price of admission!" + +"How?" asked several voices. + +Wagstaffe looked round the table. The Battalion were for the moment in +Divisional Reserve, and consequently out of the trenches. Some one +had received a box of Coronas from home, and the mess president had +achieved a bottle of port. Hence the present symposium at Headquarters +Mess. Wagstaffe's eyes twinkled. + +"Will each officer present," he said, "kindly name his pet aversion +among his fellow-creatures?" + +"A person or a type?" asked Mr. Waddell cautiously. + +"A type." + +Colonel Kemp led off. + +"Male ballet-dancers," he said. + +"Fat, shiny men," said Bobby Little, "with walrus mustaches!" + +"All conscientious objectors, passive resisters, pacifists, and other +cranks!" continued the orthodox Waddell. + +"All people who go on strike during war-time," said the Adjutant. +There was an approving murmur--then silence. + +"Your contribution, M'Lachlan?" said Wagstaffe. + +Angus, who had kept silence from shyness, suddenly blazed out:-- + +"I think," he said, "that the most contemptible people in the world +to-day are those politicians and others who, in years gone by, +systematically cried down anything in the shape of national defence or +national inclination to personal service, because they saw there were +no _votes_ in such a programme; and who _now_"--Angus's passion rose +to fever-heat,--"stand up and endeavour to cultivate popular favour +by reviling the Ministry and the Army for want of preparedness and +initiative. Such men do not deserve to live! Oh, sirs--" + +But Angus's peroration was lost in a storm of applause. + +"You are adjudged to have hit the bull's-eye, M'Lachlan," said Colonel +Kemp. "But tell us, Wagstaffe, your exact object in compiling this +horrible catalogue." + +"Certainly. It is this. Universal Service is a _fait accompli_ at +last, or is shortly going to be--and without anything very much in the +way of exemption either. When it comes, just think of it! All these +delightful people whom we have been enumerating will have to toe the +line at last. For the first time in their little lives they will learn +the meaning of discipline, and fresh air, and _ésprit de corps_. Isn't +that worth a war? If the present scrap can only be prolonged for +another year, our country will receive a tonic which will carry it on +for another century. Think of it! Great Britain, populated by men who +have actually been outside their own parish; men who know that the +whole is greater than the part; men who are too wide awake to go on +doing just what the _Bandar-log_ tell them, and allow themselves to be +used as stalking-horses for low-down political ramps! When _we_, going +round in bath-chairs and on crutches, see that sight--well, I don't +think we shall regret our missing arms and legs quite so much, +Colonel. War is Hell, and all that; but there is one worse thing than +a long war, and that is a long peace!" + +"I wonder!" said Colonel Kemp reflectively. He was thinking of his +wife and four children in distant Argyllshire. + +But the rapt attitude and quickened breath of Temporary Captain Bobby +Little endorsed every word that Major Wagstaffe had spoken. As he +rolled into his "flea-bag" that night, Bobby requoted to himself, for +the hundredth time, a passage from Shakespeare which had recently +come to his notice. He was not a Shakespearian scholar, nor indeed a +student of literature at all; but these lines had been sent to him, +cut out of a daily almanac, by an equally unlettered and very adorable +confidante at home:-- + + "And gentlemen in England now a-bed, + Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, + And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks + That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day!" + +Bobby was the sort of person who would thoroughly have enjoyed the +Battle of Agincourt. + + + + +VIII + +"THE NON-COMBATANT" + + +I + +We will call the village St. Grégoire. That is not its real name; +because the one thing you must not do in war-time is to call a thing +by its real name. To take a hackneyed example, you do not call a spade +a spade: you refer to it, officially, as _Shovels, General Service, +One_. This helps to deceive, and ultimately to surprise, the enemy; +and as we all know by this time, surprise is the essence of successful +warfare. On the same principle, if your troops are forced back from +their front-line trenches, you call this "successfully straightening +out an awkward salient." + +But this by the way. Let us get back to St. Grégoire. Hither, +mud-splashed, ragged, hollow-cheeked, came our battalion--they call +us the Seventh Hairy Jocks nowadays--after four months' continuous +employment in the firing-line. Ypres was a household word to them; +Plugstreet was familiar ground; Givenchy they knew intimately; Loos +was their wash-pot--or rather, a collection of wash-pots, for in +winter all the shell-craters are full to overflowing. In addition to +their prolonged and strenuous labours in the trenches, the Hairy Jocks +had taken part in a Push--a part not altogether unattended with glory, +but prolific in casualties. They had not been "pulled out" to rest and +refit for over six months, for Divisions on the Western Front were not +at that period too numerous, the voluntary system being at its last +gasp, while the legions of Lord Derby had not yet crystallised out of +the ocean of public talk which held them in solution. So the Seventh +Hairy Jocks were bone tired. But they were as hard as a rigorous +winter in the open could make them, and--they were going back to rest +at last. Had not their beloved C.O. told them so? And he had added, in +a voice not altogether free from emotion, that if ever men deserved a +solid rest and a good time, "you boys do!" + +So the Hairy Jocks trudged along the long, straight, nubbly French +road, well content, speculating with comfortable pessimism as to the +character of the billets in which they would find themselves. + +Meanwhile, ten miles ahead, the advance party were going round the +town in quest of the billets. + +Billet-hunting on the Western Front is not quite so desperate an +affair as hunting for lodgings at Margate, because in the last +extremity you can always compel the inhabitants to take you in--or at +least, exert pressure to that end through the _Mairie_. But at the +best one's course is strewn with obstacles, and fortunate is the +Adjutant who has to his hand a subaltern capable of finding lodgings +for a thousand men without making a mess of it. + +The billeting officer on this, as on most occasions, was our +friend Cockerell,--affectionately known to the entire Battalion as +"Sparrow,"--and his qualifications for the post were derived from +three well-marked and invaluable characteristics, namely, an imperious +disposition, a thick skin, and an attractive _bonhomie_ of manner. + +Behold him this morning dismounting from his horse in the _place_ +of St. Grégoire. Around him are grouped his satellites--the +Quartermaster-Sergeant, four Company Sergeants, some odd orderlies, +and a forlorn little man in a neat drab uniform with light blue +facings,--the regimental interpreter. The party have descended, with +the delicate care of those who essay to perform acrobatic feats in +kilts, from bicycles--serviceable but appallingly heavy machines +of Government manufacture, the property of the "Buzzers," but +commandeered for the occasion. The Quartermaster-Sergeant, who is +not accustomed to strenuous exercise, mops his brow and glances +expectantly round the _place_. His eye comes gently to rest upon a +small but hospitable-looking _estaminet_. + +Lieutenant Cockerell examines his wrist-watch. + +"Half-past ten!" he announces. "Quartermaster-Sergeant!" + +"Sirr!" The Quartermaster-Sergeant unglues his longing gaze from the +_estaminet_ and comes woodenly to attention. + +"I am going to see the Town Major about a billeting area. I will meet +you and the party here in twenty minutes." + +Master Cockerell trots off on his mud-splashed steed, followed by the +respectful and appreciative salutes of his followers--appreciative, +because a less considerate officer would have taken the whole party +direct to the Town Major's office and kept them standing in the +street, wasting moments which might have been better employed +elsewhere, until it was time to proceed with the morning's work. + + * * * * * + +"How strong are you?" inquired the Town Major. + +Cockerell told him. The Town Major whistled. + +"That all? Been doing some job of work, haven't you?" + +Cockerell nodded, and the Town Major proceeded to examine a +large-scale plan of St. Grégoire, divided up into different-coloured +plots. + +"We are rather full up at present," he said; "but the Cemetery Area +is vacant. The Seventeenth Geordies moved out yesterday. You can have +that." He indicated a triangular section with his pencil. + +Master Cockerell gave a deprecatory cough. + +"We have come here, sir," he intimated dryly, "for a change of scene." + +The stout Town Major--all Town Majors are stout--chuckled. + +"Not bad for a Scot!" he conceded. "But it's quite a cheery district, +really. You won't have to doss down in the cemetery itself, you know. +These two streets here--" he flicked a pencil--"will hold practically +all your battalion, at its present strength. There's a capital +house in the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau which will do for Battalion +Headquarters. The corporal over there will give you your _billets de +logement_." + +"Are there any other troops in the area, sir?" asked Cockerell, who, +as already indicated, was no child in these matters. + +"There ought not to be, of course. But you know what the Heavy Gunners +and the A.S.C. are! If you come across any of them, fire them out. If +they wear too many stars and crowns for you, let me know, and I will +perform the feat myself. You fellows need a good rest and no worries, +I know. Good-morning." + +At ten minutes to eleven Cockerell found the Quartermaster-Sergeant +and party, wiping their mustaches and visibly refreshed, at the exact +spot where he had left them; and the hunt for billets began. + +"A" Company were easily provided for, a derelict tobacco factory being +encountered at the head of the first street. Lieutenant Cockerell +accordingly detached a sergeant and a corporal from his train, and +passed on. The wants of "B" Company were supplied by commandeering +a block of four dilapidated houses farther down the street--all in +comparatively good repair except the end house, whose roof had been +disarranged by a shell during the open fighting in the early days of +the war. + +This exhausted the possibilities of the first street, and the party +debouched into the second, which was long and straggling, and composed +entirely of small houses. + +"Now for a bit of the retail business!" said Master Cockerell +resignedly. "Sergeant M'Nab, what is the strength of 'C' Company?" + +"One hunner and thairty-fower other ranks, sirr," announced Sergeant +M'Nab, consulting a much-thumbed roll-book. + +"We shall have to put them in twos and threes all down the street," +said Cockerell. "Come on; the longer we look at it the less we shall +like it. Interpreter!" + +The forlorn little man, already described, trotted up, and saluted +with open hand, French fashion. His name was Baptiste Bombominet ("or +words to that effect," as the Adjutant put it), and may have been so +inscribed upon the regimental roll; but throughout the rank and file +Baptiste was affectionately known by the generic title of "Alphonso." +The previous seven years had been spent by him in the congenial and +blameless atmosphere of a Ladies' Tailor's in the west end of London, +where he enjoyed the status and emoluments of chief cutter. Now, +called back to his native land by the voice of patriotic obligation, +he found himself selected, by virtue of a residence of seven years in +England, to act as official interpreter between a Scottish Regiment +which could not speak English, and Flemish peasants who could not +speak French. No wonder that his pathetic brown eyes always appeared +full of tears. However, he followed Cockerell down the street, and +meekly embarked upon a contest with the lady Inhabitants thereof, in +which he was hopelessly outmatched from the start. + +At the first door a dame of massive proportions, but keen business +instincts, announced her total inability to accommodate _soldats_, but +explained that she would be pleased to entertain _officiers_ to any +number. This is a common gambit. Twenty British privates in your +_grenier_, though extraordinarily well-behaved as a class, make a good +deal of noise, buy little, and leave mud everywhere. On the other +hand, two or three officers give no trouble, and can be relied upon to +consume and pay for unlimited omelettes and bowls of coffee. + +That seasoned vessel, Lieutenant Cockerell, turned promptly to the +Sergeant and Corporal of "C" Company. + +"Sergeant M'Nab," he said, "you and Corporal Downie will billet here." +He introduced hostess and guests by an expressive wave of the hand. +But shrewd Madame was not to be bluffed. + +"_Pas de sergents, Monsieur le Capitaine!_" she exclaimed. +"_Officiers!_" + +"_Ils sont officiers--sous-officiers_," explained Cockerell, rather +ingeniously, and moved off down the street. + +At the next house the owner--a small, wizened lady of negligible +physique but great staying power--entered upon a duet with Alphonso, +which soon reduced that very moderate performer to breathlessness. He +shrugged his shoulders feebly, and cast an appealing glance towards +the Lieutenant. + +"What does she say?" inquired Cockerell. + +"She say dis' ouse no good, sair! She 'ave seven children, and one +_malade_--seek." + +"Let me see," commanded the practical officer. + +He insinuated himself as politely as possible past his reluctant +opponent, and walked down the narrow passage into the kitchen. Here he +turned, and inquired-- + +"Er--_ou est la pauvre petite chose?_" + +Madame promptly opened a door, and displayed a little girl in bed--a +very flushed and feverish little girl. + +Cockerell grinned sympathetically at the patient, to that young lady's +obvious gratification; and turned to the mother. + +"_Je suis tres--triste_," he said; "_j'ai grand miséricorde. Je ne +placerai pas de soldats ici. Bon jour!_" + +By this time he was in the street again. He saluted politely and +departed, followed by the grateful regards of Madame. + +No special difficulties were encountered at the next few houses. The +ladies at the house-door were all polite; many of them were most +friendly; but naturally each was anxious to get as few men and as many +officers as possible--except the proprietess of an _estaminel_, who +offered to accommodate the entire regiment. However, with a little +tact here and a little firmness there, Master Cockerell succeeded in +distributing "C" Company among some dozen houses. One old gentleman, +with a black alpaca cap and a six-days beard, proprietor of a +lofty establishment at the corner of the street, proved not only +recalcitrant, but abusive. With him Cockerell dealt promptly. + +"_Ça suffit_!" he announced. "_Montres-moi votre grenier!_" + +The old man, grumbling, led the way up numerous rickety staircases +to the inevitable loft under the tiles. This proved to be a noble +apartment thirty feet long. From wall to wall stretched innumerable +strings. + +"We can get a whole platoon in here," said Cockerell contentedly. +"Tell him, Alphonso. These people," he explained to Sergeant M'Nab, +"always dislike giving up their lofts, because they hang their laundry +there in winter. However, the old boy must lump it. After all, we are +in this country for his health, not ours; and he gets paid for every +man who sleeps here. That fixes 'C' Company. Now for 'D'! The other +side of the street this time." + +Quarters were found in due course for "D" Company; after which +Cockerell discovered a vacant building-site which would serve +for transport lines. An empty garage was marked down for the +Quartermaster's ration store, and the Quartermaster-Sergeant promptly +faded into its recesses with a grateful sigh. An empty shop in the +Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau, conveniently adjacent to Battalion +Headquarters, was appropriated for that gregarious band, the +regimental signallers and telephone section; while a suitable home for +the Anarchists, or Bombers, together with their stock-in-trade, was +found in the basement of a remote dwelling on the outskirts of the +area. + +After this, Lieutenant Cockerell, left alone with Alphonso and the +orderly in charge of his horse, heaved a sigh of exhaustion and +transferred his attention from his notebook to his watch. + +"That finishes the rank and file," he said. "I breakfasted at four +this morning, and the battalion won't arrive for a couple of hours +yet. Alphonso, I am going to have an omelette somewhere. I shall want +you in half an hour exactly. Don't go wandering off for the rest of +the day, pinching soft billets for yourself and the Sergeant-Major and +your other pals, as you usually do!" + +Alphonso saluted guiltily--evidently the astute Cockerell had "touched +the spot"--and was turning away, when suddenly the billeting officer's +eye encountered an illegible scrawl at the very foot of his list. + +"Stop a moment, Alphonso! I have forgotten those condemned +machine-gunners, as usual. _Strafe_ them! Come on! Once more into the +breach, Alphonso! There is a little side-alley down here that we have +not tried." + +The indefatigable Cockerell turned down the Rue Gambetta, followed by +Alphonso, faint but resigned. + +"Here is the very place!" announced Cockerell almost at once. "This +house, Number Five. We can put the gunners and their little guns into +that stable at the back, and the officer can have a room in the house +itself. _Sonnez_, for the last time before lunch!" + +The door was opened by a pleasant-faced young woman of about +thirty, who greeted Cockerell--tartan is always popular with French +ladies--with a beaming smile, but shook her head regretfully upon +seeing the _billet de logement_ in his hand. The inevitable duet with +Alphonso followed. Presently Alphonso turned to his superior. + +"Madame is ver' sorry, sair, but an _officier_ is here already." + +"Show me the _officier_!" replied the prosaic Cockerell. + +The duet was resumed. + +"Madame say," announced Alphonso presently, "that the _officier_ is +not here now; but he will return." + +"So will Christmas! Meanwhile I am going to put an _Emma Gee_ officer +in here." + +Alphonso's desperate attempt to translate the foregoing idiom into +French was interrupted by Madame's retirement into the house, whither +she beckoned Cockerell to follow her. In the front room she produced a +frayed sheet of paper, which she proffered with an apologetic smile. +The paper said:-- + +_This billet is entirely reserved for the Supply Officer of this +District. It is not to be occupied by troops passing through the town. + +By Order_. + +Lieutenant Cockerell whistled softly and vindictively through his +teeth. + +"Well," he said, "for consummate and concentrated nerve, give me the +underlings of the A.S.C.! This pot-bellied blighter not only butts +into an area which doesn't belong to him, but actually leaves a chit +to warn people off the grass even when he isn't here! He hasn't +signed the document, I observe. That means that he is a newly joined +subaltern, trying to get mistaken for a Brass Hat! I'll fix _him_!" + +With great stateliness Lieutenant Cockerell tore the offending +screed into four portions, to the audible concern of Madame. But the +Lieutenant smiled reassuringly upon her. + +"_Je vous donnerai un autre, vous savez_," he assured her. + +He sat down at the table, tore a leaf from his Field Service Pocket +Book, and wrote:-- + +_The Supply Officer of the District is at liberty to occupy this +billet only at such times as it is not required by the troops of the +Combatant Services. + + Signed, F.J. Cockerell, + Lieut. & Asst. Adj., + 7th B. & W. Highes_. + +"That's a pretty nasty one!" he observed with relish. Then, having +pinned the insulting document conspicuously to the mantelpiece, he +observed to the mystified lady of the house:-- + +"_Voilà , Madame. Si l'officier reviendra, je le verrai moi-même, avec +grand plaisir. Bon jour_!" + +And with this dark saying Sparrow Cockerell took his departure. + + +II + +The Battalion, headed by their tatterdemalion pipers, stumped into the +town in due course, and were met on the outskirts by the billeting +party, who led the various companies to their appointed place. After +inspecting their new quarters, and announcing with gloomy satisfaction +that they were the worst, dirtiest, and most uncomfortable yet +encountered, everybody settled down in the best place he could find, +and proceeded to make himself remarkably snug. + +Battalion Headquarters and the officers of "A" Company were billeted +in an imposing mansion which actually boasted a bathroom. It is true +that there was no water, but this deficiency was soon made good by a +string of officers' servants bearing buckets. Beginning with Colonel +Kemp, who was preceded by an orderly bearing a small towel and a large +loofah, each officer performed a ceremonial ablution; and it was a +collection of what Major Wagstaffe termed "bright and bonny young +faces" which collected round the Mess table at seven o'clock. + +It was in every sense a gala meal. Firstly, it was weeks since any one +(except Second Lieutenant M'Corquodale, newly joined, and addressed, +for painfully obvious reasons, as "Tich") had found himself at table +in an apartment where it was possible to stand upright. Secondly, +the Mess President had coaxed glass tumblers out of the ancient +_concierge_; and only those who have drunk from enamelled ironware +for weeks on end can appreciate the pure joy of escape from the +indeterminate metallic flavour which such vessels impart to all +beverages. Thirdly, these same tumblers were filled to the brim +with inferior but exhilarating champagne--purchased, as they +euphemistically put it in the Supply Column, "locally." Lastly, the +battalion had several months of hard fighting behind it, probably +a full month's rest before it, and the conscience of duty done and +recognition earned floating like a halo above it. For the moment +memories of Nightmare Wood and the Kidney Bean Redoubt--more +especially the latter--were effaced. Even the sorrowful gaps in the +ring round the table seemed less noticeable. + +The menu, too, was almost pretentious. First came the _hors +d'oeuvres_--a tin of sardines. This was followed by what the +Mess Corporal described as a savoury omelette, but which the +Second-in-Command condemned as "a regrettable incident." + +"It is false economy," he observed dryly to the Mess President, "to +employ Mark One [1] eggs as anything but hand-grenades." + +[Footnote 1: In the British army each issue of arms or equipment +receives a distinctive "Mark." Mark I denotes the earliest issue.] + +However, the tide of popular favour turned with the haggis, +contributed by Lieutenant Angus M'Lachlan, from a parcel from home. +Even the fact that the Mess cook, an inexperienced aesthete from +Islington, had endeavoured to tone down the naked repulsiveness of the +dainty with discreet festoons of tinned macaroni, failed to arouse +the resentment of a purely Scottish Mess. The next course--the beef +ration, hacked into the inevitable gobbets and thinly disguised by a +sprinkling of curry powder--aroused no enthusiasm; but the unexpected +production of a large tin of Devonshire cream, contributed by Captain +Bobby Little, relieved the canned peaches of their customary +monotony. Last of all came a savoury--usually described as _the_ +savoury--consisting of a raft of toast per person, each raft carrying +an abundant cargo of fried potted meat, and provided with a passenger +in the shape of a recumbent sausage. + +A compound of grounds and dish-water, described by the optimistic Mess +Corporal as coffee, next made its appearance, mitigated by a bottle of +Cointreau and a box of Panatellas; and the Mess turned itself to more +intellectual refreshment. A heavy and long-overdue mail had been found +waiting at St. Grégoire. Letters had been devoured long ago. Now, each +member of the Mess leaned back in his chair, straightened his weary +legs under the table, and settled down, cigar in mouth, to the perusal +of the _Spectator_ or the _Tatler_, according to rank and literary +taste. + +Colonel Kemp, unfolding a week-old _Times_, looked over his glasses at +his torpid disciples. + +"Where is young Sandeman?" he inquired. + +Young Sandeman was the Adjutant. + +"He went out to the Orderly Room, sir, five minutes ago," replied +Bobby Little. + +"I only want to give him to-morrow's Orders. No doubt he'll be back +presently. I may as well mention to you fellows that I propose +to allow the men three clear days' rest, except for bathing and +re-clothing. After that we must do Company Drill, good and hard, so as +to polish up the new draft, who are due to-morrow. I am going to +start a bombing-school, too: at least seventy-five per cent. of the +Battalion ought to pass the test before we go back to the line. +However, we need not rush things. We should be here in peace for at +least a month. We must get up some sports, and I think it would be a +sound scheme to have a singsong one Saturday night. I was just saying, +Sandeman,"--this to the Adjutant, who reëntered the room at that +moment,--"that it would be a sound--" + +The Adjutant laid a pink field-telegraph slip before his superior. + +"This has just come in from Brigade Headquarters, sir," he said. "I +have sent for the Sergeant-Major." + +The Colonel adjusted his glasses and read the despatch. A deathly, +sickening silence reigned in the room. Then he looked up. + +"I am afraid I was a bit previous," he said quietly. "The Royal +Stickybacks have lost the Kidney Bean, and we are detailed to go +up and retake it. Great compliment to the regiment, but a trifle +mistimed! You young fellows had better go to bed. Parade at 4 A.M., +sharp! Good-night! Come along to the Orderly Room, Sandeman." + +The door closed, and the Mess, grinding the ends of their cigars into +their coffee-cups, heaved themselves resignedly to their aching feet. + +"There ain't," quoted Major Wagstaffe, "no word in the blooming +language for it!" + + +III + +The Kidney Bean Redoubt is the key to a very considerable sector of +trenches. + +It lies just behind a low ridge. The two horns of the bean are drawn +back out of sight of the enemy, but the middle swells forward over the +skyline and commands an extensive view of the country beyond. Direct +observation of artillery fire is possible: consequently an armoured +observation post has been constructed here, from which gunner officers +can direct the fire of their batteries with accuracy and elegance. +Lose the Kidney Bean, and the boot is on the other leg. The enemy has +the upper ground now: he can bring observed artillery fire to bear +upon all our tenderest spots behind the line. He can also enfilade our +front-line trenches. + +Well, as already stated, the Twenty-Second Royal Stickybacks had +lost the Kidney Bean. They were a battalion of recent formation, +stout-hearted fellows all, but new to the refinements of intensive +trench warfare. When they took over the sector, they proceeded to +leave undone various vital things which the Hairy Jocks had always +made a point of doing, and to do various unnecessary things which the +Hairy Jocks had never done. The observant Hun promptly recognised that +he was faced by a fresh batch of opponents, and, having carefully +studied the characteristics of the newcomers, prescribed and +administered an exemplary dose of frightfulness. He began by tickling +up the Stickybacks with an unpleasant engine called the _Minenwerfer_, +which despatches a large sausage-shaped projectile in a series of +ridiculous somersaults, high over No Man's Land into the enemy's +front-line trench, where it explodes and annihilates everything +in that particular bay. Upon these occasions one's only chance of +salvation is to make a rapid calculation as to the bay into which +the sausage is going to fall, and then double speedily round a +traverse--or, if possible, two traverses--into another. It is an +exhilarating pastime, but presents complications when played by a +large number of persons in a restricted space, especially when the +persons aforesaid are not unanimous as to the ultimate landing-place +of the projectile. + +After a day and a night of these aerial torpedoes the Hun proceeded +to an intensive artillery bombardment. He had long coveted the +Kidney Bean, and instinct told him that he would never have a better +opportunity of capturing it than now. Accordingly, two hours before +dawn, the Redoubt was subjected to a sudden, simultaneous, and +converging fire from all the German artillery for many miles round, +the whole being topped up with a rain of those crowning instruments of +demoralisation, gas-shells. At the same time an elaborate curtain of +shrapnel and high explosive was let down behind the Redoubt, to +serve the double purpose of preventing either the sending up of +reinforcements or the temporary withdrawal of the garrison. + +At the first streak of dawn the bombardment was switched off, as if by +a tap; the curtain fire was redoubled in volume; and a massed attack +swept across the disintegrated wire into the shattered and pulverised +Redoubt. Other attacks were launched on either flank; but these were +obvious blinds, intended to prevent a too concentrated defence of the +Kidney Bean. The Royal Stickybacks--what was left of them--put up a +tough fight; but half of them were lying dead or buried, or both, +before the assault was launched, and the rest were too dazed and +stupefied by noise and chlorine gas to withstand--much less to +repel--the overwhelming phalanx that was hurled against them. One +by one they went down, until the enemy troops, having swamped the +Redoubt, gathered themselves up in a fresh wave and surged towards +the reserve-line trenches, four hundred yards distant. At this point, +however, they met a strong counter-attack, launched from the Brigade +Reserve, and after heavy fighting were bundled back into the Redoubt +itself. Here the German machine-guns had staked out a defensive line, +and the German retirement came to a standstill. + +Meanwhile a German digging party, many hundred strong, had been +working madly in No Man's Land, striving to link up the newly acquired +ground with the German lines. By the afternoon the Kidney Bean was not +only "reversed and consolidated," but was actually included in the +enemy's front trench system. Altogether a well-planned and admirably +executed little operation. + +Forty-eight hours later the Kidney Bean Redoubt was recaptured, and +remains in British hands to this day. Many arms of the Service +took honourable part in the enterprise--heavy guns, field guns, +trench-mortars, machine-guns; Sappers and Pioneers; Infantry in +various capacities. But this narrative is concerned only with the part +played by the Seventh Hairy Jocks. + +"Sorry to pull you back from rest, Colonel," said the Brigadier, when +the commander of the Hairy Jocks reported; "but the Divisional General +considers that the only feasible way to hunt the Boche from the Kidney +Bean is to bomb him out of it. That means trench-fighting, pure and +simple. I have called you up because you fellows know the ins and outs +of the Kidney Bean as no one else does. The Brigade who are in the +line just now are quite new to the place. Here is an aeroplane +photograph of the Redoubt, as at present constituted. Tell off your +own bombing parties; make your own dispositions; send me a copy of +your provisional orders; and I will fit my plan in with yours. +The Corps Commander has promised to back you with every gun, +trench-mortar, culverin, and arquebus in his possession." + +In due course Battalion Orders were issued and approved. They dealt +with operations most barbarous amid localities of the most homelike +sound. Number Nine Platoon, for instance (Commander Lieutenant +Cockerell), were to proceed in single file, carrying so many grenades +per man, up Charing Cross Road, until stopped by the barrier which the +enemy were understood to have erected in Trafalgar Square, where +a bombing-post and at least one machine-gun would probably be +encountered. At this point they were to wait until Trafalgar Square +had been suitably dealt with by a trench-mortar. (Here followed a +paragraph addressed exclusively to the Trench-Mortar Officer.) After +this the bombers of Number Three Platoon would bomb their way across +the Square and up the Strand. Another party would clear Northumberland +Avenue, while a Lewis gun raked Whitehall. And so on. Every detail +was thought out, down to the composition of the parties which were +to "clean up" afterwards--that is, extract the reluctant Boche from +various underground fastnesses well known to the extractors. The whole +enterprise was then thoroughly rehearsed in some dummy trenches behind +the line, until every one knew his exact part. Such is modern warfare. + +Next day the Kidney Bean Redoubt was in British hands again. +The Hun--what was left of him after an intensive bombardment of +twenty-four hours--had betaken himself back over the ridge, _via_ the +remnants of his two new communication trenches, to his original front +line. The two communication trenches themselves were blocked and +sandbagged, and were being heavily supervised by a pair of British +machine-guns. Fighting in the Redoubt itself had almost ceased, though +a humorous sergeant, followed by acolytes bearing bombs, was still +"combing out" certain residential districts in the centre of the +maze. Ever and anon he would stoop down at the entrance of some deep +dug-out, and bawl-- + +"Ony mair doon there? Come away, Fritz! I'll gie ye five seconds. Yin, +Twa, Three--" + +Then, with a rush like a bolt of rabbits, two or three close-cropped, +grimy Huns would scuttle up from below and project themselves from one +of the exits; to be taken in charge by grinning Caledonians wearing +"tin hats" very much awry, and escorted back through the barrage to +the "prisoners' base" in rear. + +All through the day, amidst unremitting shell fire and local +counter-attack, the Hairy Jocks reconsolidated the Kidney Bean; and +they were so far successful that when they handed over the work to +another battalion at dusk, the parapet was restored, the machine-guns +were in position, and a number of "knife-rest" barbed-wire +entanglements were lying just behind the trench, ready to be hoisted +over the parapet and joined together in a continuous defensive line as +soon as the night was sufficiently dark. + +One by one the members of Number Nine Platoon squelched--for it had +rained hard all day--back to the reserve line. They were utterly +exhausted, and still inclined to feel a little aggrieved at having +been pulled out from rest; but they were well content. They had done +the State some service, and they knew it; and they knew that the +higher powers knew it too. There would be some very flattering reading +in Divisional Orders in a few days' time. + +Meanwhile, their most pressing need was for something to eat. To be +sure, every man had gone into action that morning carrying his day's +rations. But the British soldier, improvident as the grasshopper, +carries his day's rations in one place, and one place only--his +stomach. The Hairy Jocks had eaten what they required at their +extremely early breakfast: the residue thereof they had abandoned. + +About midnight Master Cockerell, in obedience to a most welcome order, +led the remnants of his command, faint but triumphant, back from the +reserve line to a road junction two miles in rear, known as Dead Dog +Corner. Here the Battalion was to _rendezvous_, and march back by easy +stages to St. Grégoire. Their task was done. + +But at the cross-roads Number Nine Platoon found no Battalion: only a +solitary subaltern, with his orderly. This young Casabianca informed +Cockerell that he, Second Lieutenant Candlish, had been left behind to +"bring in stragglers." + +"Stragglers?" exclaimed the infuriated Cockerell. "Do we look like +stragglers?" + +"No," replied the youthful Candlish frankly; "you look more like +sweeps. However, you had better push on. The Battalion isn't far +ahead. The order is to march straight back to St. Grégoire and +re-occupy former billets." + +"What about rations?" + +"Rations? The Quartermaster was waiting here for us when we +_rendezvoused_, and every man had a full ration and a tot of rum." +(Number Nine Platoon cleared their parched throats expectantly.) "But +I fancy he has gone on with the column. However, if you leg it you +should catch them up. They can't be more than two miles ahead. So +long!" + + +IV + +But the task was hopeless. Number Nine Platoon had been bombing, +hacking, and digging all day. Several of them were slightly +wounded--the serious cases had been taken off long ago by the +stretcher-bearers--and Cockerell's own head was still dizzy from the +fumes of a German gas-shell. + +He lined up his disreputable paladins in the darkness, and spoke-- + +"Sergeant M'Nab, how many men are present?" + +"Eighteen, sirr." The platoon had gone into action thirty-four strong. + +"How many men are deficient of an emergency ration? I can make a good +guess, but you had better find out." + +Five minutes later the Sergeant reported. Cockerell's guess was +correct. The British private has only one point of view about the +portable property of the State. To him, as an individual, the sacred +emergency ration is an unnecessary encumbrance, and the carrying +thereof a "fatigue." Consequently, when engaged in battle, one of the +first (of many) things which he jettisons is this very ration. When +all is over, he reports with unctuous solemnity that the provender +in question has been blown out of his haversack by a shell. The +Quartermaster-Sergeant writes it off as "lost owing to the exigencies +of military service," and indents for another. + +Lieutenant Cockerell's haversack contained a packet of meat-lozenges +and about half a pound of chocolate. These were presented to the +Sergeant. + +"Hand these round as far as they will go, Sergeant," said Cockerell. +"They'll make a mouthful a man, anyhow. Tell the platoon to lie down +for ten minutes; then we'll push off. It's only fifteen miles. We +ought to make it by breakfast-time ..." + +Slowly, mechanically, all through the winter night the victors hobbled +along. Cockerell led the way, carrying the rifle of a man with a +wounded arm. Occasionally he checked his bearings with map and +electric torch. Sergeant M'Nab, who, under a hirsute and attenuated +exterior, concealed a constitution of ferro-concrete and the heart of +a lion, brought up the rear, uttering fallacious assurances to the +faint-hearted as to the shortness of the distance now to be covered, +and carrying two rifles. + +The customary halts were observed. At ten minutes to four the men +flung themselves down for the third time. They had covered about seven +miles, and were still eight or nine from St. Grégoire. The everlasting +constellation of Verey lights still rose and fell upon the eastern +horizon behind them, but the guns were silent. + +"There might be a Heavy Battery dug in somewhere about here," mused +Cockerell. "I wonder if we could touch them for a few tins of bully. +Hallo, what's that?" + +A distant rumble came from the north, and out of the darkness loomed a +British motor-lorry, lurching and swaying along the rough cobbles of +the _pavé_. Some of Cockerell's men were lying dead asleep in the +middle of the road, right at the junction. The lorry was going twenty +miles an hour. + +"Get into the side of the road, you men!" shouted Cockerell, "or +they'll run over you. You know what these M.T. drivers are!" + +With indignant haste, and at the last possible moment, the kilted +figures scattered to either side of the narrow causeway. The usual +stereotyped and vitriolic remonstrances were hurled after the great +hooded vehicle as it lurched past. + +And then a most unusual thing happened. The lorry slowed down, and +finally stopped, a hundred yards away. An officer descended, and began +to walk back. Cockerell rose to his weary feet and walked to meet him. + +The officer wore a major's crown upon the shoulder-straps of his +sheepskin-lined "British Warm" and the badge of the Army Service Corps +upon his cap. Cockerell, indignant at the manner in which his platoon +had been hustled off the road, saluted stiffly, and muttered: +"Good-morning, sir!" + +"Good-morning!" said the Major. He was a stout man of nearly fifty, +with twinkling blue eyes and a short-clipped mustache. Cockerell +judged him to be one of the few remnants of the original British Army. + +"I stopped," explained the older man, "to apologise for the scandalous +way that fellow drove over you. It was perfectly damnable; but you +know what these converted taxi-drivers are! This swine forgot for the +moment that he had an officer on board, and hogged it as usual. He +goes under arrest as soon as we get back to billets." + +"Thank you very much, sir," said Master Cockerell, entirely thawed. +"I'm afraid my chaps were lying all over the road; but they are pretty +well down and out at present." + +"Where have you come from?" inquired the Major, turning a curious eye +upon Cockerell's prostrate followers. + +Cockerell explained When he had finished, he added wistfully-- + +"I suppose you have not got an odd tin or two of bully to give away, +sir? My fellows are about--" + +For answer, the Major took the Lieutenant by the arm and led him +towards the lorry. + +"You have come," he announced, "to the very man you want. I am +practically Mr. Harrod. In fact, I am a Corps Supply Officer. How +would a Maconochie apiece suit your boys?" + +Cockerell, repressing the ecstatic phrases which crowded to his +tongue, replied that that was just what the doctor had ordered. + +"Where are you bound for?" continued the Major. + +"St. Grégoire." + +"Of course. You were pulled out from there, weren't you? I am going to +St. Grégoire myself as soon as I have finished my round. Home to bed, +in fact. I haven't had any sleep worth writing home about for four +nights. It is no joke tearing about a country full of shell-holes, +hunting for people who have shifted their ration-dump seven times in +four days. However, I suppose things will settle down again, now that +you fellows have fired Brother Boche out of the Kidney Bean. Pretty +fine work, too! Tell me, what is your strength, here and now?" + +"One officer," said Cockerell soberly, "and eighteen other ranks." + +"All that's left of your platoon?" + +Cockerell nodded. The stout Major began to beat upon the tailboard of +the lorry with his stick. + +"Sergeant Smurthwaite!" he shouted. + +There came a muffled grunt from the recesses of the lorry. Then a +round and ruddy face rose like a harvest moon above the tailboard, and +a stertorous voice replied respectfully-- + +"Sir?" + +"Let down this tailboard; load this officer's platoon into the lorry; +issue them with a Maconochie and a tot of rum apiece; and don't forget +to put Smee under arrest for dangerous driving when we get back to +billets." + +"Very good, sir." + +Ten minutes later the survivors of Number Nine Platoon, soaked to the +skin, dazed, slightly incredulous, but at peace with all the world, +reclined close-packed upon the floor of the swaying lorry. Each man +held an open tin of Mr. Maconochie's admirable ration between his +knees. Perfect silence reigned: a pleasant aroma of rum mellowed the +already vitiated atmosphere. + +In front, beside the chastened Mr. Smee, sat the Major and Master +Cockerell. The latter had just partaken of his share of refreshment, +and was now endeavouring, with lifeless fingers, to light a cigarette. + +The Major scrutinised his guest intently. Then he stripped off his +British Warm coat--incidentally revealing the fact that he wore +upon his tunic the ribbons of both South African Medals and the +Distinguished Service Order--and threw it round Cockerell's shoulders. + +"I'm sorry, boy!" he said. "I never noticed. You are chilled to the +bone. Button this round you." + +Cockerell made a feeble protest, but was cut short. + +"Nonsense! There's no sense in taking risks after you've done your +job." + +Cockerell assented, a little sleepily. His allowance of rum was +bringing its usual vulgar but comforting influence to bear upon an +exhausted system. + +"I see you have been wounded, sir," he observed, noting with a little +surprise two gold stripes upon his host's left sleeve--the sleeve of a +"non-combatant." + +"Yes," said the Major. "I got the first one at Le Gateau. He was only +a little fellow; but the second, which arrived at the Second Show at +Ypres, gave me such a stiff leg that I am only an old crock now. I was +second-in-command of an Infantry Battalion in those days. In these, I +am only a peripatetic Lipton. However, I am lucky to be here at all: +I've had twenty-seven years' service. How old are you?" + +"Twenty," replied Cockerell. He was too tired to feel as ashamed as he +usually did at having to confess to the tenderness of his years. + +The Major nodded thoughtfully. + +"Yes," he said; "I judged that would be about the figure. My son would +have been twenty this month, only--he was at Neuve Chapelle. He +was very like you in appearance--very. His mother would have been +interested to meet you. You might as well take a nap for half an hour. +I have two more calls to make, and we shan't get home till nearly +seven. Lean on me, old man. I'll see you don't tumble overboard ..." + +So Lieutenant Cockerell, conqueror of the Kidney Bean, fell asleep, +his head resting, with scandalous disregard for military etiquette, +upon the shoulder of the stout Major. + + +V + +An hour or two later, Number Nine Platoon, distended with concentrated +nourishment and painfully straightening its cramped limbs, decanted +itself from the lorry into a little _cul-de-sac_ opening off the Rue +Jean Jacques Rousseau in St. Grégoire. The name of the _cul-de-sac_ +was the Rue Gambetta. + +Their commander, awake and greatly refreshed, looked round him and +realised, with a sudden sense of uneasiness, that he was in familiar +surroundings. The lorry had stopped at the door of Number Five. + +"I don't suppose your Battalion will get back for some time," said the +Major. "Tell your Sergeant to put your men into the stable behind this +house--there's plenty of straw there--and--" + +"Their own billet is just round the corner, sir," replied Cockerell. +"They might as well go there, thank you." + +"Very good. But come in with me yourself, and doss here for a few +hours. You can report to your C.O. later in the day, when he arrives. +This is my _pied-à -terre_,"--rapping on the door. "You won't find many +billets like it. As you see, it stands in this little backwater, and +is not included in any of the regular billeting areas of the town. The +Town Major has allotted it to me permanently. Pretty decent of him, +wasn't it? And Madame Vinot is a dear. Here she is! _Bonjour, Madame +Vinot! Avez-vous un feu_--er--_inflammé pour moi dans la chambre_?" +Evidently the Major's French was on a par with Cockerell's. + +But Madame understood him, bless her! + +"_Mais oui, M'sieur le Colonel_!" she exclaimed cheerfully--the rank +of Major is not recognised by the French civilian population--and +threw open the door of the sitting-room, with a glance of compassion +upon the Major's mud-splashed companion, whom she failed to recognise. + +A bright fire was burning in the open stove. + +Immediately above, pinned to the mantelpiece and fluttering in +the draught, hung Cockerell's manifesto upon the subject of +non-combatants. He could recognise his own handwriting across the +room. The Major saw it too. + +"Hallo, what's that hanging up, I wonder?" he exclaimed. "A memorandum +for me, I expect; probably from my old friend 'Dados.'[1] Let us get a +little more light." + +[Footnote 1: D.A.D.O.S. Deputy Assistant Director of Ordnance Stores.] + +He crossed to the window and drew up the blind. Cockerell moved too. +When the Major turned round, his guest was standing by the stove, his +face scarlet through its grime. + +"I'm awfully sorry, sir," said Cockerell, "but that +notice--memorandum--of yours has dropped into the fire." + +"If it came from Dados," replied the Major, "thank you very much!" + +"I can't tell you, sir," added Cockerell humbly, "what a fool I feel." + +But the apology referred to an entirely different matter. + + + + +IX + +TUNING UP + + +I + +It is just one year to-day since we "came oot." A year plays havoc +with the "establishment" of a battalion in these days of civilised +warfare. Of the original band of stout-hearted but inexperienced +Crusaders who crossed the Channel in the van of The First Hundred +Thousand, in May, 1915,--a regiment close on a thousand strong, with +twenty-eight officers,--barely two hundred remain, and most of these +are Headquarters or Transport men. Of officers there are five--Colonel +Kemp, Major Wagstaffe, Master Cockerell, Bobby Little, and Mr. +Waddell, who, by the way, is now Captain Waddell, having succeeded to +the command of his old Company. + +Of the rest, our old Colonel is in Scotland, essaying ambitious +pedestrian and equestrian feats upon his new leg. Others have been +drafted to the command of newer units, for every member of "K(1)" is +a Nestor now. Others are home, in various stages of convalescence. +Others, alas! will never go home again. But the gaps have all been +filled up, and once more we are at full strength, comfortably +conscious that whereas a year ago we were fighting to hold a line, and +play for time, and find our feet, while the people at home behind us +were making good, now we are fighting for one thing and one thing +only; and that is, to administer the knock-out blow to Brother Boche. + +Our last casualty was Ayling, who left us under somewhat unusual +circumstances. + +Towards the end of our last occupancy of trenches the local Olympus +decided that what both sides required, in order to awaken them from +their winter lethargy, or spring lassitude (or whatever it is that +Olympus considers that we in the firing-line are suffering from for +the moment), was a tonic. Accordingly orders were issued for a Flying +Matinée, or trench raid. Each battalion in the Division was to submit +a scheme, and the battalion whose scheme was adjudged the best was +to be accorded the honour--so said the Practical Joke Department--of +carrying out the scheme in person. To the modified rapture of the +Seventh Hairy Jocks their plan was awarded first prize. Headquarters, +after a little excusable recrimination on the subject of unnecessary +zeal and misguided ambition, set to work to arrange rehearsals of our +highly unpopular production. + +Brother Boche has grown "wise" to Flying Matinées nowadays, and +to score a real success you have to present him with something +comparatively novel and unexpected. However, our scheme had been +carefully thought out; and, given sufficient preparation, and an +adequate cast, there seemed no reason to doubt that the piece would +have a highly successful run of one night. + +At one point in the enemy's trenches opposite to us his barbed-wire +defences had worn very thin, and steps were taken by means of +systematic machine-gun fire to prevent him repairing them. This spot +was selected for the raid. A party of twenty-five was detailed. It was +to be led by Angus M'Lachlan, and was to slip over the parapet on a +given moonless night, crawl across No Man's Land to within striking +distance of the German trench, and wait. At a given moment the signal +for attack would be given, and the wire demolished by a means which +need not be specified here. Thereupon the raiding party were to dash +forward and--to quote the Sergeant-Major--"mix themselves up in it." + +Two elements are indispensable in a successful trench-raid--surprise +and despatch. That is to say, you must deliver your raid when and +where it is least expected, and then get home to bed before your +victims have had time to set the machinery of retaliation in motion. +Steps were therefore taken, firstly, to divert the enemy's attention +as far as possible from the true objective of the raid, by a sudden +and furious bombardment of a sector of trenches three hundred yards +away; and secondly, to ensure as far as possible, that the raid, +having commenced at 2 A.M., should conclude at 2.12, sharp. + +In order to cover the retirement of the excursionists, Ayling was +ordered to arrange for machine-gun fire, which should sweep the +enemy's parapet for some hundreds of yards upon either flank, and so +encourage the enemy to keep his head down and mind his own business. + +The raid itself was a brilliant success. Dug-outs were bombed, +emplacements destroyed, and a respectable bag of captives brought +over. But the element of surprise, upon which so much insistence was +laid above, was visited upon both attackers and attacked. To the +former the contribution came from that well-meaning but somewhat +addlepated warrior, Private Nigg, who formed one of the raiding party. + +Nigg's allotted task upon this occasion was to "comb out" certain +German dug-outs. (It may be mentioned that each man had a specific +duty to perform, and a specific portion of the trench opposite to +perform it in; for the raid had been rehearsed several times in a +dummy trench behind the lines constructed exactly to scale from an +aeroplane photograph.) For this purpose he was provided with bombs. +Shortly before two o'clock in the morning the party, headed by Angus +M'Lachlan, crawled over the parapet during a brief lull in the +activities of the Verey lights, and crept steadily, on hands and +knees, across No Man's Land. Fifty yards from the enemy's wire was a +collection of shell-holes, relics of a burst of misdirected energy on +the part of a six-inch battery. Here the raiders disposed themselves, +and waited for the signal. + +Now, it is an undoubted fact, that if you curl yourself up, with two +or three preliminary twirls, after the fashion of a dog going to bed, +in a perfectly circular shell-hole, on a night as black as the inside +of the dog in question, you are extremely likely to lose your sense of +direction. This is what happened to Private Nigg. He and his infernal +machines lay uneasily in their appointed shell-hole for some ten +minutes, surrounded by Verey lights which shot suddenly into the sky +with a disconcerting _plop_, described a graceful parabola, burst into +dazzling flame, and fluttered sizzling down. One or two of these fell +quite near Nigg's party, and continued to burn upon the ground, but +the raiders sank closer into their shell-holes, and no alarm resulted. +Once or twice a machine-gun had a scolding fit, and bullets whispered +overhead. But, on the whole, the night was quiet. + +Then suddenly, with a shattering roar, the feint-artillery bombardment +broke forth. Simultaneously word was passed along the raiding line to +stand by. Next moment Angus M'Lachlan and his followers rose to their +feet in the black darkness, scrambled out of their nests, and dashed +forward to the accomplishment of their mission. + +When Nigg, who had paused a moment to collect his bombs, sprang out of +his shell-hole, not a colleague was in sight. At least, Nigg could +see no one. However, want of courage was not one of his failings. He +bounded blindly forward by himself. + +Try as he would he could not overtake the raiding party. However, this +mattered little, for suddenly a parapet loomed before him. In +this same parapet, low down, Nigg beheld a black and gaping +aperture--plainly a loophole of some kind. + +Without a moment's hesitation, Nigg hurled a Mills grenade straight +through the loophole, and then with one wild screech of "Come away, +boys!" took a flying leap over the parapet--and landed in his own +trench, in the arms of Corporal Mucklewame. + +As already noted, it is difficult, when lying curled up in a circular +shell-hole in the dark, to maintain a true sense of direction. + +So the first-fruits of the raid was Captain Ayling, of the _Emma +Gees_. He had stationed himself in a concrete emplacement in the front +line, the better to "observe" the fire of his guns when it should +be required. Unfortunately this was the destination selected by the +misguided Niggs for his first (and as it proved, last) bomb. The +raiders came safely back in due course, but by that time Ayling, +liberally (but by a miracle not dangerously) ballasted with assorted +scrap-iron, was on his way to the First Aid Post. + + +II + +At the present moment we are right back at rest once more, and are +being treated with a consideration, amounting almost to indulgence, +which convinces us that we are being "fattened up"--to employ +the gruesome but expressive phraseology of the moment--for some +particularly strenuous enterprise in the near future. + +Well, we are ready. It is nine months since Loos, and nearly six since +we scraped the nightmare mud of Ypres from our boots, _gum, thigh_, +for the last time. Our recent casualties have been light--our only +serious effort of late has been the recapture of the Kidney Bean--the +new drafts have settled down, and the young officers have been +blooded. And above all, victory is in the air. We are going into our +next fight with new-born confidence in the powers behind us. Loos was +an experimental affair; and though to the humble instruments with +which the experiment was made the proceedings were less hilarious than +we had anticipated, the results were enormously valuable to a greatly +expanded and entirely untried Staff. + +"We shall do better this time," said Major Wagstaffe to Bobby Little, +as they stood watching the battalion assemble, in workmanlike fashion, +for a route-march. "There are just one or two little points which had +not occurred to us then. We have grasped them now, I think." + +"Such as?" + +"Well, you remember we all went into the Loos show without any very +lucid idea as to how far we were to go, and where to knock off for the +day, so to speak. The result was that the advance of each Division was +regulated by the extent to which the German wire in front of it +had been cut by our artillery. Ours was well and truly cut, so we +penetrated two or three miles. The people on our left never started at +all. Lord knows, they tried hard enough. But how could any troops get +through thirty feet of uncut wire, enfiladed by machine-guns? The +result was that after forty-eight hours' fighting, our whole attacking +front, instead of forming a nice straight line, had bagged out into a +series of bays and peninsulas." + +"Our crowd wasn't even a peninsula," remarked Bobby with feeling. "For +an hour or so it was an island!" + +"I think you will find that in the next show we shall go forward, +after intensive bombardment, quite a short distance; then consolidate; +then wait till the _whole_ line has come up to its appointed +objective; then bombard again; then go forward another piece; and so +on. That will make it impossible for gaps to be created. It will also +give our gunners a chance to cover our advance continuously. You +remember at Loos they lost us for hours, and dare not fire for fear +of hitting us. In fact, I expect that in battle plans of the future, +instead of the artillery trying to conform to the movements of the +infantry, matters will be reversed. The guns, after preliminary +bombardment, will create a continuous Niagara of exploding shells +upon a given line, marked in everybody's map, and timed for an exact +period, just beyond the objective; and the infantry will stroll up +into position a comfortable distance behind, reading the time-table, +and dig themselves in. Then the barrage will lift on to the next line, +and we shall toddle forward again. That's the new plan, Bobby! Close +artillery coöperation, and a series of limited objectives!" + +"It sounds all right," agreed Bobby. "We shall want a good many guns, +though, shan't we?" + +"We shall. But don't let that worry you. It is simply raining guns +at the Base now. In fact, my grandmother in the War Office"--this +mythical relative was frequently quoted by Major Wagstaffe, and +certainly her information had several times proved surprisingly +correct--"tells me that by the beginning of next year we shall have +enough guns, of various calibres, to make a continuous line, hub to +hub, from one end of our front to the other." + +"Golly!" observed Captain Little, with respectful relish. + +"That means," continued Wagstaffe, "that we shall be able to blow +Brother Boche's immediate place of business to bits, and at the same +time take on his artillery with counter-battery work. Our shell-supply +is practically unlimited now; so when the next push comes, we +foot-sloggers ought to have a more gentlemanly time of it than we had +at Loos and Wipers. And I'll tell you another thing, Bobby. We shall +have command of the air too." + +"That will be a pleasant change," remarked Bobby. "I'm getting tired +of putting my fellows under arrest for rushing out of carefully +concealed positions in order to gape up at Boche planes going over. +Angus M'Lachlan is as bad as any of them. The fellow--" + +"But you have not seen many Boche planes lately?" + +"No. Certainly not so many." + +"And the number will grow beautifully less. Our little friends in the +R.F.C. are getting fairly numerous now, and their machines have been +improved out of all knowledge. They are rapidly assuming the position +of top dog. Moreover, the average Boche does not take kindly to +flying. It is too--too individualistic a job for him. He likes to work +in a bunch with other Boches, where he can keep step, and maintain +dressing, and mark time if he gets confused. In the air one cannot +mark time, and it worries Fritz to death. I think you will see, in the +next unpleasantness, that we shall be able to maintain our aeroplane +frontier somewhere over the enemy third line. That means that we shall +make our own dispositions with a certain degree of privacy, and the +Boche will not. Also, when our big guns get to work, they will not +need to fire blindly, as in the days of our youth, but will be +directed by one of our R.F.C. lads, humming about in his little bus +above the target, perhaps fifteen miles from the gun. Hallo, there go +the pipes! Tell your men to fall in." + +"The whole business," observed Bobby, as he struggled into his +equipment, "sounds so attractive that I am beginning quite to look +forward to the next show!" + +"Don't forget the Boche machine-guns, my lad," replied Wagstaffe. + +"One seldom gets the chance," grumbled Bobby. "Is there no way of +knocking them out?" + +"Well--" Wagstaffe looked intensely mysterious--"of course one never +knows, but--have you heard any rumours on the subject?" + +"I have. About--" + +"About the Hush! Hush! Brigade?" + +Bobby nodded. + +"Yes," he said. "Young Osborne, my best subaltern after Angus, +disappeared last month to join it. Tell me, what _is_ the--" + +"Hush! Hush!" said Major Wagstaffe. "_Méfiez vous! Taisez vous_! and +so on!" + +The battalion moved off. + + +So much for the war-talk of veterans. Now let us listen to the +novices. + +"Bogle," said Angus M'Lachlan to his henchman, "I think we shall have +to lighten this Wolseley valise of mine. With one thing and another it +weighs far more than thirty-five pounds." + +"That's a fact, sirr," agreed Mr. Bogle. "It carries ower mony books +in the heid of it." + +They shook out the contents of the valise upon the floor of Angus's +bedroom--a loft over the kitchen in "A" Company's farm billet--and +proceeded to prune Angus's personal effects. There were boots, socks, +shaving-tackle, maps, packets of chocolate, and books of every size, +but chiefly of the ever-blessed sevenpenny type. + +"A lot of these things will have to go, Bogle," said Angus +regretfully. "The colonel has warned officers about their kits, and it +would never do to have mine turned back from the waggon at the last +minute." + +Mr. Bogle pricked up his ears. "The waggon? Are we for off again, +sirr?" he inquired. + +"Indeed I could not say," replied the cautious Angus; "but it is well +to be ready." + +"The boys was saying, sirr," observed Bogle tentatively, "that there +was to be another grand battle soon." + +"It is more than likely," said Angus, with an air of profound wisdom. +"Here we are in June, and we must take the offensive, sooner or later, +or summer will be over." + +"What kind o' a battle will it be this time, sirr?" inquired Bogle +respectfully. + +"Oh, our artillery will pound the German trenches for a week or two, +and then we shall go over the parapet and drive them back for miles," +said Angus simply. + +"And what then, sirr?" + +"What then? We shall go on pushing them until another Division +relieves us." + +Bogle nodded comprehendingly. He now had firmly fixed in his mind the +essential details of the projected great offensive of 1916. He was +not interested to go further in the matter. And it is this +very faculty--philosophic trust, coupled with absolute lack of +imagination--which makes the British soldier the most invincible +person in the world. The Frenchman is inspired to glorious deeds by +his great spirit and passionate love of his own sacred soil; the +German fights as he thinks, like a machine. But the British Tommy wins +through owing to his entire indifference to the pros and cons of the +tactical situation. He settles down to war like any other trade, and, +as in time of peace, he is chiefly concerned with his holidays and +his creature comforts. A battle is a mere incident between one set of +billets and another. Consequently he does not allow the grim realities +of war to obsess his mind when off duty. One might almost ascribe +his success as a soldier to the fact that his domestic instincts are +stronger than his military instincts. + +Put the average Tommy into a trench under fire how does he comport +himself? Does he begin by striking an attitude and hurling defiance +at the foe? No, he begins by inquiring, in no uncertain voice, where +his ---- dinner is? He then examines his new quarters. Before him +stands a parapet, buttressed mayhap with hurdles or balks of +timber, the whole being designed to preserve his life from hostile +projectiles. How does he treat this bulwark? Unless closely watched, +he will begin to chop it up for firewood. His next proceeding is to +construct for himself a place of shelter. This sounds a sensible +proceeding, but here again it is a case of "safety second." A British +Tommy regards himself as completely protected from the assaults of his +enemies if he can lay a sheet of corrugated-iron roofing across his +bit of trench and sit underneath it. At any rate it keeps the rain +off, and that is all that his instincts demand of him. An ounce of +comfort is worth a pound of security. + +He looks about him. The parapet here requires fresh sandbags; there +the trench needs pumping out. Does he fill sandbags, or pump, of his +own volition? Not at all. Unless remorselessly supervised, he will +devote the rest of the morning to inventing and chalking up a +title for his new dug-out--"Jock's Lodge," or "Burns' Cottage," or +"Cyclists' Rest"--supplemented by a cautionary notice, such as--_No +Admittance. This Means You_. Thereafter, with shells whistling over +his head, he will decorate the parapet in his immediate vicinity with +picture postcards and cigarette photographs. Then he leans back with a +happy sigh. His work is done. His home from home is furnished. He is +now at leisure to think about "they Gairmans" again. That may sound +like an exaggeration; but "Comfort First" is the motto of that lovable +but imprudent grasshopper, Thomas Atkins, all the time. + +A sudden and pertinent thought occurred to Mr. Bogle, who possessed a +Martha-like nature. + +"What way, sir, will a body get his dinner, if we are to be fighting +for twa-three days on end?" + +"Every man," replied Angus, "will be issued, I expect, with two days' +rations. But the Colonel tells me that during hard fighting a man +does not feel the desire for food--or sleep either for that matter. +Perhaps, during a lull, it may occur to him that he has not eaten +since yesterday, and he may pull out a bit of biscuit or chocolate +from his pocket, just to nibble. Or he may remember that he has had no +sleep for twenty-four hours--so he just drops down and sleeps for +ten minutes while there is time. But generally, matters of ordinary +routine drop out of a man's thoughts altogether." + +"That's a queer-like thing, a body forgetting his dinner!" murmured +Bogle. + +"Of course," continued Angus, warming to his theme like his own father +in his pulpit, "if Nature is expelled with a pitchfork in this manner, +for too long, _tamen usque recurret_." + +"Is that a fact?" replied Bogle politely. He always adopted the line +of least resistance when his master took to audible rumination. "Weel, +I'll hae to be steppin', sir. I'll pit these twa blankets oot in the +sun, in some place where the dooks frae the pond will no get dandering +ower them. And if you'll sorrt your books, I'll hand ower the yins ye +dinna require to the Y.M.C.A. hut ayont the village." + +Bogle cherished a profound admiration for Lieutenant M'Lachlan both as +a scholar and a strategist, and absorbed his deliverances with a care +and attention which enabled him to misquote the same quite fluently to +his own associates. That very evening he set forth the coming plan of +campaign, as elucidated to him by his master, to a mixed assemblage +at the _Estaminet au Clef des Champs_. Some of the party were duly +impressed; but Mr. Spike Johnson, a resident in peaceful times of +Stratford-atte-Bow, the recognised humourist of the Sappers' Field +Company attached to the Brigade, was pleased to be facetious. + +"It won't be no good you Jocks goin' over no parapet to attack no +'Uns," he said, "after what 'appened last week!" + +This dark saying had the effect of rousing every Scottish soldier in +the _estaminet_ to a state of bristling attention. + +"And what was it," inquired Private Cosh with heat, "that happened +last week?" + +"Why," replied Mr. Johnson, who had been compounding this jest for +some days, and now saw his opportunity to deliver it with effect at +short range, "your trenches got raided last Wednesday, when you was +in' em. By the Brandyburgers, I think it was." + +The entire symposium stared at the jester with undisguised amazement. + +"Our--trenches," proclaimed Private Tosh with forced calm, "were never +raided by no--Brandyburrrgerrs! Was they, Jimmie?" + +Mr. Cosh corroborated, with three adjectives which Mr. Tosh had not +thought of. + +Spike Johnson merely smiled, with the easy assurance of a man who has +the ace up his sleeve. + +"Oh yes, they was!" he reiterated. + +"They werre _not_!" shouted half a dozen voices. + +The next stage of the discussion requires no description. It +terminated, at the urgent request of Madame from behind the bar, and +with the assistance of the Military Police, in the street outside. + +"And now, Spike Johnson," inquired Private Cosh, breathing heavily but +much refreshed, "can you tell me what way Gairmans could get intil the +trenches of a guid Scots regiment withoot bein' _seen_?" + +"I can," replied Mr. Johnson with relish, "and I will. They got in all +right, but you didn't see them, because they was disguised." + +Cosh and Tosh snorted disdainfully, and Private Nigg, who was present +with his friend Buncle, inquired-- + +"What way was they disguised?" + +Like lightning came the answer-- + +"_As a joke_! Oh, you Jocks." + +Cosh and Tosh (who had already been warned by the Police sergeant) +merely glared and gurgled impotently. Private Nigg, who, as already +mentioned, was slightly wanting in quickness of perception, was led +away by the faithful Buncle, to have the outrage explained to him +at leisure. It was Private Bogle who intervened, and brought the +intellectual Goliath crashing to the ground. + +"Man, Johnson," he remarked, and shook his head mournfully, "youse +ought to be varra careful aboot sayin' things like that to the likes +of us. 'Deed aye!" + +"What for, ole son?" inquired the jester indulgently. + +"Naithing," replied Bogle with artistic reticence. + +"Come along--aht with it!" insisted Johnson. "Cough it up, duckie!" + +"Man, man," cried Bogle with passionate earnestness, "dinna gang ower +far!" + +"What the 'ell _for_?" inquired Johnson, impressed despite himself. + +"What for?" Bogle's voice dropped to a ghostly whisper. "Has it ever +occurred to you, my mannie, what would happen tae the English--if +Scotland was tae make a separate peace?" + +And Mr. Bogle retired, not before it was time, within the sheltering +portals of the _estaminet_, where not less than seven inarticulate but +appreciative fellow-countrymen offered him refreshment. + + + + +X + +FULL CHORUS + + +I + +An Observation Post--or "O Pip," in the mysterious _patois_ of the +Buzzers--is not exactly the spot that one would select either for +spaciousness or accessibility. It may be situated up a chimney or up a +tree, or down a tunnel bored through a hill. But it certainly enables +you to see something of your enemy; and that, in modern warfare, is a +very rare and valuable privilege. + +Of late the scene-painter's art--technically known as +_camouflage_--has raised the concealment of batteries and their +observation posts to the realm of the uncanny. According to Major +Wagstaffe, you can now disguise anybody as anything. For instance, you +can make up a battery of six-inch guns to look like a flock of sheep, +and herd them into action browsing. Or you can despatch a scouting +party across No Man's Land dressed up as pillar-boxes, so that the +deluded Hun, instead of opening fire with a machine-gun, will merely +post letters in them--valuable letters, containing military secrets. +Lastly, and more important still, you can disguise yourself to look +like nothing at all, and in these days of intensified artillery fire +it is very seldom that nothing at all is hit. + +The particular O Pip with which we are concerned at present, however, +is a German post--or was a fortnight ago, before the opening of the +Battle of the Somme. + +For nearly two years the British Armies on the Western Front have been +playing for time. They have been sticking their toes in and holding +their ground, with numerically inferior forces and inadequate +artillery support, against a nation in arms which has set out, with +forty years of preparation at its back, to sweep the earth. We have +held them, and now _der Tag_ has come for us. The deal has passed +into our hand at last. A fortnight ago, ready for the first time to +undertake the offensive on a grand and prolonged scale,--Loos was a +mere reconnaissance compared with this,--the New British Army went +over the parapet shoulder to shoulder with the most heroic Army in the +world--the Army of France--and attacked over a sixteen-mile front in +the Valley of the Somme. + +It was a critical day for the Allies: certainly it was a most critical +day in the history of the British Army. For on that day an answer +had to be given to a very big question indeed. Hitherto we had been +fighting on the defensive--unready, uphill, against odds. It would +have been no particular discredit to us had we failed to hold our +line. But we had held it, and more. Now, at last, we were ready--as +ready as we were ever likely to be. We had the men, the guns, and the +munitions. We were in a position to engage the enemy on equal, and +more than equal, terms. And the question that the British Empire had +to answer in that day, the First of July 1916, was this: "Are these +new amateur armies of ours, raised, trained, and equipped in less than +two years, with nothing in the way of military tradition to uphold +them--nothing but the steady courage of their race: are they a match +for, and more than a match for, that grim machine-made, iron-bound +host that lies waiting for them along that line of Picardy hills? +Because if they are _not_, we cannot win this war. We can only make a +stalemate of it." + +We, looking back now over a space of twelve months, know how our boys +answered that question. In the greatest and longest battle that the +world had yet seen, that Army of city clerks, Midland farm-lads, +Lancashire mill-hands, Scottish miners, and Irish corner-boys, side +by side with their great-hearted brethren from Overseas, stormed +positions which had been held impregnable for two years, captured +seventy thousand prisoners, reclaimed several hundred square miles +of the sacred soil of France, and smashed once and for all the +German-fostered fable of the invincibility of the German Army. It was +good to have lived and suffered during those early and lean years, if +only to be present at their fulfilment. + +But at this moment the battle was only beginning, and the bulk of +their astounding achievement was still to come. Nevertheless, in the +cautious and modest estimate of their Commander-in-Chief, they had +already done something. + +_After ten days and nights of continuous fighting_, said the first +official report, _our troops have completed the methodical capture +of the whole of the enemy's first system of defence on a front of +fourteen thousand yards. This system of defence consisted of numerous +and continuous lines of fire trenches, extending to depths of from two +thousand to four thousand yards, and included five strongly fortified +villages, numerous heavily entrenched woods, and a large number of +immensely strong redoubts. The capture of each of these trenches +represented an operation of some importance, and the whole of them are +now in our hands_. + +Quite so. One feels, somehow, that Berlin would have got more out of +such a theme. + + * * * * * + +Now let us get back to our O Pip. If you peep over the shoulder of +Captain Leslie, the gunner observing officer, as he directs the fire +of his battery, situated some thousands of yards in rear, through +the medium of map, field-glass, and telephone, you will obtain an +excellent view of to-morrow's field of battle. Present in the O Pip +are Colonel Kemp, Wagstaffe, Bobby Little, and Angus M'Lachlan. The +latter had been included in the party because, to quote his Commanding +Officer, "he would have burst into tears if he had been left out." + +Overhead roared British shells of every kind and degree of +unpleasantness, for the ground in front was being "prepared" for the +coming assault. The undulating landscape, running up to a low ridge +on the skyline four miles away, was spouting smoke in all +directions--sometimes black, sometimes green, and sometimes, where +bursting shell and brick-dust intermingled, blood-red. Beyond the +ridge all-conquering British aeroplanes occupied the firmament, +observing for "mother" and "granny" and signalling encouragement or +reproof to these ponderous but sprightly relatives as their shells hit +or missed the target. + +"Yes, sir," replied Leslie to Colonel Kemp's question, "that is +Longueval, on the slope opposite, with the road running through on the +way to Flers, over the skyline. That is Delville Wood on its right. As +you see, the guns are concentrating on both places. That is Waterlot +Farm, on this side of the wood--a sugar refinery. Regular nest of +machine-guns there, I'm told." + +"No doubt we shall be able to confirm the rumour to-morrow," said +Colonel Kemp drily. "That is Bernafay Wood on our right, I suppose?" + +"Yes, sir. We hold the whole of that. The pear-shaped wood out beyond +it--it looks as if it were joined on, but the two are quite separate +really--is Trones Wood. It has changed hands several times. Just at +present I don't think we hold more than the near end. Further away, +half-right, you can see Guillemont." + +"In that case," remarked Wagstaffe, "our right flank would appear to +be strongly supported by the enemy." + +"Yes. We are in a sort of right-angled salient here. We have the enemy +on our front and our right. In fact, we form the extreme right of the +attacking front. Our left is perfectly secure, as we now hold Mametz +Wood and Contalmaison. There they are." He waved his glass to the +northwest. "When the attack takes place, I understand that our Division +will go straight ahead, for Longueval and Delville Wood, while the next +Division makes a lateral thrust out to the right, to push the Boche out +of Trones Wood and cover our flank." + +"I believe that is so," said the Colonel. "Bobby, take a good look +at the approaches to Longueval. That is the scene of to-morrow's +constitutional." + +Bobby and Angus obediently scanned the village through their glasses. +Probably they did not learn much. One bombarded French village is +very like another bombarded French village. A cowering assemblage +of battered little houses; a pitiful little main street, with its +eviscerated shops and _estaminets_; a shattered church-spire. Beyond +that, an enclosure of splintered stumps that was once an orchard. +Below all, cellars, reinforced with props and sandbags, and filled +with machine-guns. _Voilà tout_! + +Presently the Gunner Captain passed word down to the telephone +operator to order the battery to cease fire. + +"Knocking off?" inquired Wagstaffe. + +"For the present, yes. We are only registering this morning. Not all +our batteries are going at once, either. We don't want Brother Boche +to know our strength until we tune up for the final chorus. We +calculate that--" + +"There is a comfortable sense of decency and order about the way we +fight nowadays," said Colonel Kemp. "It is like working out a problem +in electrical resistance by a nice convenient algebraical formula. +Very different from the state of things last year, when we stuck it +out by employing rule of thumb and hanging on by our eyebrows." + +"The only problem we can't quite formulate is the machine-gun," said +Leslie. The Boche's dug-outs here are thirty feet deep. When +crumped by our artillery he withdraws his infantry and leaves his +machine-gunners behind, safe underground. Then, when our guns lift +and the attack comes over, his machine-gunners appear on the surface, +hoist their guns after them with a sort of tackle arrangement, and get +to work on a prearranged band of fire. The infantry can't do them in +until No Man's Land is crossed, and--well, they don't all get across, +that's all! However, _I have_ heard rumours--" + +"So have we all," said Colonel Kemp. + +"I forgot to tell you, Colonel," interposed Wagstaffe, "that I met +young Osborne at Divisional Headquarters last night. You remember, he +left us some time ago to join the Hush! Hush! Brigade." + +"I remember," said the Colonel. + +By this time the party, including the Gunner Captain, were filing +along a communication trench, lately the property of some German +gentlemen, on their way back to headquarters. + +"Did he tell you anything, Wagstaffe?" continued Colonel Kemp. + +"Not much. Apparently the time of the H.H.B. is not yet. But he made +an appointment with me for this evening--in the gloaming, so to speak. +He is sending a car. If all he says is true, the Boche _Emma Gee_ is +booked for an eye-opener in a few weeks' time." + + +II + +That evening a select party of sight-seers were driven to a secluded +spot behind the battle line. Here they were met by Master Osborne, +obviously inflated with some important matter. + +"I've got leave from my C.O. to show you the sights, sir," he +announced to Colonel Kemp. "If you will all stand here and watch that +wood on the opposite side of this clearing, you may see something. +We don't show ourselves much except in late evening, so this is our +parade hour." + +The little group took up its appointed stand and waited in the +gathering dusk. In the east the sky was already twinkling with +intermittent Verey lights. All around the British guns were thundering +forth their hymns of hate--full-throated now, for the hour for the +next great assault was approaching. + +Wagstaffe's thoughts went back to a certain soft September night +last year, when he and Blaikie had stood on the eastern outskirts of +Béthune listening to a similar overture--the prelude to the Battle of +Loos. But this overture was ten times more awful, and, from a material +British point of view, ten times more inspiring. It would have +thrilled old Blaikie's fighting spirit, thought Wagstaffe. But Loos +had taken his friend from him, and he, Wagstaffe, only was left. What +did fate hold in store for him to-morrow? he wondered. And Bobby? They +had both escaped marvellously so far. Well, better men had gone before +them. Perhaps-- + +Fingers of steel bit into his biceps muscle, and the excited whinny of +Angus M'Lachlan besought him to look! + +_Down in the forest something stirred_. But it was not the note of a +bird, as the song would have us believe. From the depths of the wood +opposite came a crackling, crunching sound, as of some prehistoric +beast forcing its way through tropical undergrowth. And then, +suddenly, out from the thinning edge there loomed a monster--a +monstrosity. It did not glide, it did not walk. It wallowed. It +lurched, with now and then a laborious heave of its shoulders. It +fumbled its way over a low bank matted with scrub. It crossed a ditch, +by the simple expedient of rolling the ditch out flat, and waddled +forward. In its path stood a young tree. The monster arrived at the +tree and laid its chin lovingly against the stem. The tree leaned +back, crackled, and assumed a horizontal position. In the middle of +the clearing, twenty yards farther on, gaped an enormous shell-crater, +a present from the Kaiser. Into this the creature plunged blindly, to +emerge, panting and puffing, on the farther side. Then it stopped. A +magic opening appeared in its stomach, from which emerged, grinning, a +British subaltern and his grimy associates. + +And that was our friends' first encounter with a "Tank." The +secret--unlike most secrets in this publicity-ridden war--had been +faithfully kept; so far the Hush! Hush! Brigade had been little more +than a legend even to the men high up. Certainly the omniscient +Hun received the surprise of his life when, in the early mist of a +September morning some weeks later, a line of these selfsame tanks +burst for the first time upon his incredulous vision, waddling +grotesquely up the hill to the ridge which had defied the British +infantry so long and so bloodily--there to squat complacently down on +the top of the enemy's machine-guns, or spout destruction from her +own up and down beautiful trenches which had never been intended for +capture. In fact, Brother Boche was quite plaintive about the matter. +He described the employment of such engines as wicked and brutal, +and opposed to the recognised usages of warfare. When one of these +low-comedy vehicles (named the _Crême-de-Menthe_) ambled down the main +street of the hitherto impregnable village of Flers, with hysterical +British Tommies slapping her on the back, he appealed to the civilised +world to step in and forbid the combination of vulgarism and +barbarity. + +"Let us at least fight like gentlemen," said the Hun, with simple +dignity. "Let us stick to legitimate military devices--the murder of +women and children, and the emission of chlorine gas. But Tanks--no! +One must draw the line somewhere!" + +But the ill-bred _Crême-de-Menthe_ took no notice. None whatever. She +simply went waddling on--towards Berlin. + +"An experiment, of course," commented Colonel Kemp, as they returned +to headquarters--"a fantastic experiment. But I wish they were ready +now. I would give something to see one of them leading the way into +action to-morrow. It might mean saving the lives of a good many of my +boys." + + + + +XI + +THE LAST SOLO + + +It was dawn on Saturday morning, and the second phase of the Battle +of the Somme was more than twenty-four hours old. The programme had +opened with a night attack, always the most difficult and uncertain of +enterprises, especially for soldiers who were civilians less than two +years ago. But no undertaking is too audacious for men in whose veins +the wine of success is beginning to throb. And this undertaking, this +hazardous gamble, had succeeded all along the line. During the past +day and night, more than three miles of the German second system of +defences, from Bazentin le Petit to the edge of Delville Wood, had +received their new tenants; and already long streams of not altogether +reluctant Hun prisoners were being escorted to the rear by perspiring +but cheerful gentlemen with fixed bayonets. + +Meanwhile--in case such of the late occupants of the line as were +still at large should take a fancy to revisit their previous haunts, +working-parties of infantry, pioneers, and sappers were toiling at +full pressure to reverse the parapets, run out barbed wire, and bestow +machine-guns in such a manner as to produce a continuous lattice-work +of fire along the front of the captured position. + +All through the night the work had continued. As a result, positions +were now tolerably secure, the intrepid "Buzzers" had included +the newly grafted territory in the nervous system of the British +Expeditionary Force, and Battalion Headquarters and Supply Dépôts had +moved up to their new positions. + +To Colonel Kemp and his Adjutant Cockerell, ensconced in a dug-out +thirty feet deep, furnished with a real bed, electric-light fittings, +and ornaments obviously made in Germany, entered Major Wagstaffe, +encrusted with mud, but as imperturbable as ever. He saluted. + +"Good-morning, sir. You seem to have struck a cushie little home +time." + +"Yes. The Boche officer harbours no false modesty about acknowledging +his desire for creature comforts. That is where he scores off people +like you and me, who pretend we like sleeping in mud. Have you been +round the advanced positions?" + +"Yes. There is some pretty hard fighting going on in the village +itself--the Boche still holds the north-west corner--and in the wood +on the right. 'A' Company are holding a line of broken-down cottages +on our right front, but they can't make any further move until they +get more bombs. The Boche is occupying various buildings opposite, but +in no great strength at present. However, he seems to have plenty of +machine-guns." + +"I have sent up more bombs," said the Colonel. "What about 'B' +Company?" + +"'B' have reached their objective, and consolidated. 'C' and 'D' are +lying close up, ready to go forward in support when required. I think +'A' could do with a little assistance." + +"I don't want to send up 'C' and 'D'," replied the Colonel, "until the +Divisional Reserve arrives. The Brigade has just telephoned through +that reinforcements are on the way. When they get here, we can afford +to stuff in the whole battalion. Are 'A' Company capable of handling +the situation at present?" + +"Yes, I think so. Little is directing his platoons from a convenient +cellar. He was in touch with them all when I left. But it is possible +that the Boche may make a rush when it grows a bit lighter. At +present he is too demoralised to attempt anything beyond intermittent +machine-gun fire." + +Colonel Kemp turned to Cockerell. + +"Get Captain Little on the telephone," he said, "and tell him, if the +enemy displays any disposition to counter-attack, to let me know at +once." Then he turned to Wagstaffe, and asked the question which +always lurks furtively on the tongue of a commanding officer. + +"Many--casualties?" + +"'A' Company have caught it rather badly crossing the open. 'B' got +off lightly. Glen is commanding them now: Waddell was killed leading +his men in the rush to the final objective." + +Colonel Kemp sighed. + +"Another good boy gone--veteran, rather. I must write to his wife. +Fairly newly married, I fancy?" + +"Four months," said Wagstaffe briefly. + +"What was his Christian name, do you know?" + +"Walter, I think, sir," said Cockerell. + +Colonel Kemp, amid the stress of battle, found time to enter a note in +his pocket-diary to that effect. + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile, up in the line, 'A' Company were holding on grimly to what +are usually described as "certain advanced elements" of the village. + +Village fighting is a confused and untidy business, but it possesses +certain redeeming features. The combatants are usually so inextricably +mixed up that the artillery are compelled to refrain from +participation. That comes later, when you have cleared the village of +the enemy, and his guns are preparing the ground for the inevitable +counter-attack. + +So far 'A' Company had done nobly. From the moment when they had lined +up before Montauban in the gross darkness preceding yesterday's dawn +until the moment when Bobby Little led them in one victorious rush +into the outskirts of the village, they had never encountered a +setback. By sunset they had penetrated some way farther; now creeping +stealthily forward under the shelter of a broken wall to hurl bombs +into the windows of an occupied cottage; now climbing precariously to +some commanding position in order to open fire with a Lewis gun; now +making a sudden dash across an open space. Such work offered peculiar +opportunities to small and well-handled parties--opportunities of +which Bobby Little's veterans availed themselves right readily. + +Angus M'Lachlan, for instance, accompanied by a small following +of seasoned experts, had twice rounded up parties of the enemy in +cellars, and had despatched the same back to Headquarters with his +compliments and a promise of more. Mucklewame and four men had bombed +their way along a communication trench leading to one of the side +streets of the village--a likely avenue for a counter-attack--and +having reached the end of the trench, had built up a sandbag +barricade, and had held the same against the assaults of hostile +bombers until a Vickers machine-gun had arrived in charge of an +energetic subaltern of that youthful but thriving organisation, the +Suicide Club, or Machine-Gun Corps, and closed the street to further +Teutonic traffic. + +During the night there had been periods of quiescence, devoted to +consolidation, and here and there to snatches of uneasy slumber. Angus +M'Lachlan, fairly in his element, had trailed his enormous length in +and out of the back-yards and brick-heaps of the village, visiting +every point in his irregular line, testing defences; bestowing +praise; and ensuring that every man had his share of food and rest. +Unutterably grimy but inexpressibly cheerful, he reported progress to +Major Wagstaffe when that nocturnal rambler visited him in the small +hours. + +"Well, Angus, how goes it?" inquired Wagstaffe. + +"We have won the match, sir," replied Angus with simple seriousness. +"We are just playing the bye now!" + +And with that he crawled away, with the unnecessary stealth of a +small boy playing robbers, to encourage his dour paladins to further +efforts. + +"We shall probably be relieved this evening," he explained to them, +"and we must make everything secure. It would never do to leave +our new positions untenable by other troops. They might not be so +reliable"--with a paternal smile--"as you! Now, our right flank is not +safe yet. We can improve the position very much if we can secure that +_estaminet_, standing up like an island among those ruined houses on +our right front. You see the sign, _Aux Bons Fermiers_, over the door. +The trouble is that a German machine-gun is sweeping the intervening +space--and we cannot see the gun! There it goes again. See the +brick-dust fly! Keep down! They are firing mainly across our front, +but a stray bullet may come this way." + +The platoon crouched low behind their improvised rampart of brick +rubble, while machine-gun bullets swept low, with misleading +_claquement_, along the space in front of them, from some hidden +position on their right. Presently the firing stopped. Brother Boche +was merely "loosing off a belt," as a precautionary measure, at +commendably regular intervals. + +"I cannot locate that gun," said Angus impatiently. "Can you, Corporal +M'Snape?" + +"It is not in the estamint itself, sirr," replied M'Snape. ("Estamint" +is as near as our rank and file ever get to _estaminet_.) "It seems to +be mounted some place higher up the street. I doubt they cannot see us +themselves--only the ground in front of us." + +"If we could reach the _estaminet_ itself," said Angus thoughtfully, +"we could get a more extended view. Sergeant Mucklewame, select ten +men, including three bombers, and follow me. I am going to find a +jumping-off place. The Lewis gun too." + +Presently the little party were crouching round their officer in a +sheltered position on the right of the line--which for the moment +appeared to be "in the air." Except for the intermittent streams of +machine-gun fire, and an occasional shrapnel-burst overhead, all was +quiet. The enemy's counter-attack was not yet ready. + +"Now listen carefully," said Angus, who had just finished scribbling +a despatch. "First of all, you, Bogle, take this message to the +telephone, and get it sent to Company Headquarters. Now you others. +We will wait till that machine-gun has fired another belt. Then, the +moment it has finished, while they are getting out the next belt, I +will dash across to the _estaminet_ over there. M'Snape, you will come +with me, but no one else--yet. If the _estaminet_ seems capable of +being held, I will signal to you, Sergeant Mucklewame, and you will +send your party across, in driblets, not forgetting the Lewis gun. By +that time I may have located the German machine-gun, so we should be +able to knock it out with the Lewis." + +Further speech was cut short by a punctual fantasia from the gun +in question. Angus and M'Snape crouched behind the shattered wall, +awaiting their chance. The firing ceased. + +"_Now!_" whispered Angus. + +Next moment officer and corporal were flying across the open, and +before the mechanical Boche gunner could jerk the new belt into +position, both had found sanctuary within the open doorway of the +half-ruined _estaminet_. + +Nay, more than both; for as the panting pair flung themselves into +shelter, a third figure, short and stout, in an ill-fitting kilt, +tumbled heavily through the doorway after them. Simultaneously a +stream of machine-gun bullets went storming past. + +"Just in time!" observed Angus, well pleased. "Bogle, what are you +doing here?" + +"I was given tae unnerstand, sirr," replied Mr. Bogle calmly, "when I +jined the regiment, that in action an officer's servant stands by his +officer." + +"That is true," conceded Angus; "but you had no right to follow me +against orders. Did you not hear me say that no one but Corporal +M'Snape was to come?" + +"No, sirr. I doubt I was away at the 'phone." + +"Well, now you are here, wait inside this doorway, where you can see +Sergeant Mucklewame's party, and look out for signals. M'Snape, let us +find that machine-gun." + +The pair made their way to the hitherto blind side of the building, +and cautiously peeped through a much-perforated shutter in the +living-room. + +"Do you see it, sirr?" inquired M'Snape eagerly. + +Angus chuckled. + +"See it? Fine! It is right in the open, in the middle of the street. +Look!" + +He relinquished his peep-hole. The German machine-gun was mounted +in the street itself, behind an improvised barrier of bricks and +sandbags. It was less than a hundred yards away, sited in a position +which, though screened from the view of Angus's platoon farther down, +enabled it to sweep all the ground in front of the position. This it +was now doing with great intensity, for the brief public appearance +of Angus and M'Snape had effectually converted intermittent into +continuous fire. + +"We must get the Lewis gun over at once," muttered Angus. "It can +knock that breastwork to pieces." + +He crossed the house again, to see if any of Mucklewame's men had +arrived. + +They had not. The man with the Lewis gun was lying dead halfway across +the street, with his precious weapon on the ground beside him. Two +other men, both wounded, were crawling back whence they came, taking +what cover they could from the storm of bullets which whizzed a few +inches over their flinching bodies. + +Angus hastily semaphored to Mucklewame to hold his men in check for +the present. Then he returned to the other side of the house. + +"How many men are serving that gun?" he said to M'Snape. "Can you +see?" + +"Only two, sirr, I think. I cannot see them, but that wee breastwork +will not cover more than a couple of men." + +"Mphm," observed Angus thoughtfully. "I expect they have been left +behind to hold on. Have you a bomb about you?" + +The admirable M'Snape produced from his pocket a Mills grenade, and +handed it to his superior. + +"Just the one, sirr," he said. + +"Go you," commanded Angus, his voice rising to a more than usually +Highland inflection, "and semaphore to Mucklewame that when he hears +the explosion of _this_"--he pulled out the safety-pin of the grenade +and gripped the grenade itself in his enormous paw--"followed, +probably, by the temporary cessation of the machine-gun, he is to +bring his men over here in a bunch, as hard as they can pelt. Put it +as briefly as you can, but make sure he understands. He has a good +signaller with him. Send Bogle to report when you have finished. Now +repeat what I have said to you.... That's right. Carry on!" + +M'Snape was gone. Angus, left alone, pensively restored the safety-pin +to the grenade, and laid the grenade upon the ground beside him. Then +he proceeded to write a brief letter in his field message-book. This +he placed in an envelope which he took from his breast pocket. The +envelope was already addressed--to the _Reverend Neil M'Lachlan, The +Manse_, in a very remote Highland village. (Angus had no mother.) He +closed the envelope, initialled it, and buttoned it up in his breast +pocket again. After that he took up his grenade and proceeded to make +a further examination of the premises. Presently he found what he +wanted; and by the time Bogle arrived to announce that Sergeant +Mucklewame had signalled "message understood," his arrangements were +complete. + +"Stay by this small hole in the wall, Bogle," he said, "and the moment +the Lewis gun arrives tell them to mount it here and open fire on the +enemy gun." + +He left the room, leaving Bogle alone, to listen to the melancholy +rustle of peeling wall-paper within and the steady crackling of +bullets without. But when, peering through the improvised loophole, he +next caught sight of his officer, Angus had emerged from the house by +the cellar window, and was creeping with infinite caution behind the +shelter of what had once been the wall of the _estaminet's_ back-yard +(but was now an uneven bank of bricks, averaging two feet high), in +the direction of the German machine-gun. The gun, oblivious of the +danger now threatening its right front, continued to fire steadily and +hopefully down the street. + +Slowly, painfully, Angus crawled on, until he found himself within the +right angle formed by the corner of the yard. He could go no further +without being seen. Between him and the German gun lay the cobbled +surface of the street, offering no cover whatsoever except one mighty +shell-crater, situated midway between Angus and the gun, and full to +the brim with rainwater. + +A single peep over the wall gave him his bearings. The gun was too far +away to be reached by a grenade, even when thrown by Angus M'Lachlan. +Still, it would create a diversion. It was a time bomb. He would-- + +He stretched out his long arm to its full extent behind him, gave +one mighty overarm sweep, and with all the crackling strength of his +mighty sinews, hurled the grenade. + +It fell into the exact centre of the flooded shell-crater. + +Angus said something under his breath which would have shocked a +disciple of Kultur. Fortunately the two German gunners did not hear +him. But they observed the splash fifty yards away, and it relieved +them from _ennui_, for they were growing tired of firing at nothing. +They had not seen the grenade thrown, and were a little puzzled as to +the cause of the phenomenon. + +Four seconds later their curiosity was more than satisfied. With a +muffled roar, the shell-hole suddenly, spouted its liquid contents and +other _débris_ straight to the heavens, startling them considerably +and entirely obscuring their vision. + +A moment later, with an exultant yell, Angus M'Lachlan was upon them. +He sprang into their vision out of the descending cascade--a towering, +terrible, kilted figure, bare-headed and Berserk mad. He was barely +forty yards away. + +Initiative is not the _forte_ of the Teuton. Number One of the German +gun mechanically traversed his weapon four degrees to the right and +continued to press the thumb-piece. Mud and splinters of brick sprang +up round Angus's feet; but still he came on. He was not twenty yards +away now. The gunner, beginning to boggle between waiting and bolting, +fumbled at his elevating gear, but Angus was right on him before +his thumbs got back to work. Then indeed the gun spoke out with no +uncertain voice, for perhaps two seconds. After that it ceased fire +altogether. + +Almost simultaneously there came a triumphant roar lower down the +street, as Mucklewame and his followers dashed obliquely across into +the _estaminet_. Mucklewame himself was carrying the derelict Lewis +gun. In the doorway stood the watchful M'Snape. + +"This way, quick!" he shouted. "We have the Gairman gun spotted, and +the officer is needing the Lewis!" + +But M'Snape was wrong. The Lewis was not required. + + +A few moments later, in the face of brisk sniping from the houses +higher up the street, James Bogle, officer's servant,--a member of +that despised class which, according to the _Bandar-log_ at home, +spend the whole of its time pressing its master's trousers and smoking +his cigarettes somewhere back in billets,--led out a stretcher party +to the German gun. Number One had been killed by a shot from Angus's +revolver. Number Two had adopted Hindenburg tactics, and was no more +to be seen. Angus himself was lying, stone dead, a yard from the +muzzle of the gun which he, single-handed, had put out of action. + +His men carried him back to the _Estaminet aux Bons Fermiers_, with +the German gun, which was afterwards employed to good purpose during +the desperate days of attacking and counter-attacking which ensued +before the village was finally secured. They laid him in the +inner room, and proceeded to put the _estaminet_ in a state of +defence--ready to hold the same against all comers until such time +as the relieving Division should take over, and they themselves be +enabled, under the kindly cloak of darkness, to carry back their +beloved officer to a more worthy resting-place. + +In the left-hand breast pocket of Angus's tunic they found his last +letter to his father. Two German machine-gun bullets had passed +through it. It was forwarded with a covering letter, by Colonel Kemp. +In the letter Angus's commanding officer informed Neil M'Lachlan that +his son had been recommended posthumously for the highest honour that +the King bestows upon his soldiers. + + * * * * * + +But for the moment Mucklewame's little band had other work to occupy +them. Shelling had recommenced; the enemy were mustering in force +behind the village; and presently a series of counter-attacks were +launched. They were successfully repelled, in the first instance by +the remainder of "A" Company, led in person by Bobby Little, and, +when the final struggle came, by the Battalion Reserve under Major +Wagstaffe. And throughout the whole grim struggle which ensued, the +_Estaminet aux Bons Fermiers_, tenanted by some of our oldest friends, +proved itself the head and corner of the successful defence. + + + + +XII + +RECESSIONAL + + +I + +Two steamers lie at opposite sides of the dock. One is painted a most +austere and unobtrusive grey; she is obviously a vessel with no +desire to advertise her presence on the high seas. In other words, a +transport. The other is dazzling white, ornamented with a good deal +of green, supplemented by red. She makes an attractive picture in the +early morning sun. Even by night you could not miss her, for she +goes about her business with her entire hull outlined in red lights, +regatta fashion, with a great luminous Red Cross blazing on either +counter. Not even the Commander of a U-boat could mistake her for +anything but what she is--a hospital ship. + +First, let us walk round to where the grey ship is discharging her +cargo. The said cargo consists of about a thousand unwounded German +prisoners. + +With every desire to be generous to a fallen foe, it is quite +impossible to describe them as a prepossessing lot. Not one man walks +like a soldier; they shamble. Naturally, they are dirty and unshaven. +So are the wounded men on the white ship: but their outstanding +characteristic is an invincible humanity. Beneath the mud and blood +they are men--white men. But this strange throng are grey--like their +ship. With their shifty eyes and curiously shaped heads, they look +like nothing human. They move like overdriven beasts. We realise now +why it is that the German Army has to attack in mass. + +They pass down the gangway, and are shepherded into form in the dock +shed by the Embarkation Staff, with exactly the same silent briskness +that characterises the R.A.M.C., over the way. Their guard, with fixed +bayonets, exhibit no more or no less concern over them than over +half-a-dozen Monday morning malefactors paraded for Orderly Room. +Presently they will move off, possibly through the streets of the +town; probably they will pass by folk against whose kith and kin they +have employed every dirty trick possible in warfare. But there will +be no demonstration: there never has been. As a nation we possess a +certain number of faults, on which we like to dwell. But we have one +virtue at least--we possess a certain sense of proportion; and we are +not disposed to make subordinates suffer because we cannot, as yet, +get at the principals. + +They make a good haul. Fifteen German regiments are here +represented--possibly more, for some have torn off their +shoulder-straps to avoid identification. Some of the units are thinly +represented; others more generously. One famous Prussian regiment +appears to have thrown its hand in to the extent of about five +hundred. + +Still, as they stand there, filthy, forlorn, and dazed, one suddenly +realises the extreme appropriateness of a certain reference in the +Litany to All Prisoners and Captives. + + +II + +We turn to the hospital ship. + +Two great 'brows,' or covered gangways, connect her with her native +land. Down these the stretchers are beginning to pass, having been +raised from below decks by cunning mechanical devices which cause no +jar; and are being conveyed into the cool shade of the dock-shed. Here +they are laid in neat rows upon the platform, ready for transfer to +the waiting hospital train. Everything is a miracle of quietness and +order. The curious public are afar off, held aloof by dock-gates. +(They are there in force to-day, partly to cheer the hospital trains +as they pass out, partly for reasons connected with the grey-painted +ship.) In the dock-shed, organisation and method reign supreme. The +work has been going on without intermission for several days and +nights; and still the great ships come. The Austurias is outside, +waiting for a place at the dock. The Lanfranc is half-way across the +English Channel; and there are rumours that the mighty Britannic[1] +has selected this, the busiest moment in the opening fortnight of the +Somme Battle, to arrive with a miscellaneous and irrelevant cargo of +sick and wounded from the Mediterranean. But there is no fuss. The +R.A.M.C. Staff Officers, unruffled and cheery, control everything, +apparently by a crook of the finger. The stretcher-bearers do their +work with silent aplomb. + +[Footnote 1: These three hospital ships were all subsequently sunk by +German submarines.] + +The occupants of the stretchers possess the almost universal feature +of a six days' beard--always excepting those who are of an age which +is not troubled by such manly accretions. They lie very still--not +with the stillness of exhaustion or dejection, but with the +comfortable resignation of men who have made good and have suffered in +the process; but who now, with their troubles well behind them, are +enduring present discomfort under the sustaining prospect of clean +beds, chicken diet, and ultimate tea-parties. Such as possess them are +wearing Woodbine stumps upon the lower lip. + +They are quite ready to compare notes. Let us approach, and listen, to +a heavily bandaged gentleman who--so the label attached to him informs +us--is Private Blank, of the Manchesters, suffering from three "G.S." +machine-gun bullet wounds. + +"Did the Fritzes run? Yes--they run all right! The last lot saved +us trouble by running towards us--with their 'ands up! But their +machine-guns--they gave us fair 'Amlet till we got across No Man's +Land. After that we used the baynit, and they didn't give us no more +vexatiousness. Where did we go in? Oh, near Albert. Our objective was +Mary's Court, or some such place." (It is evident that the Battle +of the Somme is going to add some fresh household words to our +war vocabulary. 'Wipers' is a veteran by this time: 'Plugstreet,' +'Booloo,' and 'Armintears' are old friends. We must now make room +for 'Monty Ban,' 'La Bustle,' 'Mucky Farm,' 'Lousy Wood,' and +'Martinpush.') + +"What were your prisoners like?" + +"'Alf clemmed," said the man from Manchester. + +"No rations for three days," explained a Northumberland Fusilier close +by. One of his arms was strapped to his side, but the other still +clasped to his bosom a German helmet. A British Tommy will cheerfully +shed a limb or two in the execution of his duty, but not all the +might and majesty of the Royal Army Medical Corps can force him to +relinquish a fairly earned 'souvenir.' In fact, owing to certain +unworthy suspicions as to the true significance of the initials, +"R.A.M.C.," he has been known to refuse chloroform. + +"They couldn't get nothing up to them for four days, on account of our +artillery fire," he added contentedly. + +"'Barrage,' my lad!" amended a rather superior person with a +lance-corporal's stripe and a bandaged foot. + +Indeed, all are unanimous in affirming that our artillery preparation +was a tremendous affair. Listen to this group of officers sunning +themselves upon the upper deck. They are 'walking cases,' and must +remain on board, with what patience they may, until all the'stretcher +cases' have been evacuated. + +"Loos was child's play to it," says one--a member of a certain +immortal, or at least irrepressible Division which has taken part in +every outburst of international unpleasantness since the Marne. "The +final hour was absolute pandemonium. And when our new trench-mortar +batteries got to work too,--at sixteen to the dozen,--well, it was bad +enough for _us_; but what it must have been like at the business end +of things, Lord knows! For a few minutes I was almost a pro-Boche!" + +Other items of intelligence are gleaned. The weather was 'rotten': +mud-caked garments corroborate this statement. The wire, on the whole, +was well and truly cut to pieces everywhere; though there were spots +at which the enemy contrived to repair it. Finally, ninety per cent. +of the casualties during the assault were due to machine-gun fire. + +But the fact most clearly elicited by casual conversation is +this--that the more closely you engage in a battle, the less you know +about its progress. This ship is full of officers and men who were in +the thick of things for perhaps forty-eight hours on end, but who are +quite likely to be utterly ignorant of what was going on round the +next traverse in the trench which they had occupied. The wounded +Gunners are able to give them a good deal of information. One F.O.O. +saw the French advance. + +"It was wonderful to see them go in," he said. "Our Batteries were on +the extreme right of the British line, so we were actually touching +the French left flank. I had met hundreds of _poilus_ back in billets, +in _cafés_, and the like. To look at them strolling down a village +street in their baggy uniforms, with their hands in their pockets, +laughing and chatting to the children, you would never have thought +they were such tigers. I remember one big fellow a few weeks ago, home +on leave--_permission_--who used to frisk about with a big umbrella +under his arm! I suppose that was to keep the rain off his tin hat. +But when they went for Maricourt the other day, there weren't many +umbrellas about--only bayonets! I tell you, they were marvels!" + +It would be interesting to hear the _poilu_ on his Allies. + +The first train moves off, and another takes its place. The long lines +of stretchers are thinning out now. There are perhaps a hundred left. +They contain men of all units--English, Scottish, and Irish. There are +Gunners, Sappers, and Infantry. Here and there among them you may note +bloodstained men in dirty grey uniforms--men with dull, expressionless +faces and closely cropped heads. They are tended with exactly the +same care as the others. Where wounded men are concerned, the British +Medical Service is strictly neutral. + +A wounded Corporal of the R.A.M.C. turns his head and gazes +thoughtfully at one of those grey men. + +"You understand English, Fritz?" he enquires. + +Apparently not. Fritz continues to stare woodenly at the roof of the +dock-shed. + +"I should like to tell 'im a story, Jock," says the Corporal to his +other neighbour. "My job is on a hospital train. 'Alf-a-dozen 'Un +aeroplanes made a raid behind our lines; and seeing a beautiful Red +Cross train--it was a new London and North Western train, chocolate +and white, with red crosses as plain as could be--well, they simply +couldn't resist such a target as that! One of their machines swooped +low down and dropped his bombs on us. Luckily he only got the rear +coach; but I happened to be in it! D' yer 'ear that, Fritz?" + +"I doot he canna unnerstand onything," remarked the Highlander. "He's +fair demoralised, like the rest. D' ye ken what happened tae me? I was +gaun' back wounded, with _this_--" he indicates an arm strapped +close to his side--"and there was six Fritzes came crawlin' oot o' +a dug-oot, and gave themselves up tae me--_me_, that was gaun' back +wounded, withoot so much as my jack-knife! Demorralised--that's it!" + +"Did you 'ear," enquired a Cockney who came next in the line, "that +all wounded are going to 'ave a nice little gold stripe to wear--a +stripe for every wound?" + +There was much interest at this. + +"That'll be fine," observed a man of Kent, who had been out since +Mons, and been wounded three times. "Folks'll know now that I'm not a +Derby recruit." + +"Where will us wear it?" enquired a gigantic Yorkshireman, from the +next stretcher. + +"Wherever you was 'it, lad!" replied the Cockney humourist. + +"At that rate," comes the rueful reply, "I shall 'ave to stand oop to +show mine!" + + +III + +But now R.A.M.C. orderlies are at hand, and the symposium comes to an +end. The stretchers are conveyed one by one into the long open coaches +of the train, and each patient is slipped sideways, with gentleness +and dispatch, into his appointed cot. + +One saloon is entirely filled with officers--the severe cases in the +cots, the rest sitting where they can. A newspaper is passed round. +There are delighted exclamations, especially from a second lieutenant +whose features appear to be held together entirely by strips of +plaster. Such parts of the countenance as can be discerned are smiling +broadly. + +"I _knew_ we were doing well," says the bandaged one, devouring the +headlines; "but I never knew we were doing as well as this. Official, +too! Somme Battle--what? Sorry! I apologise!" as a groan ran round the +saloon. + +"Never mind," said an unshaven officer, with a twinkling eye, and a +major's tunic wrapped loosely around him. "I expect that jest will +be overworked by more people than you for the next few weeks. Does +anybody happen to know where this train is going to?" + +"West of England, somewhere, I believe," replied a voice. + +There was an indignant groan from various north countrymen. + +"I suppose it is quite impossible to sort us all out at a time like +this," remarked a plaintive Caledonian in an upper cot; "but I fail +to see why the R.A.M.C. authorities should go through the mockery of +_asking_ every man in the train where he wants to be taken, when the +train can obviously only go to one place--or perhaps two. I was asked. +I said 'Edinburgh'; and the medical wallah said, 'Righto! We'll send +you to Bath!'" + +"I think I can explain," remarked the wounded major. "These trains +usually go to two places--one half to Bath, the other, say, to Exeter. +Bath is nearer to Edinburgh than Exeter, so they send you there. It is +kindly meant, but--" + +"I say," croaked a voice from another cot,--its owner was a young +officer who must just have escaped being left behind at a Base +hospital as too dangerously wounded to move,--"is that a newspaper +down there? Would some one have a look, and tell me if we have got +Longueval all right? Longueval? Long--I got pipped, and don't quite--" + +The wounded major turned his head quickly. + +"Hallo, Bobby!" he observed cheerfully. "That you? I didn't notice you +before." + +Bobby Little's hot eyes turned slowly on Wagstaffe, and he exclaimed +feverishly:-- + +"Hallo, Major! Cheeroh! Did we stick to Longueval all right? I've been +dreaming about it a bit, and--" + +"We did," replied Wagstaffe--"thanks to 'A' Company." + +Bobby Little's head fell back on the pillow, and he remarked +contentedly:-- + +"Thanks awfully. I think I can sleep a bit now. So long! See you +later!" + +His eyes closed, and he sighed happily, as the long train slid out +from the platform. + + + + +XIII + +"TWO OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN THE WARS" + + +The smoking-room of the Britannia Club used to be exactly like the +smoking-room of every other London Club. That is to say, members +lounged about in deep chairs, and talked shop, or scandal--or +slumbered. At any moment you might touch a convenient bell, and a +waiter would appear at your elbow, like a jinnee from a jar, and +accept an order with silent deference. You could do this all day, and +the jinnee never failed to hear and obey. + +That was before the war. Now, those idyllic days are gone. So is the +waiter. So is the efficacy of the bell. You may ring, but all that +will materialise is a self-righteous little girl, in brass buttons, +who will shake her head reprovingly and refer you to certain passages +in the Defence of the Realm Act. + +Towards the hour of six-thirty, however, something of the old spirit +of Liberty asserts itself. A throng of members--chiefly elderly +gentlemen in expanded uniforms--assembles in the smoking-room, +occupying all the chairs, and even overflowing on to the tables and +window-sills. They are not the discursive, argumentative gathering +of three years ago. They sit silent, restless, glancing furtively at +their wrist-watches. + +The clocks of London strike half-past six. Simultaneously the door of +the smoking-room is thrown open, and a buxom young woman in cap and +apron bounces in. She smiles maternally upon her fainting flock, and +announces:-- + +"The half-hour's gone. Now you can _all_ have a drink!" + +What would have happened if the waiter of old had done this thing, it +is difficult to imagine. But the elderly gentlemen greet their Hebe +with a chorus of welcome, and clamour for precedence like children at +a school-feast. And yet trusting wives believe that in his club, at +least, a man is safe! + +Major Wagstaffe, D.S.O., having been absent from London upon urgent +public affairs for nearly three years, was not well versed in the +newest refinements of club life. He had arrived that morning from his +Convalescent Home in the west country, and had already experienced a +severe reverse at the hands of the small girl with brass buttons on +venturing to order a sherry and bitters at 11.45 A.M. Consequently, at +the statutory hour, his voice was not uplifted with the rest; and he +was served last. Not least, however; for Hebe, observing his empty +sleeve, poured out his soda-water with her own fair hands, and offered +to light his cigarette. + +This scene of dalliance was interrupted by the arrival of Captain +Bobby Little. He wore the ribbon of the Military Cross and walked with +a stick--a not unusual combination in these great days. Wagstaffe made +room for him upon the leather sofa, and Hebe supplied his modest wants +with an indulgent smile. + +An autumn and a winter had passed since the attack on Longueval. From +July until the December floods, the great battle had raged. The New +Armies, supplied at last with abundant munitions, a seasoned Staff, +and a concerted plan of action, had answered the question propounded +in a previous chapter in no uncertain fashion. Through Longueval and +Delville Wood, where the graves of the Highlanders and South Africans +now lie thick, through Flers and Martinpuich, through Pozieres and +Courcelette, they had fought their way, till they had reached the +ridge, with High Wood at its summit, which the Boche, not altogether +unreasonably, had regarded as impregnable. The tide had swirled over +the crest, down the reverse slope, and up at last to the top of that +bloodstained knoll of chalk known as the Butte de Warlencourt. There +the Hun threw in his hand. With much loud talk upon the subject of +victorious retirements and Hindenburg Lines, he withdrew himself to +a region far east of Bapaume; with the result that now some thousand +square miles of the soil of France had been restored once and for all +to their rightful owners. + +But Bobby and Wagstaffe had not been there. All during the autumn and +winter they had lain softly in hospital, enjoying their first rest for +two years. Wagstaffe had lost his left arm and gained a decoration. +Bobby, in addition to his Cross, had incurred a cracked crown and a +permanently shortened leg. But both were well content. They had done +their bit--and something over; and they had emerged from the din of +war with their lives, their health, and their reason. A man who can +achieve that feat in this war can count himself fortunate. + +Now, passed by a Medical Board as fit for Home Service, they had said +farewell to their Convalescent Home and come to London to learn what +fate Olympus held in store for them. + +"Where have you been all day, Bobby?" enquired Wagstaffe, as they sat +down to dinner an hour later. + +"Down in Kent," replied Bobby briefly. + +"Very well: I will not probe the matter. Been to the War Office?" + +"Yes. I was there this morning. I am to be Adjutant of a Cadet school, +at Great Snoreham. What sort of a job is that likely to be?" + +"On the whole," replied Wagstaffe, "a Fairy Godmother Department job. +It might have been very much worse. You are thoroughly up to the +Adjutant business, Bobby, and of course the young officers under you +will be immensely impressed by your game leg and bit of ribbon. A very +sound appointment." + +"What are they going to do with you?" asked Bobby in his turn. + +"I am to command our Reserve Battalion, with acting rank of +Lieutenant-Colonel. Think of that, my lad! They have confirmed you in +your rank as Captain, I suppose?" + +"Yes." + +"Good! The only trouble is that you will be stationed in the South of +England and I in the North of Scotland; so we shall not see quite +so much of one another as of late. However, we must get together +occasionally, and split a tin of bully for old times' sake." + +"Bully? By gum!" said Bobby thoughtfully. "I have almost forgotten +what it tastes like. (Fried sole, please; then roast lamb.) Eight +months in hospital do wash out certain remembrances." + +"But not all," said Wagstaffe. + +"No, not all. I--I wonder how our chaps are getting on, over there." + +"The regiment?" + +"Yes. It is so hard to get definite news." + +"They were in the Arras show. Did better than ever; but--well, they +required a big draft afterwards." + +"The third time!" sighed Bobby. "Did any one write to you about it?" + +"Yes. Who do you think?" + +"Some one in the regiment?" + +"Yes." + +"I didn't know there were any of the old lot left. Who was it?" + +"Mucklewame." + +"Mucklewame? You mean to say the Boche hasn't got _him_ yet? It's like +missing Rheims Cathedral." + +"Yes, they got him at Arras. Mucklewame is in hospital. Fortunately +his chief wound is in the head, so he's doing nicely. Here is his +letter." + +Bobby took the pencilled screed, and read:-- + +_Major Wagstaffe, + +Sir,--I take up my pen for to inform you that I am now in hospital in +Glasgow, having become a cassuality on the 18th inst. + +I was struck on the head by the nose-cap of a German shell (now in the +possession of my guidwife). Unfortunately I was wearing one of they +steel helmets at the time, with the result that I sustained a serious +scalp-wound, also very bad concussion. I have never had a liking for +they helmets anyway. + +The old regiment did fine in the last attack. They were specially +mentioned in Orders next day. The objective was reached under heavy +fire and position consolidated before we were relieved next morning_. + +"Good boys!" interpolated Bobby softly. + +_Colonel Carmichael, late of the Second Battn., I think, is now in +command. A very nice gentleman, but we have all been missing you and +the Captain. + +They tell me that I will be for home service after this. My head is +doing well, but the muscules of my right leg is badly torn. I should +have liked fine for to have stayed out and come home with the other +boys when we are through with Berlin. + +Having no more to say, sir, I will now draw to a close. + +Jas. Mucklewame, + +C.S.M_. + +After the perusal of this characteristic _Ave atque Vale!_ the two +friends adjourned to the balcony, overlooking the Green Park. Here +they lit their cigars in reminiscent silence, while neighbouring +search-lights raked the horizon for Zeppelins which no longer came. It +was a moment for confidences. + +"Old Mucklewame is like the rest of us," said Wagstaffe at last. + +"How?" + +"Wanting to go back, and all that. I do too--just because I'm here, +I suppose. A year ago, out there, my chief ambition was to get home, +with a comfortable wound and a comfortable conscience." + +"Same here," admitted Bobby. + +"It was the same with practically every one," said Wagstaffe. "If any +man asserts that he really enjoys modern warfare, after, say, six +months of it, he is a liar. In the South African show I can honestly +say I was perfectly happy. We were fighting in open country, against +an adversary who was a gentleman; and although there was plenty of +risk, the chances were that one came through all right. At any rate, +there was no poison gas, and one did not see a whole platoon blown to +pieces, or buried alive, by a single shell. If Brother Boer took +you prisoner, he did not stick you in the stomach with a saw-edged +bayonet. At the worst he pinched your trousers. But Brother Boche is +a different proposition. Since he butted in, war has descended in +the social scale. And modern scientific developments have turned a +sporting chance of being scuppered into a mathematical certainty. +And yet--and yet--old Mucklewame is right. One _hates_ to be out of +it--especially at the finish. When the regiment comes stumping through +London on its way back to Euston--next year, or whenever it's going to +be--with their ragged pipers leading the way, you would like to be +at the head of 'A' Company, Bobby, and I would give something to be +exercising my old function of whipper-in. Eh, boy?" + +"Never mind," said practical Bobby. "Perhaps we shall be on somebody's +glittering Staff. What I hate to feel at present is that the other +fellows, out there, have got to go on sticking it, while we--" + +"And by God," exclaimed Wagstaffe, "what stickers they are--and were! +Did you ever see anything so splendid, Bobby, as those six-months-old +soldiers of ours--in the early days, I mean, when we held our +trenches, week by week, under continuous bombardment, and our gunners +behind could only help us with four or five rounds a day?" + +"I never did," said Bobby, truthfully. + +"I admit to you," continued Wagstaffe, "that when I found myself +pitchforked into 'K(1)' at the outbreak of the war, instead of getting +back to my old line battalion, I was a pretty sick man. I hated +everybody. I was one of the old school--or liked to think I was--and +the ways of the new school were not my ways. I hated the new officers. +Some of them bullied the men; some of them allowed themselves to be +bullied by N.C.O.'s. Some never gave or returned salutes, others went +about saluting everybody. Some came into Mess in fancy dress of their +own design, and elbowed senior officers off the hearthrug. I used to +marvel at the Colonel's patience with them. But many of them are dead +now, Bobby, and they nearly all made good. Then the men! After ten +years in the regular Army I hated them all--the way they lounged, the +way they dressed, the way they sat, the way they spat. I wondered how +I could ever go on living with them. And now--I find myself wondering +how I am ever going to live without them. We shall not see their +like again. The new lot--present lot--are splendid fellows. They are +probably better soldiers. Certainly they are more uniformly trained. +But there was a piquancy about our old scamps in 'K(1)' that was +unique--priceless--something the world will never see again." + +"I don't know," said Bobby thoughtfully. "That Cockney regiment which +lay beside us at Albert last summer was a pretty priceless lot. Do you +remember a pair of fat fellows in their leading platoon? We called +them Fortnum and Mason!" + +"I do--particularly Fortnum. Go on!" + +"Well, their bit of trench was being shelled one day, and Fortnum, who +was in number one bay with five other men, kept shouting out to Mason, +who was round a traverse and out of sight, to enquire how he was +getting on. 'Are you all right, Bill?' 'Are you _sure_ you're all +right, Bill?' 'Are you _still_ all right, Bill?' and so on. At last +Bill, getting fed up with this unusual solicitude, yelled back: +'What's all the anxiety abaht, eh?' And Fortnum put his head round the +traverse and explained. 'We're getting up a little sweepstake in our +bay,' he said, 'abaht the first casuality, and I've drawn you, ole +son!'" + +Wagstaffe chuckled. + +"That must have been the regiment that had the historic poker party," +he said. + +"What yarn was that?" + +"I heard it from the Brigadier--four times, to be exact. Five men off +duty were sitting in a dug-out playing poker. A gentleman named 'Erb +had just gone to the limit on his hand, when a rifle-grenade came into +the dug-out from somewhere and did him in. While they were waiting for +the stretcher-bearers, one of the other players picked up 'Erb's hand +and examined it. Then he laid it down again, and said: 'It doesn't +matter, chaps. Poor 'Erb wouldn't a made it, anyway. I 'ad four +queens.'" + +"Tommy has his own ideas of fun, I'll admit," said Bobby. "Do you +remember those first trenches of ours at Festubert? There was a dead +Frenchman buried in the parapet--you know how they used to bury people +in those days?" + +"I did notice it. Go on." + +"Well, this poor chap's hand stuck out, just about four feet from the +floor of the trench. My dug-out was only a few yards away, and I never +saw a member of my platoon go past that spot without shaking the hand +and saying, Good-morning, Alphonse!' I had it built up with sandbags +ultimately, and they were quite annoyed!" + +"They have some grisly notions about life and death," agreed +Wagstaffe, "but they are extraordinarily kind to people in trouble, +such as wounded men, or prisoners. You can't better them." + +"And now there are five millions of them. We are all in it, at last!" + +"We certainly are--men and women. I'm afraid I had hardly realised +what our women were doing for us. Being on service all the time, one +rather overlooks what is going on at home. But stopping a bullet puts +one in the way of a good deal of inside information on that score." + +"You mean hospital work, and so on?" + +"Yes. One meets a lot of wonderful people that way! Sisters, and +ward-maids, and V.A.D.'s--" + +"I love all V.A.D.'s!" said Bobby, unexpectedly. + +"Why, my youthful Mormon?" + +"Because they are the people who do all the hard work and get no +limelight--like--like--!" + +"Like Second Lieutenants--eh?" + +"Yes, that is the idea. They have a pretty hard time, you know," +continued Bobby confidentially: "And nothing heroic, either. Giving up +all the fun that a girl is entitled to; washing dishes; answering the +door-bell; running up and downstairs; eating rotten food. That's the +sort of--" + +"What is her name?" enquired the accusing voice of Major Wagstaffe. +Then, without waiting to extort an answer from the embarrassed +Bobby:-- + +"You are quite right. This war has certainly brought out the best in +our women. The South African War brought out the worst. My goodness, +you should have seen the Mount Nelson Hotel at Capetown in those +days! But they have been wonderful this time--wonderful. I love them +all--the bus-conductors, the ticket-punchers, the lift-girls--one +of them nearly shot me right through the roof of Harrod's the +other day--and the window-cleaners and the page-girls and the +railway-portresses! I divide my elderly heart among them. And I met a +bunch of munition girls the other day, Bobby, coming home from work. +They were all young, and most of them were pretty. Their faces and +hands were stained a bright orange-colour with picric acid, and will +be, I suppose, until the Boche is booted back into his stye. In other +words, they had deliberately sacrificed their good looks for the +duration of the war. That takes a bit of doing, I know, innocent +bachelor though I am. But bless you, they weren't worrying. They +waved their orange-coloured hands to me, and pointed to their +orange-coloured faces, and laughed. They were _proud_ of them; they +were doing their bit. They nearly made me cry, Bobby. Yes, we are all +in it now; and those of us who come out of it are going to find this +old island of ours a wonderfully changed place to live in." + +"How? Why?" enquired Bobby. Possibly he was interested in Wagstaffe's +unusual expansiveness: possibly he hoped to steer the conversation +away from the topic of V.A.D.'s--possibly towards it. You never know. + +"Well," said Wagstaffe, "we are all going to understand one another a +great deal better after this war." + +"Who? Labour and Capital, and so on?" + +"'Labour and Capital' is a meaningless and misleading expression, +Bobby. For instance, our men regard people like you and me as +Capitalists; the ordinary Brigade Major regards us as Labourers, and +pretty common Labourers at that. It is all a question of degree. But +what I mean is this. You can't call your employer a tyrant and an +extortioner after he has shared his rations with you and never +spared himself over your welfare and comfort through weary months of +trench-warfare; neither, when you have experienced a working-man's +courage and cheerfulness and reliability in the day of battle, can you +turn round and call him a loafer and an agitator in time of peace--can +you? That is just what the _Bandar-log_ overlook, when they jabber +about the dreadful industrial upheaval that is coming with peace. Most +of all have they overlooked the fact that with the coming of peace +this country will be invaded by several million of the wisest men that +she has ever produced--the New British Army. That Army will consist +of men who have spent three years in getting rid of mutual +misapprehensions and assimilating one another's point of view--men +who went out to the war ignorant and intolerant and insular, and are +coming back wise to all the things that really matter. They will flood +this old country, and they will make short work of the agitator, and +the alarmist, and the profiteer, and all the nasty creatures that +merely make a noise instead of _doing_ something, and who crab the +work of the Army and Navy--more especially the Navy--because there +isn't a circus victory of some kind in the paper every morning. Yes, +Bobby, when our boys get back, and begin to ask the _Bandar-log_ what +they _did_ in the Great War--well, it's going to be a rotten season +for _Bandar-log_ generally!" + +There was silence again. Presently Bobby spoke:-- + +"When our boys get back! Some of them are never coming back again, +worse luck!" + +"Still," said Wagstaffe, "what they did was worth doing, and what they +died for was worth while. I think their one regret to-day would +be that they did not live to see their own fellows taking the +offensive--the line going forward on the Somme; the old tanks waddling +over the Boche trenches; and the Boche prisoners throwing up their +hands and yowling 'Kamerad'! And the Kut unpleasantness cleaned up, +and all the kinks in the old Salient straightened out! And Wytchaete +and Messines! You remember how the two ridges used to look down into +our lines at Wipers and Plugstreet? And now we're on top of both of +them! Some of our friends out there--the friends who are not coming +back--would have liked to know about that, Bobby. I wish they could, +somehow." + +"Perhaps they do," said Bobby simply. + + +It was close on midnight. Our "two old soldiers, broken in the wars," +levered themselves stiffly to their feet, and prepared to depart. + +"Heigho!" said Wagstaffe. "It is time for two old wrecks like us to be +in bed. That's what we are, Bobby--wrecks, dodderers, has-beens! But +we have had the luck to last longer than most. We have dodged the +missiles of the Boche to an extent which justifies us in claiming that +we have followed the progress of their war with a rather more than +average degree of continuity. We were the last of the old crowd, too. +Kemp has got his Brigade, young Cockerell has gone to be a Staff +Captain, and--you and I are here. Some of the others dropped out far +too soon. Young Lochgair, old Blaikie--" + +"Waddell, too," said Bobby. "We joined the same day." + +"And Angus M'Lachlan. I think he would have made the finest soldier of +the lot of us," added Wagstaffe. "You remember his remark to me, that +we only had the bye to play now? He was a true prophet: we are dormy, +anyhow. (Only cold feet at Home can let us down now.) And he only saw +three months' service! Still, he made a great exit from this world, +Bobby, and that is the only thing that matters in these days. Ha! H'm! +As our new Allies would say, I am beginning to 'pull heart stuff' on +you. Let us go to bed. Sleeping here?" + +"Yes, till to-morrow. Then off on leave." + +"How much have you got?" + +"A month. I say?" + +"Yes?" + +"Are you doing anything on the nineteenth?" + +Wagstaffe regarded his young friend suspiciously. + +"Is this a catch of some kind?" he enquired. + +"Oh, no. Will you be my--" Bobby turned excessively pink, and +completed his request. + +Wagstaffe surveyed him resignedly. + +"We all come to it, I suppose," he observed. + +"Only some come to it sooner than others. Are you of age, my lad? Have +your parents--" + +"I'm twenty-two," said Bobby shortly. + +"Will the bridesmaids be pretty?" + +"They are all peaches," replied Bobby, with enthusiasm. "But nothing +whatever," he added, in a voice of respectful rapture, "compared with +the bride!" + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of All In It K(1) Carries On +by John Hay Beith (AKA: Ian Hay) + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12302 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8c6804d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12302 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12302) diff --git a/old/12302-8.txt b/old/12302-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e2261ef --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12302-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7427 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of All In It K(1) Carries On +by John Hay Beith (AKA: Ian Hay) + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: All In It K(1) Carries On + A Continuation of the First Hundred Thousand + +Author: John Hay Beith (AKA: Ian Hay) + +Release Date: May 8, 2004 [EBook #12302] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALL IN IT K(1) CARRIES ON *** + + + + +Produced by Produced from images provided by the Million Book Project +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +ALL IN IT + +"K (1)" Carries On + +BY + +IAN HAY + + +1917 + + + + +TO ALL SECOND LIEUTENANTS + +AND IN PARTICULAR TO THE MEMORY OF + +ONE SECOND LIEUTENANT + + + + +ALL IN IT + +"K (1)" Carries On + + +By Jan Hay + + +ALL IN IT: K 1 CARRIES ON. + +PIP: A ROMANCE OF YOUTH + +GETTING TOGETHER + +THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND. + +SCALLY: THE STORY OF A PERFECT GENTLEMAN. With Frontispiece. + +A KNIGHT ON WHEELS. + +HAPPY-GO-LUCKY. Illustrated by Charles E. Brock. + +A SAFETY MATCH. With frontispiece. + +A MAN'S MAN. With frontispiece. + +THE RIGHT STUFF. With frontispiece. + + + + +AUTHOR'S NOTE + + +_The First Hundred Thousand_ closed with the Battle of Loos. The +present narrative follows certain friends of ours from the scene of +that costly but valuable experience, through a winter campaign in the +neighbourhood of Ypres and Ploegsteert, to profitable participation in +the Battle of the Somme. + +Much has happened since then. The initiative has passed once and for +all into our hands; so has the command of the air. Russia has been +reborn, and, like most healthy infants, is passing through an +uproarious period of teething trouble; but now America has stepped +in, and promises to do more than redress the balance. All along the +Western Front we have begun to move forward, without haste or flurry, +but in such wise that during the past twelve months no position, once +fairly captured and consolidated, has ever been regained by the enemy. +To-day you can stand upon certain recently won eminences--Wytchaete +Ridge, Messines Ridge, Vimy Ridge, and Monchy--looking down into the +enemy's lines, and looking forward to the territory which yet remains +to be restored to France. + +You can also look back--not merely from these ridges, but from certain +moral ridges as well--over the ground which has been successfully +traversed, and you can marvel for the hundredth time, not that the +thing was well or badly done, but that it was ever done at all. + +But while this narrative was being written, none of these things had +happened. We were still struggling uphill, with inadequate resources. +So, since the incidents of the story were set down, in the main, as +they occurred and when they occurred, the reader will find very little +perspective, a great deal of the mood of the moment, and none at all +of that profound wisdom which comes after the event. For the latter he +must look home--to the lower walks of journalism and the back benches +of the House of Commons. + +It is not proposed to carry this story to a third volume. The First +Hundred Thousand, as such, are no more. Like the "Old Contemptibles," +they are now merged in a greater and more victorious army--in an armed +nation, in fact. And, as Sergeant Mucklewame once observed to +me, "There's no that mony of us left now, onyways." So with all +reverence--remembering how, when they were needed most, these men did +not pause to reason why or count the cost, but came at once--we bid +them good-bye. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +I. WINTER QUARTERS +II. SHELL OUT! +III. WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS +IV. THE PUSH THAT FAILED +V. UNBENDING THE BOW +VI. YE MERRIE BUZZERS +VII. PASTURES NEW +VIII. "THE NON-COMBATANT" +IX. TUNING UP +X. FULL CHORUS +XI. THE LAST SOLO +XII. RECESSIONAL +XIII. "TWO OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN THE WARS" + + + + +ALL IN IT + +"K (1)" Carries On + + + + +I + +WINTER QUARTERS + + +I + +We are getting into our stride again. Two months ago we trudged +into Béthune, gaunt, dirty, soaked to the skin, and reduced to a +comparative handful. None of us had had his clothes off for a week. +Our ankle-puttees had long dropped to pieces, and our hose-tops, +having worked under the soles of our boots, had been cut away and +discarded. The result was a bare and mud-splashed expanse of leg from +boot to kilt, except in the case of the enterprising few who had +devised artistic spat-puttees out of an old sandbag. Our headgear +consisted in a few cases of the regulation Balmoral bonnet, usually +minus "toorie" and badge; in a few more, of the battered remains of a +gas helmet; and in the great majority, of a woollen cap-comforter. We +were bearded like that incomparable fighter, the _poilu_, and we were +separated by an abyss of years, so our stomachs told us, from our last +square meal. + +But we were wonderfully placid about it all. Our regimental pipers, +who had come out to play us in, were making what the Psalmist calls +"a joyful noise" in front; and behind us lay the recollection of a +battle, still raging, in which we had struck the first blow, and borne +our full share for three days and nights. Moreover, our particular +blow had bitten deeper into the enemy's line than any other blow in +the neighbourhood. And, most blessed thought of all, everything was +over, and we were going back to rest. For the moment, the memory of +the sights we had seen, and the tax we had levied upon our bodies and +souls, together with the picture of the countless sturdy lads whom +we had left lying beneath the sinister shade of Fosse Eight, were +beneficently obscured by the prospect of food, sleep, and comparative +cleanliness. + +After restoring ourselves to our personal comforts, we should +doubtless go somewhere to refit. Drafts were already waiting at the +Base to fill up the great gaps in our ranks. Our companies having been +brought up to strength, a spate of promotions would follow. We had no +Colonel, and only our Company Commander. Subalterns--what was left +of them--would come by their own. N.C.O.'s, again, would have to be +created by the dozen. While all this was going on, and the old names +were being weeded out of the muster-roll to make way for the new, the +Quartermaster would be drawing fresh equipment--packs, mess-tins, +water-bottles, and the hundred oddments which always go astray in +times of stress. There would be a good deal of dialogue of this +sort:-- + +"Private M'Sumph, I see you are down for a new pack. Where is your old +one?" + +"Blawn off ma back, sirr!" + +"Where are your puttees?" + +"Blawn off ma feet, sirr!" + +"Where is your iron ration?" + +"Blawn oot o' ma pooch, sirr!" + +"Where is your head?" + +"Blawn--I beg your pardon, sirr!"--followed by generous reissues all +round. + +After a month or so our beloved regiment, once more at full strength, +with traditions and morale annealed by the fires of experience, would +take its rightful place in the forefront of "K (1)." + +Such was the immediate future, as it presented itself to the wearied +but optimistic brain of Lieutenant Bobby Little. He communicated his +theories to Captain Wagstaffe. + +"I wonder!" replied that experienced officer. + + +II + +The chief penalty of doing a job of work well is that you are promptly +put on to another. This is supposed to be a compliment. + +The authorities allowed us exactly two days' rest, and then packed us +off by train, with the new draft, to a particularly hot sector of the +trench-line in Belgium--there to carry on with the operation known in +nautical circles as "executing repairs while under steam." + +Well, we have been in Belgium for two months now, and, as already +stated, are getting into our stride again. + +There are new faces everywhere, and some of the old faces are not +quite the same. They are finer-drawn; one is conscious of less +chubbiness all round. War is a great maturing agent. There is, +moreover, an air of seasoned authority abroad. Many who were second +lieutenants or lance corporals three months ago are now commanding +companies and platoons. Bobby Little is in command of "A" Company: if +he can cling to this precarious eminence for thirty days--that is, +if no one is sent out to supersede him--he becomes an "automatic" +captain, aged twenty! Major Kemp commands the battalion; Wagstaffe is +his senior major. Ayling has departed from our midst, and rumour +says that he is leading a sort of Pooh Bah existence at Brigade +Headquarters. + +There are sad gaps among our old friends of the rank and file. Ogg +and Hogg, M'Slattery and M'Ostrich, have gone to the happy +hunting-grounds. Private Dunshie, the General Specialist (who, you +may remember, found his true vocation, after many days, as battalion +chiropodist), is reported "missing." But his comrades are positive +that no harm has befallen him. Long experience has convinced them that +in the art of landing on his feet their departed friend has no equal. + +"I doot he'll be a prisoner," suggests the faithful Mucklewame to the +Transport Sergeant. + +"Aye," assents the Transport Sergeant bitterly; "he'll be a prisoner. +No doot he'll try to pass himself off as an officer, for to get better +quarters!" + +(The Transport Sergeant, in whose memory certain enormities of Dunshie +had rankled ever since that versatile individual had abandoned the +veterinary profession, owing to the most excusable intervention of +a pack-mule's off hind leg, was not far out in his surmise, as +subsequent history may some day reveal. But the telling of that story +is still a long way off.) + +Company Sergeant-Major Pumpherston is now Sergeant-Major of the +Battalion. Mucklewame is a corporal in his old company. Private Tosh +was "offered a stripe," too, but declined, because the invitation +did not include Private Cosh, who, owing to a regrettable lapse not +unconnected with the rum ration, had been omitted from the Honours' +List. Consequently these two grim veterans remain undecorated, but +they are objects of great veneration among the recently joined for all +that. + +So you see us once more in harness, falling into the collar with +energy, if not fervour. We no longer regard War with the least +enthusiasm: we have seen It, face to face. Our sole purpose now is to +screw our sturdy followers up to the requisite pitch of efficiency, +and keep them remorselessly at that standard until the dawn of +triumphant and abiding peace. + +We have one thing upon our side--youth. + +"Most of our regular senior officers are gone, sir," remarked Colonel +Kemp one day to the Brigadier--"dead, or wounded, or promoted to other +commands; and I have something like twenty new subalterns. When you +subtract a centenarian like myself, the average age of our Battalion +Mess, including Company Commanders, works out at something under +twenty-three. But I am not exchanging any of them, thanks!" + + +III + +Trench-life in Belgium is an entirely different proposition from +trench-life in France. The undulating country in which we now find +ourselves offers an infinite choice of unpleasant surroundings. + +Down south, Vermelles way, the trenches stretch in a comparatively +straight line for miles, facing one another squarely, and giving +little opportunity for tactical enterprise. The infantry blaze and +sputter at one another in front; the guns roar behind; and that is all +there is to be said about it. But here, the line follows the curve of +each little hill. At one place you are in a salient, in a trench which +runs round the face of a bulging "knowe"--a tempting target for shells +of every kind. A few hundred yards farther north, or south, the ground +is much lower, and the trench-line runs back into a re-entrant, +seeking for a position which shall not be commanded from higher ground +in front. + +The line is pierced at intervals by railway-cuttings, which have to be +barricaded, and canals, which require special defences. Almost every +spot in either line is overlooked by some adjacent ridge, or enfiladed +from some adjacent trench. It is disconcerting for a methodical young +officer, after cautiously scrutinising the trench upon his front +through a periscope, to find that the entire performance has been +visible (and his entire person exposed) to the view of a Boche trench +situated on a hill-slope upon his immediate left. + +And our trench-line, with its infinity of salients and re-entrants, +is itself only part of the great salient of "Wipers." You may imagine +with what methodical solemnity the Boche "crumps" the interior of that +constricted area. Looking round at night, when the star-shells float +up over the skyline, one could almost imagine one's self inside a +complete circle, instead of a horseshoe. + +The machine-gunners of both sides are extremely busy. In the plains of +France the pursuit of their nefarious trade was practically limited to +front-line work. When they did venture to indulge in what they called +"overhead" fire, their friends in the forefront used to summon them +after the performance, and reproachfully point out sundry ominous +rents and abrasions in the back of the front-line parapet. But here +they can withdraw behind a convenient ridge, and _strafe_ Boches a +mile and a half away, without causing any complaints. Needless to say, +Brother Boche is not backward in returning the compliment. He has one +gun in particular which never tires in its efforts to rouse us from +_ennui_. It must be a long way off, for we can only just hear the +report. Moreover, its contribution to our liveliness, when it does +arrive, falls at an extremely steep angle--so steep, indeed, that it +only just clears the embankment under which we live, and falls upon +the very doorsteps of the dug-outs with which that sanctuary is +honeycombed. + +This invigorating shower is turned on regularly for ten minutes, at +three, six, nine, and twelve o'clock daily. Its area of activity +includes our tiny but, alas! steadily growing cemetery. One evening a +regiment which had recently "taken over" selected 6 P.M. as a suitable +hour for a funeral. The result was a grimly humorous spectacle--the +mourners, including the Commanding Officer and officiating clergy, +taking hasty cover in a truly novel trench; while the central figure +of the obsequies, sublimely indifferent to the Hun and all his +frightfulness, lay on the grass outside, calm and impassive amid the +whispering hail of bullets. + +As for the trenches themselves--well, as the immortal costermonger +observed, "there ain't no word in the blooming language" for them. + +In the first place, there is no settled trench-line at all. The +Salient has been a battlefield for twelve months past. No one has ever +had the time, or opportunity, to construct anything in the shape of +permanent defences. A shallow trench, trimmed with an untidy parapet +of sandbags, and there is your stronghold! For rest and meditation, +a hole in the ground, half-full of water and roofed with a sheet +of galvanised iron; or possibly a glorified rabbit-burrow in a +canal-bank. These things, as a modern poet has observed, are all right +in the summer-time. But winter here is a disintegrating season. It +rains heavily for, say, three days. Two days of sharp frost succeed, +and the rain-soaked earth is reduced to the necessary degree of +friability. Another day's rain, and trenches and dug-outs come sliding +down like melted butter. Even if you revet the trenches, it is not +easy to drain them. The only difference is that if your line is +situated on the forward slope of a hill the support trench drains into +the firing-trench; if they are on the reverse slope, the firing-trench +drains into the support trench. Our indefatigable friends Box and Cox, +of the Royal Engineers, assisted by sturdy Pioneer Battalions, labour +like heroes; but the utmost they can achieve, in a low-lying country +like this, is to divert as much water as possible into some other +Brigade's area. Which they do, right cunningly. + +In addition to the Boche, we wage continuous warfare with the +elements, and the various departments of Olympus render us +characteristic assistance. The Round Game Department has issued a set +of rules for the correct method of massaging and greasing the feet. +(Major Wagstaffe refers to this as, "Sole-slapping; or What to do in +the Children's Hour; complete in Twelve Fortnightly Parts.") The Fairy +Godmother Department presents us with what the Quartermaster describes +as "Boots, gum, thigh"; and there has also been an issue of so-called +fur jackets, in which the Practical Joke Department has plainly taken +a hand. Most of these garments appear to have been contributed by +animals unknown to zoology, or more probably by a syndicate thereof. +Corporal Mucklewame's costume gives him the appearance of a St. +Bernard dog with Astrakhan fore legs. Sergeant Carfrae is attired +in what looks like the skin of Nana, the dog-nurse in "Peter Pan." +Private Nigg, an undersized youth of bashful disposition, creeps +forlornly about his duties disguised as an imitation leopard. As he +passes by, facetious persons pull what is left of his tail. Private +Tosh, on being confronted with his winter _trousseau_, observed +bitterly-- + +"I jined the Airmy for tae be a sojer; but I doot they must have pit +me doon as a mountain goat!" + +Still, though our variegated pelts cause us to resemble an +unsuccessful compromise between Esau and an Eskimo, they keep our +bodies warm. We wish we could say the same for our feet. On good days +we stand ankle-deep; on bad, we are occasionally over the knees. +Thrice blessed then are our Boots, Gum, Thigh, though even these +cannot altogether ward off frost-bite and chilblains. + +Over the way, Brother Boche is having a bad time of it: his trenches +are in a worse state than ours. Last night a plaintive voice cried +out-- + +"Are you dere, Jock? Haf you whiskey? We haf plenty water!" + +Not bad for a Boche, the platoon decided. + +There is no doubt that whatever the German General Staff may think +about the war and the future, the German Infantry soldier is "fed-up." +His satiety takes the form of a craving for social intercourse with +the foe. In the small hours, when the vigilance of the German N.C.O.'s +is relaxed, and the officers are probably in their dug-outs, he makes +rather pathetic overtures. We are frequently invited to come out +and shake hands. "Dis war will be ober the nineteen of nex' month!" +(Evidently the Kaiser has had another revelation.) The other morning a +German soldier, with a wisp of something white in his hand, actually +clambered out of the firing-trench and advanced towards our lines. The +distance was barely seventy yards. No shot was fired, but you may be +sure that safety-catches were hastily released. Suddenly, in the tense +silence, the ambassador's nerve failed him. He bolted back, followed +by a few desultory bullets. The reason for his sudden panic was never +rightly ascertained, but the weight of public opinion inclined to the +view that Mucklewame, who had momentarily exposed himself above the +parapet, was responsible. + +"I doot he thocht ye were a lion escapit from the Scottish Zoo!" +explained a brother corporal, referring to his indignant colleague's +new winter coat. + +Here is another incident, with a different ending. At one point our +line approaches to within fifteen yards of the Boche trenches. One wet +and dismal dawn, as the battalion stood to arms in the neighbourhood +of this delectable spot, there came a sudden shout from the enemy, and +an outburst of rapid rifle fire. Almost simultaneously two breathless +and unkempt figures tumbled over our parapet into the firing-trench. +The fusillade died away. + +To the extreme discomfort and shame of a respectable citizen of +Bannockburn, one Private Buncle, the more hairy of the two visitors, +upon recovering his feet, promptly flung his arms around his neck and +kissed him on both cheeks. The outrage was repeated, by his companion, +upon Private Nigg. At the same time both visitors broke into a joyous +chant of "Russky! Russky!" They were escaped Russian prisoners. + +When taken to Headquarters they explained that they had been brought +up to perform fatigue work near the German trenches, and had seized +upon a quiet moment to slip into some convenient undergrowth. Later, +under cover of night, they had made their way in the direction of the +firing-line, arriving just in time to make a dash before daylight +discovered them. You may imagine their triumphal departure from our +trenches--loaded with cigarettes, chocolate, bully beef, and other +imperishable souvenirs. + +We have had other visitors. One bright day a Boche aeroplane made +a reconnaissance of our lines. It was a beautiful thing, white and +birdlike. But as its occupants were probably taking photographs of our +most secret fastnesses, artistic appreciation was dimmed by righteous +wrath--wrath which turned to profound gratification when a philistine +British plane appeared in the blue and engaged the glittering stranger +in battle. There was some very pretty aerial manoeuvring, right over +our heads, as the combatants swooped and circled for position. We +could hear their machine-guns pattering away; and the volume of sound +was increased by the distant contributions of "Coughing Clara"--our +latest anti-aircraft gun, which appears to suffer from chronic +irritation of the mucous membrane. + +Suddenly the German aeroplane gave a lurch; then righted herself; then +began to circle down, making desperate efforts to cross the neutral +line. But the British airman headed her off. Next moment she lurched +again, and then took a "nosedive" straight into the British trenches. +She fell on open ground, a few hundred yards behind our second line. +The place had been a wilderness a moment before; but the crowd which +instantaneously sprang up round the wreck could not have been less +than two hundred strong. (One observes the same uncanny phenomenon in +London, when a cab-horse falls down in a deserted street.) However, +it melted away at the rebuke of the first officer who hurried to the +spot, the process of dissolution being accelerated by several bursts +of German shrapnel. + +Both pilot and observer were dead. They had made a gallant fight, and +were buried the same evening, with all honour, in the little cemetery, +alongside many who had once been their foes, but were now peacefully +neutral. + + +IV + +The housing question in Belgium confronts us with several novel +problems. It is not so easy to billet troops here, especially in the +Salient, as in France. Some of us live in huts, others in tents, +others in dug-outs. Others, more fortunate, are loaded on to a fleet +of motor-buses and whisked off to more civilised dwellings many miles +away. These buses once plied for hire upon the streets of London. Each +bus is in charge of the identical pair of cross-talk comedians who +controlled its destinies in more peaceful days. Strangely attired in +khaki and sheepskin, they salute officers with cheerful _bonhomie_, +and bellow to one another throughout the journey the simple and +primitive jests of their previous incarnation, to the huge delight of +their fares. + +The destination-boards and advertisements are no more, for the buses +are painted a neutral green all over; but the conductor is always +ready and willing to tell you what his previous route was. + +"That Daimler behind you, sir," he informs you, "is one of the Number +Nineteens. Set you down at the top of Sloane Street many a time, I'll +be bound. Ernie"--this to the driver, along the side of the bus--"you +oughter have slowed down when thet copper waved his little flag: he +wasn't pleased with yer, ole son!" (The "copper" is a military mounted +policeman, controlling the traffic of a little town which lies on our +way to the trenches.) "This is a Number Eight, sir. No, that dent in +the staircase wasn't done by no shell. The ole girl got that through +a skid up against a lamp-post, one wet Saturday night in the Vauxhall +Bridge Road. Dangerous place, London!" + +We rattle through a brave little town, which is "carrying on" in the +face of paralysed trade and periodical shelling. Soldiers abound. All +are muddy, but some are muddier than others. The latter are going up +to the trenches, the former are coming back. Upon the walls, here and +there, we notice a gay poster advertising an entertainment organised +by certain Divisional troops, which is to be given nightly throughout +the week. At the foot of the bill is printed in large capitals, A +HOOGE SUCCESS! We should like to send a copy of that plucky document +to Brother Boche. He would not understand it, but it would annoy him +greatly. + +Now we leave the town behind, and quicken up along the open road--an +interminable ribbon of _pavé_, absolutely straight, and bordered upon +either side by what was once macadam, but is now a quagmire a foot +deep. Occasionally there is a warning cry of "Wire!" and the outside +fares hurriedly bow from the waist, in order to avoid having their +throats cut by a telephone wire--"Gunners for a dollar!" surmises +a strangled voice--tightly stretched across the road between two +poplars. Occasionally, too, that indefatigable humorist, Ernie, +directs his course beneath some low-spreading branches, through which +the upper part of the bus crashes remorselessly, while the passengers, +lying sardine-wise upon the roof uplift their voices in profane and +bloodthirsty chorus. + +"Nothing like a bit o' fun on the way to the trenches, boys! It may be +the last you'll get!" is the only apology which Ernie offers. + + * * * * * + +Presently our vehicle bumps across a nubbly bridge, and enters what +was once a fair city. It is a walled city, like Chester, and is +separated from the surrounding country by a moat as wide as the upper +Thames. In days gone by those ramparts and that moat could have held +an army at bay--and probably did, more than once. They have done so +yet again; but at what a cost! + +We glide through the ancient gateway and along the ghostly streets, +and survey the crowning achievement of the cultured Boche. The great +buildings--the Cathedral, the Cloth Hall--are jagged ruins. The fronts +of the houses have long disappeared, leaving the interiors exposed to +view, like a doll's house. Here is a street full of shops. That heap +of splintered wardrobes and legless tables was once a furniture +warehouse. That snug little corner house, with the tottering zinc +counter and the twisted beer engine, is an obvious estaminet. You +may observe the sign, "Aux Deux Amis," in dingy lettering over the +doorway. Here is an oil-and-colour shop: you can still see the red +ochre and white lead splashed about among the ruins. + +In almost every house the ceilings of the upper floors have fallen in. +Chairs, tables, and bedsteads hang precariously into the room below. +Here and there a picture still adheres to the wall. From one of the +bedposts flutters a tattered and diminutive garment of blue and white +check--some little girl's frock. Where is that little girl now, we +wonder; and has she got another frock? + +One is struck above all things with the minute detail of the damage. +You would say that a party of lunatics had been let loose on the city +with coal-hammers: there is hardly a square yard of any surface which +is not pierced, or splintered, or dented. The whole fabric of the +place lies prostrate, under a shroud of broken bricks and broken +plaster. The Hun has said in his majesty: "If you will not yield me +this, the last city in the last corner of Belgium, I can at least see +to it that not one stone thereof remains upon another.--So yah!" + +Such is the appearance presented by the venerable and historic city of +Ypres, after fifteen months of personal contact with the apostles of +the new civilisation. Only the methodical and painstaking Boche could +have reduced a town of such a size to such a state. Imagine Chester in +a similar condition, and you may realise the number of shells which +have fallen, and are still falling, into the stricken city. + +But--the main point to observe is this. We are inside, and the +Boche is outside! Fenced by a mighty crescent of prosaic trenches, +themselves manned by paladins of an almost incredible stolidity, Ypres +still points her broken fingers to the sky--shattered, silent, but +inviolate still; and all owing to the obstinacy of a dull and unready +nation which merely keeps faith and stands by its friends. Such an +attitude of mind is incomprehensible to the Boche, and we are well +content that it should be so. + + + + +II + +SHELL OUT! + + +I + +This, according to our latest subaltern from home, is the title of a +_revue_ which is running in Town; but that is a mere coincidence. The +entertainment to which I am now referring took place in Flanders, and +the leading parts were assigned to distinguished members of "K (1)." + +The scene was the Château de Grandbois, or some other kind of Bois; +possibly Vert. Not that we called it that: we invariably referred to +it afterwards as Hush Hall, for reasons which will be set forth in due +course. + +One morning, while sojourning in what Olympus humorously calls a +rest-camp,--a collection of antiquated wigwams half submerged in a +mud-flat,--we received the intelligence that we were to extricate +ourselves forthwith, and take over a fresh sector of trenches. The news +was doubly unwelcome, because, in the first place, it is always +unpleasant to face the prospect of trenches of any kind; and secondly, +to take over strange trenches in the dead of a winter night is an +experience which borders upon nightmare--the +hot-lobster-and-toasted-cheese variety. + +The opening stages of this enterprise are almost ritualistic in their +formality. First of all, the Brigade Staff which is coming in visits +the Headquarters of the Brigade which is going out--usually a château +or farm somewhere in rear of the trenches--and makes the preliminary +arrangements. After that the Commanding Officers and Company +Commanders of the incoming battalions visit their own particular +section of the line. They are shown over the premises by the outgoing +tenants, who make little or no attempt to conceal their satisfaction +at the expiration of their lease. The Colonels and the Captains then +return to camp, with depressing tales of crumbling parapets, noisome +dug-outs, and positions open to enfilade. + +On the day of the relief various advance parties go up, keeping under +the lee of hedges and embankments, and marching in single file. +(At least, that is what they are supposed to do. If not ruthlessly +shepherded, they will advance in fours along the skyline.) Having +arrived, they take over such positions as can be relieved by daylight +in comparative safety. They also take over trench-stores, and exchange +trench-gossip. The latter is a fearsome and uncanny thing. It usually +begins life at the "refilling point," where the A.S.C. motor-lorries +dump down next day's rations, and the regimental transport picks them +up. + +An A.S.C. Sergeant mentions casually to a regimental Quartermaster +that he has heard it said at the Supply Dépôt that heavy firing has +been going on in the Channel. The Quartermaster, on returning to the +Transport Lines, observes to his Quartermaster-Sergeant that the +German Fleet has come out at last. The Quartermaster-Sergeant, when he +meets the ration parties behind the lines that night, announces to a +platoon Sergeant that we have won a great naval victory. The platoon +Sergeant, who is suffering from trench feet and is a constant reader +of a certain pessimistic halfpenny journal, replies gloomily: "We'll +have had heavy losses oorselves, too, I doot!" This observation is +overheard by various members of the ration party. By midnight several +hundred yards of the firing-line know for a fact that there has been a +naval disaster of the first magnitude off the coast of a place which +every one calls Gally Polly, and that the whole of our Division are +to be transferred forthwith to the Near East to stem the tide of +calamity. + +Still, we must have _something_ to chat about. + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile Brigade Majors and Adjutants, holding a stumpy pencil in one +hand and a burning brow in the other, are composing Operation Orders +which shall effect the relief, without-- + +(1) Leaving some detail--the bombers, or the snipers, or the +sock-driers, or the pea-soup experts--unrelieved altogether. + +(2) Causing relievers and relieved to meet violently together in some +constricted fairway. + +(3) Trespassing into some other Brigade Area. (This is far more +foolhardy than to wander into the German lines.) + +(4) Getting shelled. + +Pitfall Number One is avoided by keeping a permanent and handy list +of "all the people who do funny things on their own" (as the vulgar +throng call the "specialists"), and checking it carefully before +issuing Orders. + +Number Two is dealt with by issuing a strict time-table, which might +possibly be adhered to by a well-drilled flock of archangels, in broad +daylight, upon good roads, and under peace conditions. + +Number Three is provided for by copious and complicated map +references. + +Number Four is left to Providence--and is usually the best-conducted +feature of the excursion. + +Under cover of night the Battalion sets out, in comparatively +small parties. They form a strange procession. The men wear their +trench-costume--thigh-boots (which do not go well with a kilt), +variegated coats of skins, and woollen nightcaps. Stuffed under their +belts and through their packs they carry newspapers, broken staves +for firewood, parcels from home, and sandbags loaded with mysterious +comforts. A dilapidated parrot and a few goats are all that is +required to complete the picture of Robinson Crusoe changing camp. + +Progress is not easy. It is a pitch-black night. By day, this road +(and all the countryside) is a wilderness: nothing more innocent ever +presented itself to the eye of an inquisitive aeroplane. But after +nightfall it is packed with troops and transport, and not a light is +shown. If you can imagine what the Mansion House crossing would be +like if called upon to sustain its midday traffic at midnight--the +Mansion House crossing entirely unilluminated, paved with twelve +inches of liquid mud, intersected by narrow strips of _pavé_, and +liberally pitted with "crump-holes"--you may derive some faint idea of +the state of things at a busy road-junction lying behind the trenches. + +Until reaching what is facetiously termed "the shell area"--as if any +spot in this benighted district were not a shell area--the troops plod +along in fours at the right of the road. If they can achieve two miles +an hour, they do well. At any moment they may be called upon to halt, +and crowd into the roadside, while a transport-train passes carrying +rations, and coke, and what is called "R.E. material"--this may be +anything from a bag of nails to steel girders nine feet long--up to +the firing-line. When this procession, consisting of a dozen limbered +waggons, drawn by four mules and headed by a profane person on +horseback--the Transport Officer--has rumbled past, the Company, which +has been standing respectfully in the ditch, enjoying a refreshing +shower-bath of mud and hoping that none of the steel girders are +projecting from the limber more than a yard or two, sets out once more +upon its way--only to take hasty cover again as sounds of fresh +and more animated traffic are heard approaching from the opposite +direction. There is no mistaking the nature of this cavalcade: the +long vista of glowing cigarette-ends tells an unmistakable tale. +These are artillery waggons, returning empty from replenishing the +batteries; scattering homely jests like hail, and proceeding, wherever +possible, at a hand-gallop. He is a cheery soul, the R.A. driver, but +his interpretation of the rules of the road requires drastic revision. + +Sometimes an axle breaks, or a waggon side-slips off the _pavé_ into +the morass reserved for infantry, and overturns. The result is a +block, which promptly extends forward and back for a couple of miles. +A peculiarly British chorus of inquiry and remonstrance--a blend of +biting sarcasm and blasphemous humour--surges up and down the +line; until plunging mules are unyoked, and the offending vehicle +man-handled out of sight into the inky blackness by the roadside; or, +in extreme cases, is annihilated with axes. Everything has to make +way for a ration train. To crown all, it is more than likely that the +calmness and smooth working of the proceedings will be assisted by a +burst of shrapnel overhead. It is a most amazing scrimmage altogether. +One of those members of His Majesty's Opposition who are doing so much +at present to save our country from destruction, by kindly pointing +out the mistakes of the British Government and the British Army, +would refer to the whole scene as a pandemonium of mismanagement and +ineptitude. And yet, though the scene is enacted night after night +without a break, there is hardly a case on record of the transport +being surprised upon these roads by the coming of daylight, and none +whatever of the rations and ammunition failing to get through. + +It is difficult to imagine that Brother Boche, who on the other +side of that ring of star-shells is conducting a precisely similar +undertaking, is able, with all his perfect organisation and cast-iron +methods, to achieve a result in any way superior to that which Thomas +Atkins reaches by rule of thumb and sheer force of character. + + * * * * * + +At length the draggled Company worms its way through the press to the +fringe of the shell-area, beyond which no transport may pass. The +distance of this point from the trenches varies considerably, and +depends largely upon the caprice of the Boche. On this occasion, +however, we still have a mile or two to go--across country now, in +single file, at the heels of a guide from the battalion which we are +relieving. + +Guides may be divided into two classes-- + +(1) Guides who do not know the way, and say so at the outset. + +(2) Guides who do not know the way, but leave it to you to discover +the fact. + +There are no other kinds of guides. + +The pace is down to a mile an hour now, except in the case of men in +the tail of the line, who are running rapidly. It is a curious but +quite inexplicable fact that if you set a hundred men to march in +single file in the dark, though the leading man may be crawling like a +tortoise, the last man is compelled to proceed at a profane double if +he is to avoid being left behind and lost. + +Still, everybody gets there somehow, and in due course the various +Company Commanders are enabled to telephone to their respective +Battalion Headquarters the information that the Relief is completed. +For this relief, much thanks! + +After that the outgoing Battalion files slowly out, and the newcomers +are left gloomily contemplating their new abiding-place, and +observing-- + +"I wonder if there is _any_ Division in the whole blessed +Expeditionary Force, besides ours, which ever does a single damn thing +to keep its trenches in repair!" + + +II + +All of which brings us back to Hush Hall, where the Headquarters of +the outgoing Brigade are handing over to their successors. + +Hush Hall, or the Château de Quelquechose, is a modern country house, +and once stood up white and gleaming in all its brave finery of +stucco, conservatories, and ornamental lake, amid a pleasant wood not +far from a main road. It is such a house as you might find round about +Guildford or Hindhead. There are many in this fair countryside, but +few are inhabited now, and none by their rightful owners. They are all +marked on the map, and the Boche gunners are assiduous map-readers. +Hush Hall has got off comparatively lightly. It is still habitable, +and well furnished. The roof is demolished upon the side most exposed +to the enemy, and many of the trees in the surrounding wood are broken +and splintered by shrapnel. Still, provided the weather remains +passable, one can live there. Upon the danger-side the windows are +closed and shuttered. Weeds grow apace in the garden. No smoke emerges +from the chimneys. (If it does, the Mess Corporal hears about it from +the Staff Captain.) A few strands of barbed wire obstruct the passage +of those careless or adventurous persons who may desire to explore +the forbidden side of the house. The front door is bolted and barred: +visitors, after approaching stealthily along the lee of a hedge, +like travellers of dubious _bona fides_ on a Sunday afternoon, enter +unobtrusively by the back door, which is situated on the blind side of +the château. Their path thereto is beset by imploring notices like the +following:-- + + THE SLIGHTEST MOVEMENT DRAWS SHELL + FIRE. KEEP CLOSE TO THE HEDGE + +A later hand has added the following moving postscript:-- + + WE LIVE HERE. YOU DON'T! + +It was the Staff Captain who was responsible for the rechristening of +the establishment. + +"What sort of place is this new palace we are going to doss in?" +inquired the Machine-Gun Officer, when the Staff Captain returned from +his preliminary visit. + +The Staff Captain, who was a man of a few words, replied-- + +"It's the sort of shanty where everybody goes about in felt slippers, +saying 'Hush!'" + + * * * * * + +Brigade Headquarters--this means the Brigadier, the Brigade Major, the +Staff Captain, the Machine-Gun Officer, the Signal Officer, mayhap +a Padre and a Liaison Officer, accompanied by a mixed multitude of +clerks, telegraphists, and scullions--arrived safely at their new +quarters under cover of night, and were hospitably received by the +outgoing tenants, who had finished their evening meal and were girded +up for departure. In fact, the Machine-Gun Officer, Liaison Officer, +and Padre had already gone, leaving their seniors to hold the fort +till the last. The Signal Officer was down in the cellar, handing over +ohms, ampères, short-circuits, and other mysterious trench-stores to +his "opposite number." + +Upon these occasions there is usually a good deal of time to fill in +between the arrival of the new brooms and the departure of the old. +This period of waiting may be likened to that somewhat anxious +interval with which frequenters of race-courses are familiar, between +the finish of the race and the announcement of the "All Right!" +The outgoing Headquarters are waiting for the magic words--"Relief +Complete!" Until that message comes over the buzzer, the period of +tension endures. The main point of difference is that the gentleman +who has staked his fortune on the legs of a horse has only to wait +a few minutes for the confirmation of his hopes; while a Brigadier, +whose bedtime (or even breakfast-time) is at the mercy of an errant +platoon, may have to sit up all night. + +"Sit down and make yourselves comfortable," said A Brigade to X +Brigade. + +X Brigade complied, and having been furnished with refreshment, led +off with the inevitable question-- + +"Does one--er--get shelled much here?" + +There was a reassuring coo from A Brigade. + +"Oh, no. This is a very healthy spot. One has to be careful, of +course. No movement, or fires, or anything of that kind. A sentry or +two, to warn people against approaching over the open by day, and +you'll be as cooshie as anything!" ("Cooshie" is the latest word here. +That and "crump.") + +"I ought to warn you of one thing," said the Brigadier. "Owing to +the surrounding woods, sound is most deceptive here. You will hear +shell-bursts which appear quite close, when in reality they are quite +a distance away. That, for instance!"--as a shell exploded apparently +just outside the window. "That little fellow is a couple of hundred +yards away, in the corner of the wood. The Boche has been groping +about there for a battery for the last two days." + +"Is the battery there?" inquired a voice. + +"No; it is farther east. But there is a Gunner's Mess about two +hundred yards from here, in that house which you passed on the way +up." + +"Oh!" observed X Brigade. + +Gunners are peculiar people. When professionally engaged, no men could +be more retiring. They screen their operations from the public gaze +with the utmost severity, shrouding batteries in screens of foliage +and other rustic disguises. If a layman strays anywhere near one of +these arboreal retreats, a gunner thrusts out a visage enflamed with +righteous wrath, and curses him for giving the position away. But in +his hours of relaxation the gunner is a different being. He billets +himself in a house with plenty of windows: he illuminates all these by +night, and hangs washing therefrom by day. When inclined for exercise, +he goes for a promenade across an open space labelled--"Not to be used +by troops by daylight." Therefore, despite his technical excellence +and superb courage, he is an uncomfortable neighbour for +establishments like Hush Hall. + +In this respect he offers a curious contrast to the Sapper. Off duty, +the Sapper is the most unobtrusive of men--a cave-man, in fact. He +burrows deep into the earth, or the side of a hill, and having secured +the roof of this cavern against direct hits by ingenious contrivances +of his own manufacture, constructs a suite of furniture of a solid and +enduring pattern, and lives the life of a comfortable recluse. But +when engaged in the pursuit of his calling, the Sapper is the least +retiring of men. The immemorial tradition of the great Corps to which +he belongs has ordained that no fire, however fierce, must be allowed +to interfere with a Sapper in the execution of his duty. This rule is +usually interpreted by the Sapper to mean that you must not perform +your allotted task under cover when it is possible to do so under +fire. To this is added, as a rider, that in the absence of an adequate +supply of fire, you must draw fire. So the Sapper walks cheerfully +about on the tops of parapets, hugging large and conspicuous pieces of +timber, or clashing together sheets of corrugated iron, as happy as a +king. + +"You will find this house quite snug," continued the Brigadier. "The +eastern suite is to be avoided, because there is no roof there; and if +it rains outside for a day, it rains in the best bedroom for a week. +There is a big kitchen in the basement, with a capital range. That's +all, I think. The chief thing to avoid is movement of any kind. The +leaves are coming off the trees now--" + +At this moment an orderly entered the room with a pink telegraph +message. + +"Relief complete, sir!" announced the Brigade Major, reading it. + +"Good work!" replied both Brigadiers, looking at their watches +simultaneously, "considering the state of the country." The Brigadier +of "A" rose to his feet. + +"Now we can pass along quietly," he said. "Good luck to you. By the +way, take care of Edgar, won't you? Any little attention which you can +show him will be greatly appreciated." + +"Who is Edgar?" + +"Oh, I thought the Staff Captain would have told you. Edgar is the +swan--the last of his race, I'm afraid, so far as this place is +concerned. He lives on the lake, and usually comes ashore to draw his +rations about lunch-time. He is inclined to be stand-offish on one +side, as he has only one eye; but he is most affable on the other. +Well, now to find our horses!" + +As the three officers departed down the backdoor steps, a hesitating +voice followed them--"H'm! Is there any place where one can go--a +cellar, or any old spot of that kind--just in case we are--" + +"Bless you, you'll be all right!" was the cheery reply. (The outgoing +Brigade is always excessively cheery.) "But there are dug-outs over +there--in the garden. They haven't been occupied for some months, +so you may find them a bit ratty. You won't require them, though. +Good-night!" + + +III + +_Whizz! Boom! Bang! Crash! Wump_! + +"It's just as well," mused the Brigade Major, turning in his sleep +about three o'clock the following morning, "that they warned us about +the deceptive sound of the shelling here. One would almost imagine +that it was quite close.... That last one was heavy stuff: it shook +the whole place!... This is a topping mattress: it would be rotten +having to take to the woods again after getting into really cooshie +quarters at last.... There they go again!" as a renewed tempest of +shells rent the silence of night. "That old battery must be getting it +in the neck!... Hallo, I could have sworn something hit the roof that +time! A loose slate, I expect! Anyhow ..." + +The Brigade Major, who had had a very long day, turned over and went +to sleep again. + + +IV + +The next morning, a Sunday, broke bright and clear. Contrary to his +usual habit, the Brigade Major took a stroll in the garden before +breakfast. The first object which caught his eye, as he came down +the back-door steps, was the figure of the Staff Captain, brooding +pensively over a large crater, close to the hedge. The Brigade Major +joined him. + +"I wonder if that was there yesterday!" he observed, referring to the +crater. + +"Couldn't have been," growled the Staff Captain. "We walked to the +house along this very hedge. No craters then!" + +"True!" agreed the Brigade Major amiably. He turned and surveyed the +garden. "That lawn looks a bit of a golf course. What lovely bunkers!" + +"They appear to be quite new, too," remarked the Staff Captain +thoughtfully. "Come to breakfast!" + +On their way back they found the Brigadier, the Machine-Gun Officer, +and the Padre, gazing silently upward. + +"I wonder when that corner of the house got knocked off," the M.G.O. +was observing. + +"Fairly recently, I should say," replied the Brigadier. + +"Those marks beside your bedroom window, sir,--they look pretty +fresh!" interpolated the Padre, a sincere but somewhat tactless +Christian. + +Brigade Headquarters regarded one another with dubious smiles. + +"I _wonder_," began a tentative voice, "if those fellows last night +were indulging in a leg-pull--what is called in this country a +_lire-jambe_--when they assured us--" + +WHOO-OO-OO-OO-UMP! + +A shell came shrieking over the tree-tops, and fell with a tremendous +splash into the geometrical centre of the lake, fifty yards away. + + * * * * * + +For the next two hours, shrapnel, "whizz-bangs," "Silent Susies," +and other explosive wildfowl raged round the walls of Hush Hall. The +inhabitants thereof, some twenty persons in all, were gathered in +various apartments on the lee side. + +"It is still possible," remarked the Brigadier, lighting his pipe, +"that they are not aiming at us. However, it is just as inconvenient +to be buried by accident as by design. As soon as the first direct +hit is registered upon this imposing fabric, we will retire to the +dug-outs. Send word to the kitchen that every one is to be ready to +clear out of the house when necessary." + +Next moment there came a resounding crash, easily audible above the +tornado raging in the garden, followed by the sound of splintering +glass. Hush Hall rocked. The Mess waiter appeared. + +"A shell has just came in through the dining-room window, sirr," he +informed the Mess President, "and broke three of they new cups!" + +"How tiresome!" said the Brigadier. "Dug-outs, everybody!" + + +V + +There were no casualties, which was rather miraculous. Late in the +afternoon Brigade Headquarters ventured upon another stroll in the +garden. The tumult had ceased, and the setting Sabbath sun glowed +peacefully upon the battered countenance of Hush Hall. The damage +was not very extensive, for the house was stoutly built. Still, +two bedrooms, recently occupied, were a wreck of broken glass and +splintered plaster, while the gravel outside was littered with lead +sheeting and twisted chimney-cans. The shell which had aroused the +indignation of the Mess waiter by entering the dining-room window, had +in reality hit the ground directly beneath it. Six feet higher, and +the Brigadier's order to clear the house would have been entirely +superfluous. + +The Brigade Major and the Staff Captain surveyed the unruffled surface +of the lake--a haunt of ancient peace in the rays of the setting sun. +Upon the bosom thereof floated a single, majestic, one-eyed swan, +performing intricate toilet exercises. It was Edgar. + +"He must have a darned good dug-out somewhere!" observed the Brigade +Major enviously. + + + + +III + +WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS + + +I + +Hush Hall having become an even less desirable place of residence than +had hitherto been thought possible, Headquarters very sensibly sent +for their invaluable friends, Box and Cox, of the Royal Engineers, +and requested that they would proceed to make the place proof against +shells and weather, forthwith, if not sooner. + +Those phlegmatic experts made a thorough investigation of the +resources of the establishment, and departed mysteriously, after the +fashion of the common plumber of civilisation, into space. Three days +later they returned, accompanied by a horde of acolytes, who, +with characteristic contempt for the pathetic appeals upon the +notice-boards, proceeded to dump down lumber, sandbags, and corrugated +iron roofing in the most exposed portions of the garden. + +This done, some set out to shore up the ceilings of the basement with +mighty battens of wood, and to convert that region into a nest of +cunningly devised bedrooms. Others reinforced the flooring above with +a layer of earth and brick rubble three feet deep. On the top of all +this they relaid not only the original floor, but even the carpet. + +"The only difference from before, sir," explained Box to the admiring +Staff Captain, "is that people will have to walk up three steps to get +into the dining-room now, instead of going in on the level." + +"I wonder what the Marquise de Chilquichose will think of it all when +she returns to her ancestral home," mused the Staff Captain. + +"If anything," maintained the invincible Box, "we have improved it for +her. For example, she can now light the chandelier without standing on +a chair--without getting up from table, in fact! However, to resume. +The fireplace, you will observe, has not been touched. I have left a +sort of well in the floor all round it, lined with some stuff I found +in Mademoiselle's room. At least," added Box coyly, "I think it must +have been Mademoiselle's room! You can sit in the well every evening +after supper. The walls of this room"--prodding the same--"are lined +with sandbags, covered with tapestry. Pretty artistic--what?" + +"Extremely," agreed the Staff Captain. "You will excuse my raising the +point, I know, but can the apartment now be regarded as shell-proof?" + +"Against everything but a direct hit. I wouldn't advise you to sleep +on this floor much, but you could have your meals here all right. +Then, if the Boche starts putting over heavy stuff, you can pop down +into the basement and have your dessert in bed. You'll be absolutely +safe there. In fact, the more the house tumbles down the safer you +will be. It will only make your protection shell thicker. So if you +hear heavy thuds overhead, don't be alarmed!" + +"I won't," promised the Staff Captain. "I shall lie in bed, drinking +a nice hot cup of tea, and wondering whether the last crash was the +kitchen chimney, or only the drawing-room piano coming down another +storey. Now show me my room." + +"We have had to put you in the larder," explained Box apologetically, +as he steered his guest through a forest of struts with an electric +torch. "At least, I think it's the larder: it has a sort of meaty +smell. The General is in the dairy--a lovely little suite, with white +tiles. The Brigade Major has the scullery: it has a sink, so is +practically as good as a flat in Park Place. I have run up cubicles +for the others in the kitchen. Here is your little cot. It is only six +feet by four, but you can dress in the garden." + +"It's a _sweet_ little nest, dear!" replied the Staff Captain, quite +hypnotised by this time. "I'll just get my maid to put me into +something loose, and then I'll run along to your room, and we'll have +a nice cosy gossip together before dinner!" + + * * * * * + +In due course we removed our effects from the tottering and rat-ridden +dug-outs in which we had taken sanctuary during the shelling, and +prepared to settle down for the winter in our new quarters. + +"We might be _very_ much worse off!" we observed the first evening, +listening to the comfortably muffled sounds of shells overhead. + +And we were right. Three days later we received an intimation from the +Practical Joke Department that we were to evacuate our present sector +of trenches (including Hush Hall) forthwith, and occupy another part +of the line. + +In all Sports, Winter and Summer, the supremacy of the Practical Joke +Department is unchallenged. + + +II + +Meanwhile, up in the trenches, the combatants are beguiling the time +in their several ways. + +Let us take the reserve line first--the lair of Battalion Headquarters +and its appurtenances. Much of our time here, as elsewhere, is +occupied in unostentatious retirement to our dug-outs, to avoid the +effects of a bombardment. But a good amount--an increasing amount--of +it is devoted to the contemplation of our own shells bursting over the +Boche trenches. Gone are the days during which we used to sit close +and "stick it out," consoling ourselves with the vague hope that +by the end of the week our gunners might possibly have garnered +sufficient ammunition to justify a few brief hours' retaliation. The +boot is on the other leg now. For every Boche battery that opens on +us, two or three of ours thunder back a reply--and that without any +delays other than those incidental to the use of that maddening +instrument, the field-telephone. During the past six months neither +side has been able to boast much in the way of ground actually gained; +but the moral ascendancy--the initiative--the offensive--call it what +you will--has changed hands; and no one knows it better than the +Boche. We are the attacking party now. + +The trenches in this country are not arranged with such geometric +precision as in France. For instance, the reserve line is not always +connected with the firing-lines by a communication-trench. +Those persons whose duty it is to pay daily visits to the +fire-trenches--Battalion Commanders, Gunner and Sapper officers, +an occasional Staff Officer, and an occasional most devoted +Padre--perform the journey as best they may. Sometimes they skirt a +wood or hedge, sometimes they keep under the lee of an embankment, +sometimes they proceed across the open, with the stealthy caution +of persons playing musical chairs, ready to sit down in the nearest +shell-crater the moment the music--in the form of a visitation of +"whizz-bangs"--strikes up. + +It is difficult to say which kind of weather is least favourable to +this enterprise. On sunny days one's movements are visible to Boche +observers upon distant summits; while on foggy days the Boche gunners, +being able to see nothing at all, amuse themselves by generous and +unexpected contributions of shrapnel in all directions. Stormy weather +is particularly unpleasant, for the noise of the wind in the trees +makes it difficult to hear the shell approaching. Days of heavy rain +are the most desirable on the whole, for then the gunners are too +busy bailing out their gun-pits to worry their heads over adventurous +pedestrians. One learns, also, to mark down and avoid particular +danger-spots. For instance, the southeast corner of that wood, where +a reserve company are dug in, is visited by "Silent Susans" for about +five minutes each noontide: it is therefore advisable to select some +other hour for one's daily visit. (Silent Susan, by the way, is not a +desirable member of the sex. Owing to her intensely high velocity she +arrives overhead without a sound, and then bursts with a perfectly +stunning detonation and a shower of small shrapnel bullets.) There +is a fixed rifle-battery, too, which fires all day long, a shot at a +time, down the main street of the ruined and deserted village named +Vrjoozlehem, through which one must pass on the way to the front-line +trenches. Therefore in negotiating this delectable spot, one shapes +a laborious course through a series of back yards and garden-plots, +littered with broken furniture and brick rubble, allowing the +rifle-bullets the undisputed use of the street. The mention of +Vrjoozlehem--that is not its real name, but a simplified form of +it--brings to our notice the wholesale and whole-hearted fashion in +which the British Army has taken Belgian institutions under its wing. +Nomenclature, for instance. In France we make no attempt to interfere +with this: we content ourselves with devising a pronounceable +variation of the existing name. For example, if a road is called La +Rue de Bois, we simply call it "Roodiboys," and leave it at that. +On the same principle, Etaples is modified to "Eatables," and +Sailly-la-Bourse to "Sally Booze." But in Belgium more drastic +procedure is required. A Scotsman is accustomed to pronouncing +difficult names, but even he is unable to contend with words composed +almost entirely of the letters _j, z_, and _v_. So our resourceful +Ordnance Department has issued maps--admirable maps--upon which the +outstanding features of the landscape are marked in plain figures. +But instead of printing the original place-names, they put "Moated +Grange," or "Clapham Junction," or "Dead Dog Farm," which simplifies +matters beyond all possibility of error. (The system was once +responsible, though, for an unjust if unintentional aspersion upon +the character of a worthy man. The C.O. of a certain battalion had +occasion to complain to those above him of the remissness of one of +his chaplains. "He's a lazy beggar, sir," he said. "Over and over +again I have told him to come up and show himself in the front-line +trenches, but he never seems to be able to get past Leicester +Square!") + +The naming of the trenches themselves has been left largely to local +enterprise. An observant person can tell, by a study of the numerous +name-boards, which of his countrymen have been occupying the line +during the past six months. "Grainger Street" and "Jesmond Dene" give +direct evidence of "Canny N'castle." "Sherwood Avenue" and "Notts +Forest" have a Midland flavour. Lastly, no great mental effort is +required to decide who labelled two communication trenches "The +Gorbals" and "Coocaddens" respectively! + +Some names have obviously been bestowed by officers, as "Sackville +Street," "The Albany," and "Burlington Arcade" denote. "Pinch-Gut" +and "Crab-Crawl" speak for themselves. So does "Vermin Villa." Other +localities, again, have obviously been labelled by persons endowed +with a nice gift of irony. "Sanctuary Wood" is the last place on earth +where any one would dream of taking sanctuary; while "Lovers' Walk," +which bounds it, is the scene of almost daily expositions of the +choicest brand of Boche "hate." + +And so on. But one day, when the War is over, and this mighty +trench-line is thrown open to the disciples of the excellent Mr. +Cook--as undoubtedly it will be--care should be taken that these +street-names are preserved and perpetuated. It would be impossible to +select a more characteristic and fitting memorial to the brave hearts +who constructed them--too many of whom are sleeping their last sleep +within a few yards of their own cheerful handiwork. + + +III + +After this digression we at length reach the firing-line. It is quite +unlike anything of its kind that we have hitherto encountered. It +is situated in what was once a thick wood. Two fairly well-defined +trenches run through the undergrowth, from which the sentries of +either side have been keeping relentless watch upon one another, night +and day, for many months. The wood itself is a mere forest of poles: +hardly a branch, and not a twig, has been spared by the shrapnel. In +the no-man's-land between the trenches the poles have been reduced to +mere stumps a few inches high. + +It is behind the firing-trench that the most unconventional scene +presents itself. Strictly speaking, there ought to be--and generally +is--a support-line some seventy yards in rear of the first. This +should be occupied by all troops not required in the firing-trench. +But the trench is empty--which is not altogether surprising, +considering that it is half-full of water. Its rightful occupants are +scattered through the wood behind--in dug-outs, in redoubts, or _en +plein air_--cooking, washing, or repairing their residences. The whole +scene suggests a gipsy encampment rather than a fortified post. A +hundred yards away, through the trees, you can plainly discern the +Boche firing-trench, and the Boche in that trench can discern you: yet +never a shot comes. It is true that bullets are humming through the +air and glancing off trees, but these are mostly due to the enterprise +of distant machine-guns and rifle-batteries, firing from some position +well adapted for enfilade. Frontal fire there is little or none. In +the front-line trenches, at least, Brother Boche has had enough of it. +His motto now is, "Live and let live!" In fact, he frequently makes +plaintive statements to that effect in the silence of night. + +You might think, then, that life in Willow Grove would be a tranquil +affair. But if you look up among the few remaining branches of that +tall tree in the centre of the wood, you may notice shreds of some +material flapping in the breeze. Those are sandbags--or were. Last +night, within the space of one hour, seventy-three shells fell into +this wood, and the first of them registered a direct hit upon the +dug-out of which those sandbags formed part. There were eight men +in that dug-out. The telephone-wires were broken in the first few +minutes, and there was some delay before word could be transmitted +back to Headquarters. Then our big guns far in rear spoke out, until +the enemy's batteries (probably in response to an urgent appeal from +their own front line) ceased firing. Thereupon "A" Company, who at +Bobby Little's behest had taken immediate cover in the water-logged +support-trench, returned stolidly to their dug-outs in Willow Grove. +Death, when he makes the mistake of raiding your premises every day, +loses most of his terrors and becomes a bit of a bore. + +This morning the Company presents its normal appearance: its numbers +have been reduced by eight--_c'est tout_! It may be some one else's +turn to-morrow, but after all, that is what we are here for. Anyhow, +we are keeping the Boches out of "Wipers," and a bit over. So we +stretch our legs in the wood, and keep the flooded trench for the next +emergency. + +Let us approach a group of four which is squatting sociably round a +small and inadequate fire of twigs, upon which four mess-tins are +simmering. The quartette consists of Privates Cosh and Tosh, together +with Privates Buncle and Nigg, preparing their midday meal. + +"Tak' off your damp chup, Jimmy," suggested Tosh to Buncle, who was +officiating as stoker. "Ye mind what the Captain said aboot smoke?" + +"It wasna the Captain: it was the Officer," rejoined Buncle +cantankerously. + +(It may here be explained, at the risk of another digression, that no +length of association or degree of intimacy will render the average +British soldier familiar with the names of his officers. The Colonel +is "The C.O."; the Second in Command is "The Major"; your Company +Commander is "The Captain," and your Platoon Commander "The Officer." +As for all others of commissioned rank in the regiment, some +twenty-four in all, they are as nought. With the exception of the +Quartermaster, in whose shoes each member of the rank and file hopes +one day to stand, they simply do not exist.) + +"Onyway," pursued the careful Tosh, "he said that if any smoke was +shown, all fires was tae be pitten oot. So mind and see no' to get a +cauld dinner for us all, Jimmy!" + +"Cauld or het," retorted the gentleman addressed, "it's little dinner +I'll be gettin' this day! And ye ken fine why!" he added darkly. + +Private Tosh removed a cigarette from his lower lip and sighed +patiently. + +"For the last time," he announced, with the air of a righteous man +suffering long, "I did not lay ma hand on your dirrty wee bit ham!" + +"Maybe," countered the bereaved Buncle swiftly, "you did not lay your +hand upon it; but you had it tae your breakfast for all that, Davie!" + +"I never pit ma hand on it!" repeated Tosh doggedly. + +"No? Then I doot you gave it a bit kick with your foot," replied the +inflexible Buncle. + +"Or got some other body tae luft it for him!" suggested Private Nigg, +looking hard at Tosh's habitual accomplice, Cosh. + +"I had it pitten in an auld envelope from hame, addressed with my +name," continued the mourner. "It couldna hae got oot o' that by +accident!" + +"Weel," interposed Cosh, with forced geniality, "it's no a thing tae +argie-bargie aboot. Whatever body lufted it, it's awa' by this time. +It's a fine day, boys!" + +This flagrant attempt to raise the conversation to a less +controversial plane met with no encouragement. Private Buncle, +refusing to be appeased, replied sarcastically-- + +"Aye, is it? And it was a fine nicht last nicht, especially when the +shellin' was gaun on! Especially in number seeven dug-oot!" + +There was a short silence. Number seven dug-out was no more, and five +of its late occupants were now lying under their waterproof sheets, +not a hundred yards away, waiting for a Padre. Presently, however, +the pacific Cosh, who in his hours of leisure was addicted to mild +philosophical rumination, gave a fresh turn to the conversation. + +"Mphm!" he observed thoughtfully. "They say that in a war every man +has a bullet waiting for him some place or other, with his name on +it! Sooner or later, he gets it. Aye! Mphm!" He sucked his teeth +reflectively, and glanced towards the Field Ambulance. "Sooner or +later!" + +"What for would he pit his name on it, Wully?" inquired Nigg, who was +not very quick at grasping allusions. + +"He wouldna pit on the name himself," explained the philosopher. +"What I mean is, there's a bullet for each one of us somewhere over +there"--he jerked his head eastward--"in a Gairman pooch." + +"What way could a Gairman pit my name on a bullet?" demanded Nigg +triumphantly. "He doesna ken it!" + +"Man," exclaimed Cosh, shedding some of his philosophic calm, "can ye +no unnerstand that what I telled ye was jist a mainner of speakin'? +When I said that a man's name was on a bullet, I didna mean that it +was _written_ there." + +"Then what the hell _did_ ye mean?" inquired the mystified +disciple--not altogether unreasonably. + +Private Tosh made a misguided but well-meaning attempt to straighten +out the conversation. + +"He means, Sandy," he explained in a soothing voice, "that the name +was just stampit on the bullet. Like--like--like an identity disc!" he +added brilliantly. + +The philosopher clutched his temples with both hands. + +"I dinna mean onything o' the kind," he roared. "What I intend tae +imply is _this_, Sandy Nigg. Some place over there there is a bullet +in a Gairman's pooch, and one day that bullet will find its way intil +your insides as sure as if your name was written on it! _That's_ what +I meant. Jist a mainner of speakin'. Dae ye unnerstand me the noo?" + +But it was the injured Buncle who replied--like a lightning-flash. + +"Never you fear, Sandy, boy!" he proclaimed to his perturbed ally. +"That bullet has no' gotten your length yet. Maybe it never wull. +There's mony a thing in this worrld with one man's name on it that +finds its way intil the inside of some other man." He fixed Tosh with +a relentless eye. "A bit ham, for instance!" + +It was a knock-out blow. + +"For ony sake," muttered the now demoralised Tosh, "drop the subject, +and I'll gie ye a bit ham o' ma ain! There's just time tae cook it--" + +"What kin' o' a fire is this?" + +A cold shadow fell upon the group as a substantial presence inserted +itself between the debaters and the wintry sunshine. Corporal +Mucklewame was speaking, in his new and awful official voice, pointing +an accusing finger at the fire, which, neglected in the ardour of +discussion, was smoking furiously. + +"Did you wish the hale wood tae be shelled?" continued Mucklewame +sarcastically. "Put oot the fire at once, or I'll need tae bring ye +all before the Officer. It is a cauld dinner ye'll get, and ye'll +deserve it!" + + +IV + +In the fire-trench--or perhaps it would be more correct to call it the +water-trench--life may be short, and is seldom merry; but it is not +often dull. For one thing, we are never idle. + +A Boche trench-mortar knocks down several yards of your parapet. +Straightway your machine-gunners are called up, to cover the gap +until darkness falls and the gaping wound can be stanched with fresh +sandbags. A mine has been exploded upon your front, leaving a crater +into which predatory Boches will certainly creep at night. You summon +a _posse_ of bombers to occupy the cavity and discourage any +such enterprise. The heavens open, and there is a sudden deluge. +Immediately it is a case of all hands to the trench-pump! A better +plan, if you have the advantage of ground, is to cut a culvert under +the parapet and pass the inundation on to a more deserving quarter. In +any case you need never lack healthful exercise. + +While upon the subject of mines, we may note that this branch of +military industry has expanded of late to most unpleasant dimensions. +The Boche began it, of course--he always initiates these undesirable +pastimes,--and now we have followed his lead and caught him up. + +To the ordinary mortal, to become a blind groper amid the dark places +of the earth, in search of a foe whom it is almost certain death to +encounter there, seems perhaps the most idiotic of all the idiotic +careers open to those who are idiotic enough to engage in modern +warfare. However, many of us are as much at home below ground as above +it. In most peaceful times we were accustomed to spend eight hours a +day there, lying up against the "face" in a tunnel perhaps four feet +high, and wielding a pick in an attitude which would have convulsed +any ordinary man with cramp. But there are few ordinary men in +"K(1)" There is never any difficulty in obtaining volunteers for the +Tunnelling Company. + +So far as the amateur can penetrate its mysteries, mining, viewed +under our present heading--namely, Winter Sports--offers the following +advantages to its participants:-- + +(1) In winter it is much warmer below the earth than upon its surface, +and Thomas Atkins is the most confirmed "frowster" in the world. + +(2) Critics seldom descend into mines. + +(3) There is extra pay. + +The disadvantages are so obvious that they need not be enumerated +here. + +In these trenches we have been engaged upon a very pretty game of +subterranean chess for some weeks past, and we are very much on our +mettle. We have some small leeway to make up. When we took over these +trenches, a German mine, which had been maturing (apparently unheeded) +during the tenancy of our predecessors, was exploded two days after +our arrival, inflicting heavy casualties upon "D" Company. Curiously +enough, the damage to the trench was comparatively slight; but +the tremendous shock of the explosion killed more than one man by +concussion, and brought down the roofs of several dug-outs upon +their sleeping occupants. Altogether it was a sad business, and the +Battalion swore to be avenged. + +So they called upon Lieutenant Duff-Bertram--usually called Bertie the +Badger, in reference to his rodent disposition--to make the first move +in the return match. So Bertie and his troglodyte assistants sank +a shaft in a retired spot of their own selecting, and proceeded to +burrow forward towards the Boche lines. + +After certain days Bertie presented himself, covered in clay, before +Colonel Kemp, and made a report. + +Colonel Kemp considered. + +"You say you can hear the enemy working?" he said. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Near?" + +"Pretty near, sir." + +"How near?" + +"A few yards." + +"What do you propose to do?" + +Bertie the Badger--in private life he was a consulting mining engineer +with a beautiful office in Victoria Street and a nice taste in +spats--scratched an earthy nose with a muddy forefinger. + +"I think they are making a defensive gallery, sir," he announced. + +"Let us have your statement in the simplest possible language, +please," said Colonel Kemp. "Some of my younger officers," he added +rather ingeniously, "are not very expert in these matters." + +Bertie the Badger thereupon expounded the situation with solemn +relish. By a defensive gallery, it appeared that he meant a lateral +tunnel running parallel with the trench-line, in such a manner as to +intercept any tunnel pushed out by the British miners. + +"And what do you suggest doing to this Piccadilly Tube of theirs?" +inquired the Colonel. + +"I could dig forward and break into it, sir," suggested Bertie. + +"That seems a move in the right direction," said the Colonel. "But +won't the Boche try to prevent you?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"How?" + +"He will wait until the head of my tunnel gets near enough, and then +blow it in." + +"That would be very tiresome of him. What other alternatives are open +to you?" + +"I could get as near as possible, sir," replied Bertie calmly, "and +then blow up _his_ gallery." + +"That sounds better. Well, exercise your own discretion, and don't get +blown up unless you particularly want to. And above all, be quite sure +that while you are amusing yourself with the Piccadilly Tube, the +wily Boche isn't burrowing past _you_, and under my parapet, by the +Bakerloo! Good luck! Report any fresh development at once." + +So Bertie the Badger returned once more to his native element and +proceeded to exercise his discretion. This took the form of continuing +his aggressive tunnel in the direction of the Boche defensive gallery. +Next morning, encouraged by the absolute silence of the enemy's +miners, he made a farther and final push, which actually landed him in +the "Piccadilly Tube" itself. + +"This is a rum go, Howie!" he observed in a low voice to his +corporal. "A long, beautiful gallery, five by four, lined with wood, +electrically lighted, with every modern convenience--and not a Boche +in it!" + +"Varra bad discipline, sir!" replied Corporal Howie severely. + +"Are you sure it isn't a trap?" + +"It may be, sirr; but I doot the oversman is awa' to his dinner, and +the men are back in the shaft, doing naething." Corporal Howie had +been an "oversman" himself, and knew something of subterranean labour +problems. + +"Well, if you are right, the Boche must be getting demoralised. It is +not like him to present us with openings like this. However, the first +thing to do is to distribute a few souvenirs along the gallery. Pass +the word back for the stuff. Meanwhile I shall endeavour to test your +theory about the oversman's dinner-hour. I am going to creep along and +have a look at the Boche entrance to the Tube. It's down there, at the +south end, I think. I can see a break in the wood lining. If you hear +any shooting, you will know that the dinner-hour is over!" + +At the end of half an hour the Piccadilly Tube was lined with +sufficient explosive material--securely rammed and tamped--to ensure +the permanent closing of the line. Still no Boche had been seen or +heard. + +"Now, Howie," said Bertie the Badger, fingering the fuse, "what about +it?" + +"About what, sirr?" inquired Howie, who was not quite _au fait_ with +current catch-phrases. + +"Are we going to touch off all this stuff now, and clear out, or are +we going to wait and see?" + +"I would like fine--" began the Corporal wistfully. + +"So would I," said Bertie. "Tell the men to get back and out; and you +and I will hold on until the guests return from the banquet." + +"Varra good, sirr." + +For another half-hour the pair waited--Bertie the Badger like a dog in +its kennel, with his head protruding into the hostile gallery, while +his faithful henchman crouched close behind him. Deathly stillness +reigned, relieved only by an occasional thud, as a shell or +trench-mortar bomb exploded upon the ground above their heads. + +"I'm going to have another look round the corner," said Bertie at +last. "Hold on to the fuse." + +He handed the end of the fuse to his subordinate, and having wormed +his way out of the tunnel, proceeded cautiously on all-fours along the +gallery. On his way he passed the electric light. He twisted off the +bulb and crawled on in the dark. + +Feeling his way by the east wall of the gallery, he came presently to +the break in the woodwork. Very slowly, lying flat on his stomach now, +he wriggled forward until his head came opposite the opening. A low +passage ran away to his left, obviously leading back to the Boche +trenches. Three yards from the entrance the passage bent sharply to +the right, thus interrupting the line of sight. + +"There's a light burning just round that bend," said Bertie the Badger +to himself. "I wonder if it would be rash to go on and have a look at +it!" + +He was still straining at this gnat, when suddenly his elbow +encountered a shovel which was leaning against the wall of the +gallery. It tumbled down with a clatter almost stunning. Next moment +a hand came round the bend of the tunnel and fired a revolver almost +into the explorer's face. + +Another shot rang out directly after. + +The devoted Howie, hastening to the rescue, collided sharply with a +solid body crawling towards him in the darkness. + +"Curse you, Howie!" said the voice of Bertie the Badger, with +refreshing earnestness. "Get back out of this! Where's your fuse?" + +The pair scrambled back into their own tunnel, and the end of the fuse +was soon recovered. Almost simultaneously three more revolver-shots +rang out. + +"I thought I had fixed that Boche," murmured Bertie in a disappointed +voice. "I heard him grunt when my bullet hit him. Perhaps this is +another one--or several. Keep back in the tunnel, Howie, confound you, +and don't breathe up my sleeve! They are firing straight along the +gallery now. I will return the compliment. Ouch!" + +"What's the matter, sirr?" inquired the anxious voice of Howie, as his +officer, who had tried to fire round the corner with his left hand, +gave a sudden exclamation and rolled over upon his side. + +"I must have been hit the first time," he explained. "Collar-bone, I +think. I didn't know, till I rested my weight on my left elbow.... +Howie, I am going to exercise my discretion again. Somebody in this +gallery is going to be blown up presently, and if you and I don't get +a move on, p.d.q., it will be us! Give me the fuse-lighter, and wait +for me at the foot of the shaft. Quick!" + +Very reluctantly the Corporal obeyed. However, he was in due course +joined at the foot of the shaft by Bertie the Badger, groaning +profanely; and the pair made their way to the upper regions with all +possible speed. After a short interval, a sudden rumbling, followed by +a heavy explosion, announced that the fuse had done its work, and +that the Piccadilly Tube, the fruit of many toilsome weeks of Boche +calculation and labour, had been permanently closed to traffic of all +descriptions. + +Bertie the Badger received a Military Cross, and his abettor the +D.C.M. + + +V + +But the newest and most fashionable form of winter sport this season +is The Flying Matinée. + +This entertainment takes place during the small hours of the morning, +and is strictly limited to a duration of ten minutes--quite long +enough for most matinées, too. The actors are furnished by a unit of +"K(1)" and the rôle of audience is assigned to the inhabitants of the +Boche trenches immediately opposite. These matinées have proved an +enormous success, but require most careful rehearsal. + +It is two A.M., and comparative peace reigns up and down the line. The +rain of star-shells, always prodigal in the early evening, has died +down to a mere drizzle. Working and fatigue parties, which have been +busy since darkness set in at five o'clock,--rebuilding parapets, +repairing wire, carrying up rations, and patrolling debatable +areas,--have ceased their labours, and are sleeping heavily until the +coming of the wintry dawn shall rouse them, grimy and shivering, to +another day's unpleasantness. + +Private Hans Dumpkopf, on sentry duty in the Boche firing-trench, +gazes mechanically over the parapet; but the night is so dark and the +wind so high that it is difficult to see and quite impossible to hear +anything. He shelters himself beside a traverse, and waits patiently +for his relief. It begins to rain, and Hans, after cautiously +reconnoitring the other side of the traverse, to guard against +prowling sergeants, sidles a few yards to his right beneath the +friendly cover of an improvised roof of corrugated iron sheeting, laid +across the trench from parapet to parados. It is quite dry here, and +comparatively warm. Hans closes his eyes for a moment, and heaves a +gentle sigh. + +Next moment there comes a rush of feet in the darkness, followed by a +metallic clang, as of hobnailed boots on metal. Hans, lying prostrate +and half-stunned beneath the galvanised iron sheeting, which, +dislodged from its former position by the impact of a heavy body +descending from above, now forms part of the flooring of the trench, +is suddenly aware that this same trench is full of men--rough, +uncultured men, clad in short petticoats and the skins of wild +animals, and armed with knobkerries. The Flying Matinée has begun, and +Hans Dumpkopf has got in by the early door. + +Each of the performers--there are fifty of them all told--has his part +to play, and plays it with commendable aplomb. One, having disarmed +an unresisting prisoner, assists him over the parapet and escorts him +affectionately to his new home. Another clubs a recalcitrant foeman +over the head with a knobkerry, and having thus reduced him to a more +amenable frame of mind, hoists him over the parapet and drags him +after his "kamarad." + +Other parties are told off to deal with the dug-outs. As a rule, the +occupants of these are too dazed to make any resistance,--to be quite +frank, the individual Boche in these days seems rather to welcome +captivity than otherwise,--and presently more of the "bag" are on +their way to the British lines. + +But by this time the performance is drawing to a close. The alarm +has been communicated to the adjacent sections of the trench, and +preparations for the ejection of the intruders are being hurried +forward. That is to say, German bombers are collecting upon either +flank, with the intention of bombing "inwards" until the impudent foe +has been destroyed or evicted. As we are not here to precipitate a +general action, but merely to round up a few prisoners and do as much +damage as possible in ten minutes, we hasten to the finale. As in most +finales, one's actions now become less restrained--but, from a brutal +point of view, more effective. A couple of hand-grenades are thrown +into any dug-out which has not yet surrendered. (The Canadians, +who make quite a speciality of flying matinées, are accustomed, we +understand, as an artistic variant to this practice, to fasten an +electric torch along the barrel of a rifle, and so illuminate their +lurking targets while they shoot.) A sharp order passes along the +line; every one scrambles out of the trench; and the troupe makes +its way back, before the enemy in the adjacent trenches have really +wakened up, to the place from which it came. The matinée, so far as +the actors are concerned, is over. + +Not so the audience. The avenging host is just getting busy. The +bombing-parties are now marshalled and proceed with awful solemnity +and Teutonic thoroughness to clear the violated trench. The procedure +of a bombing-party is stereotyped. They begin by lobbing hand-grenades +over the first traverse into the first bay. After the ensuing +explosion, they trot round the traverse in single file and occupy +the bay. This manoeuvre is then repeated until the entire trench is +cleared. The whole operation requires good discipline, considerable +courage, and carefully timed co-operation with the other +bombing-party. In all these attributes the Boche excels. But one thing +is essential to the complete success of his efforts, and that is the +presence of the enemy. When, after methodically desolating each bay in +turn (and incidentally killing their own wounded in the process), the +two parties meet midway--practically on top of the unfortunate +Hans Dumpkopf, who is still giving an imitation of a tortoise in a +corrugated shell--it is discovered that the beautifully executed +counter-attack has achieved nothing but the recapture of an entirely +empty trench. The birds have flown, taking their prey with them. Hans +is the sole survivor, and after hearing what his officer has to say to +him upon the subject, bitterly regrets the fact. + +Meanwhile, in the British trenches a few yards away, the box-office +returns are being made up. These take the form, firstly, of some +twenty-five prisoners, including one indignant officer--he had been +pulled from his dug-out half asleep and frog-marched across the +British lines by two private soldiers well qualified to appreciate the +richness of his language--together with various souvenirs in the way +of arms and accoutrements; and secondly, of the knowledge that +at least as many more of the enemy had been left permanently +incapacitated for further warfare in the dug-outs. A grim and grisly +drama when you come to criticise it in cold blood, but not without a +certain humour of its own--and most educative for Brother Boche! + +But he is a slow pupil. He regards the profession of arms and the +pursuit of war with such intense and solemn reverence that he _cannot_ +conceive how any one calling himself a soldier can be so criminally +frivolous as to write a farce round the subject--much less present the +farce at a Flying Matinée. That possibly explains why the following +stately paragraph appeared a few days later in the periodical +communiqué which keeps the German nation in touch with its Army's +latest exploits:-- + + _During the night of Jan. 4th-5th attempts were made by strong + detachments of the enemy to penetrate our line near Sloozleschump, + S.E. of Ypres. The attack failed utterly_. + +"And they don't even realise that it was only a leg-pull!" commented +the Company Commander who had stage-managed the affair. "These people +simply don't deserve to have entertainments arranged for them at all. +Well, we must pull the limb again, that's all!" + +And it was so. + + + + +IV + +THE PUSH THAT FAILED + + +I + +"I wonder if they really mean business this time," surmised that +youthful Company Commander, Temporary Captain Bobby Little, to Major +Wagstaffe. + +"It sounds like it," said Wagstaffe, as another salvo of "whizz-bangs" +broke like inflammatory surf upon the front-line trenches. +"Intermittent _strafes_ we are used to, but this all-day performance +seems to indicate that the Boche is really getting down to it for +once. The whole proceeding reminds me of nothing so much as our own +'artillery preparation' before the big push at Loos." + +"Then you think the Boches are going to make a push of their own?" + +"I do; and I hope it will be a good fat one. When it comes, I fancy +we shall be able to put up something rather pretty in the way of a +defence. The Salient is stiff with guns--I don't think the Boche +quite realises _how_ stiff! And we owe the swine something!" he added +through his teeth. + +There was a pause in the conversation. You cannot hold the Salient for +three months without paying for the distinction; and the regiment had +paid its full share. Not so much in numbers, perhaps, as in quality. +Stray bullets, whistling up and down the trenches, coming even +obliquely from the rear, had exacted most grievous toll. Shells +and trench-mortar bombs, taking us in flank, had extinguished many +valuable lives. At this time nothing but the best seemed to satisfy +the Fates. One day it would be a trusted colour-sergeant, on another a +couple of particularly promising young corporals. Only last week the +Adjutant--athlete, scholar, born soldier, and very lovable schoolboy, +all most perfectly blended--had fallen mortally wounded, on his +morning round of the fire-trenches, by a bullet which came from +nowhere. He was the subject of Wagstaffe's reference. + +"Is it not possible," suggested Mr. Waddell, who habitually considered +all questions from every possible point of view, "that this +bombardment has been specially initiated by the German authorities, in +order to impress upon their own troops a warning that there must be no +Christmas truce this year?" + +"If that is the Kaiser's Christmas greeting to his loving followers," +observed Wagstaffe drily, "I think he might safely have left it to us +to deliver it!" + +"They say," interposed Bobby Little, "that the Kaiser is here +himself." + +"How do you know?" + +"It was rumoured in 'Comic Cuts.'" ("Comic Cuts" is the stately +Summary of War Intelligence issued daily from Olympus.) + +"If that is true," said Wagstaffe, "they probably will attack. All +this fuss and bobbery suggest something of the kind. They remind me of +the commotion which used to precede Arthur Roberts's entrance in the +old days of Gaiety burlesque. Before your time, I fancy, Bobby?" + +"Yes," said Bobby modestly. "I first found touch with the Gaiety over +'Our Miss Gibbs.' And I was quite a kid even then," he added, with +characteristic honesty. "But what about Arthur Roberts?" + +"Some forty or fifty years ago," explained Wagstaffe, "when I was +in the habit of frequenting places of amusement, Arthur Roberts was +leading man at the establishment to which I have referred. He usually +came on about half-past eight, just as the show was beginning to lose +its first wind. His entrance was a most tremendous affair. First of +all the entire chorus blew in from the wings--about sixty of them +in ten seconds--saying "Hurrah, hurrah, girls!" or something rather +subtle of that kind; after which minor characters rushed on from +opposite sides and told one another that Arthur Roberts was coming. +Then the band played, and everybody began to tell the audience about +it in song. When everything was in full blast, the great man would +appear--stepping out of a bathing-machine, or falling out of a +hansom-cab, or sliding down a chute on a toboggan. He was assisted +to his feet by the chorus, and then proceeded to ginger the show up. +Well, that's how this present entertainment impresses me. All this +noise and obstreperousness are leading up to one thing--Kaiser Bill's +entrance. Preliminary bombardment--that's the chorus getting to work! +Minor characters--the trench-mortars--spread the glad news! Band _and_ +chorus--that's the grand attack working up to boiling-point! Finally, +preceded by clouds of gas, the Arch-Comedian in person, supported +by spectacled coryphées in brass hats! How's that for a Christmas +pantomime?" + +"Rotten!" said Bobby, as a shell sang over the parapet and burst in +the wood behind. + + +II + +Kaiser or no Kaiser, Major Wagstaffe's extravagant analogy held good. +As Christmas drew nearer, the band played louder and faster; the +chorus swelled higher and shriller; and it became finally apparent +that something (or somebody) of portentous importance was directing +the storm. + +Between six and seven next morning, the Battalion, which had stood +to arms all night, lifted up its heavy head and sniffed the misty +dawn-wind--an east wind--dubiously. Next moment gongs were clanging +up and down the trench, and men were tearing open the satchels which +contained their anti-gas helmets. + +Major Wagstaffe, who had been sent up from Battalion Headquarters to +take general charge of affairs in the firing-trench, buttoned the +bottom edge of his helmet well inside his collar and clambered up on +the firing-step to take stock of the position. He crouched low, for a +terrific bombardment was in progress, and shells were almost grazing +the parapet. + +Presently he was joined by a slim young officer similarly disguised. +It was the Commander of "A" Company. Wagstaffe placed his head close +to Bobby's left ear, and shouted through the cloth-- + +"We shan't feel this gas much. They're letting it off higher up the +line. Look!" + +Bobby, laboriously inhaling the tainted air inside his helmet,--being +preserved from a gas attack is only one degree less unpleasant than +being gassed,--turned his goggles northward. + +In the dim light of the breaking day he could discern a +greenish-yellow cloud rolling across from the Boche trenches on his +left. + +"Will they attack?" he bellowed. + +Wagstaffe nodded his head, and then cautiously unbuttoned his collar +and rolled up the front of his helmet. Then, after delicately sampling +the atmosphere by a cautious sniff, he removed his helmet altogether. +Bobby followed his example. The air was not by any means so pure as +might have been desired, but it was infinitely preferable to that +inside a gas-helmet. + +"Nothing to signify," pronounced Wagstaffe. "We're only getting the +edge of it. Sergeant, pass down that men may roll up their helmets, +but must keep them on their heads. Now, Bobby, things are getting +interesting. Will they attack, or will they not?" + +"What do you think?" asked Bobby. + +"They are certainly going to attack farther north. The Boche does not +waste gas as a rule--not this sort of gas! And I think he'll attack +here too. The only reason why he has not switched on our anaesthetic +is that the wind isn't quite right for this bit of the line. I think +it is going to be a general push. Bobby, have a look through this +sniper's loophole. Can you see any bayonets twinkling in the Boche +trenches?" + +Bobby applied an eye to the loophole. + +"Yes," he said, "I can see them. Those trenches must be packed with +men." + +"Absolutely stiff with them," agreed Wagstaffe, getting out his +revolver. "We shall be in for it presently. Are your fellows all +ready, Bobby?" + +The youthful Captain ran his eye along the trench, where his Company, +with magazines loaded and bayonets fixed, were grimly awaiting the +onset. There had been an onset similar to this, with the same green, +nauseous accompaniment, in precisely the same spot eight months +before, which had broken the line and penetrated for four miles. +There it had been stayed by a forlorn hope of cooks, brakesmen, and +officers' servants, and disaster had been most gloriously retrieved. +What was going to happen this time? One thing was certain: the day of +stink-pots was over. + +"When do you think they'll attack?" shouted Bobby to Wagstaffe, +battling against the noise of bursting shells. + +"Quite soon--in a minute or two. Their guns will stop directly--to +lift their sights and set up a barrage behind us. Then, perhaps the +Boche will step over his parapet. Perhaps not!" + +The last sentence rang out with uncanny distinctness, for the German +guns with one accord had ceased firing. For a full two minutes there +was absolute silence, while the bayonets in the opposite trenches +twinkled with tenfold intent. + +Then, from every point in the great Salient of Ypres, the British guns +replied. + +Possibly the Imperial General Staff at Berlin had been misinformed as +to the exact strength of the British Artillery. Possibly they had been +informed by their Intelligence Department that Trades Unionism, had +ensured that a thoroughly inadequate supply of shells was to hand in +the Salient. Or possibly they had merely decided, after the playful +habit of General Staffs, to let the infantry in the trenches take +their chance of any retaliation that might be forthcoming. + +Whatever these great men were expecting, it is highly improbable that +they expected that which arrived. Suddenly the British batteries spoke +out, and they all spoke together. In the space of four minutes they +deposited _thirty thousand_ high-explosive shells in the Boche +front-line trenches--yea, distributed the same accurately and evenly +along all that crowded arc. Then they paused, as suddenly as they +began, while British riflemen and machine-gunners bent to their work. + +But few received the order to fire. Here and there a wave of men broke +over the German parapet and rolled towards the British lines--only to +be rolled back crumpled up by machine-guns. Never once was the goal +reached. The great Christmas attack was over. After months of weary +waiting and foolish recrimination, that exasperating race of bad +starters but great stayers, the British people, had delivered "the +goods," and made it possible for their soldiers to speak with the +enemy in the gate upon equal--nay, superior, terms. + +"Is that all?" asked Bobby Little, peering out over the parapet, a +little awe-struck, at the devastation over the way. + +"That is all," said Wagstaffe, "or I'm a Boche! There will be much +noise and some irregular scrapping for days, but the tin lid has been +placed upon the grand attack. The great Christmas Victory is off!" + +Then he added, thoughtfully, referring apparently to the star +performer:-- + +"We _have_ been and spoiled his entrance for him, haven't we?" + + + + +V + +UNBENDING THE BOW + + +I + +There is a certain type of English country-house female who is said to +"live in her boxes." That is to say, she appears to possess no home of +her own, but flits from one indulgent roof-tree to another; and owing +to the fact that she is invariably put into a bedroom whose wardrobe +is full of her hostess's superannuated ball-frocks and winter furs, +never knows what it is to have all her "things" unpacked at once. + +Well, we out here cannot be said to live in our boxes, for we do not +possess any; but we do most undoubtedly live in our haversacks and +packs. And this brings us to the matter in hand--namely, so-called +"Rest-Billets." The whole of the hinterland of this great trench-line +is full of tired men, seeking for a place to lie down in, and living +in their boxes when they find one. + +At present we are indulging in such a period of repose; and we venture +to think that on the whole we have earned it. Our last rest was in +high summer, when we lay about under an August sun in the district +round Béthune, and called down curses upon all flying and creeping +insects. Since then we have undergone certain so-called "operations" +in the neighbourhood of Loos, and have put in three months in the +Salient of Ypres. As that devout adherent of the Roman faith, Private +Reilly, of "B" Company, put it to his spiritual adviser-- + +"I doot we'll get excused a good slice of Purgatory for this, father!" + +We came out of the Salient just before Christmas, in the midst of the +mutual unpleasantness arising out of the grand attack upon the British +line which was to have done so much to restore the waning confidence +of the Hun. It was meant to be a big affair--a most majestic victory, +in fact; but our new gas-helmets nullified the gas, and our new shells +paralysed the attack; so the Third Battle of Ypres was not yet. Still, +as I say, there was considerable unpleasantness all round; and we were +escorted upon our homeward way, from Sanctuary Wood to Zillebeke, and +from Zillebeke to Dickebusche, by a swarm of angry and disappointed +shells. + +Next day we found ourselves many miles behind the firing-line, once +more in France, with a whole month's holiday in prospect, comfortably +conscious that one could walk round a corner or look over a wall +without preliminary reconnaissance or subsequent extirpation. + +As for the holiday itself, unreasonable persons are not lacking to +point out that it is of the busman's variety. It is true that we +are no longer face to face with the foe, but we--or rather, the +authorities--make believe that we are. We wage mimic warfare in full +marching order; we fire rifles and machine-guns upon improvised +ranges; we perform hazardous feats with bombs and a dummy trench. More +galling still, we are back in the region of squad-drill, physical +exercises, and handling of arms--horrors of our childhood which we +thought had been left safely interned at Aldershot. + +But the authorities are wise. The regiment is stiff and out of +condition: it is suffering from moral and intellectual "trench-feet." +Heavy drafts have introduced a large and untempered element into our +composition. Many of the subalterns are obviously "new-jined"--as the +shrewd old lady of Ayr once observed of the rubicund gentleman at +the temperance meeting. Their men hardly know them or one another by +sight. The regiment must be moulded anew, and its lustre restored by +the beneficent process vulgarly known as "spit and polish." So every +morning we apply ourselves with thoroughness, if not enthusiasm, to +tasks which remind us of last winter's training upon the Hampshire +chalk. + +But the afternoon and evening are a different story altogether. If we +were busy in the morning, we are busier still for the rest of the day. +There is football galore, for we have to get through a complete +series of Divisional cup-ties in four weeks. There is also a Brigade +boxing-tournament. (No, that was not where Private Tosh got his black +eye: that is a souvenir of New Year's Eve.) There are entertainments +of various kinds in the recreation-tent. This whistling platoon, with +towels round their necks, are on their way to the nearest convent, or +asylum, or École des Jeunes Filles--have no fear; these establishments +are untenanted!--for a bath. There, in addition to the pleasures of +ablution, they will receive a partial change of raiment. + +Other signs of regeneration are visible. That mysterious-looking +vehicle, rather resembling one of the early locomotives exhibited +in the South Kensington Museum, standing in the mud outside a +farm-billet, its superheated interior stuffed with "C" Company's +blankets, is performing an unmentionable but beneficent work. + +Buttons are resuming their polish; the pattern of our kilts is +emerging from its superficial crust; and Church Parade is once more +becoming quite a show affair. + +Away to the east the guns still thunder, and at night the star-shells +float tremblingly up over the distant horizon. But not for us. Not +yet, that is. In a few weeks' time we shall be back in another part of +the line. Till then--Company drill and Cup-Ties! _Carpe diem!_ + + +II + +It all seemed very strange and unreal to Second-Lieutenant Angus +M'Lachlan, as he alighted from the train at railhead, and supervised +the efforts of his solitary N.C.O. to arrange the members of his draft +in a straight line. There were some thirty of them in all. Some were +old hands--men from the First and Second Battalions, who had been +home wounded, and had now been sent out to leaven "K(1)." Others were +Special Reservists from the Third Battalion. These had been at the +Dépôt for a long time, and some of them stood badly in need of a +little active service. Others, again, were new hands altogether--the +product of "K to the _nth_." Among these Angus M'Lachlan numbered +himself, and he made no attempt to conceal the fact. The novelty of +the sights around him was almost too much for his _insouciant_ dignity +as a commissioned officer. + +Angus M'Lachlan was a son of the Manse, and incidentally a child of +Nature. The Manse was a Highland Manse; and until a few months +ago Angus had never, save for a rare visit to distant Edinburgh, +penetrated beyond the small town which lay four miles from his native +glen, and of whose local Academy he had been "dux." When the War broke +out he had been upon the point of proceeding to Edinburgh University, +where he had already laid siege to a bursary, and captured the same; +but all these plans, together with the plans of countless more +distinguished persons, had been swept to the winds by the invasion of +Belgium. On that date Angus summoned up his entire stock of physical +and moral courage and informed his reverend parent of his intention +to enlist for a soldier. Permission was granted with quite stunning +readiness. Neil M'Lachlan believed in straight hitting both in +theology and war, and was by no means displeased at the martial +aspirations of his only son. If he quitted himself like a man in the +forefront of battle, the boy could safely look forward to being +cock of his own Kirk-Session in the years that came afterwards. One +reservation the old man made. His son, as a Highland gentleman, would +lead men to battle, and not merely accompany them. So the impatient +Angus was bidden to apply for a Commission--his attention during the +period of waiting being directed by his parent to the study of the +campaigns of Joshua, and the methods employed by that singular but +successful strategist in dealing with the Philistine. + +Angus had a long while to wait, for all the youth of England--and +Scotland too--was on fire, and others nearer the fountain of honour +had to be served first. But his turn came at last; and we now behold +him, as typical a product of "K to the _nth_" as Bobby Little had been +of "K(1)," standing at last upon the soil of France, and inquiring +in a soft Highland voice for the Headquarters of our own particular +Battalion. + +He had half expected, half hoped, to alight from the train amidst a +shower of shells, as he knew the Old Regiment had done many months +before, just after the War broke out. But all he saw upon his arrival +was an untidy goods yard, littered with military stores, and peopled +by British privates in the _déshabille_ affected by the British Army +when engaged in menial tasks. + +Being quite ignorant of the whereabouts of his regiment--when last +heard of they had been in trenches near Ypres--and failing to +recollect the existence of that autocratic but indispensable _genius +loci_, the R.T.O., Angus took uneasy stock of his surroundings and +wondered what to do next. + +Suddenly a friendly voice at his elbow remarked-- + +"There's a queer lot o' bodies hereaboot, sirr." + +Angus turned, to find that he was being addressed by a short, stout +private of the draft, in a kilt much too big for him. + +"Indeed, that is so," he replied politely. "What is your name?" + +"Peter Bogle, sirr. I am frae oot of Kirkintilloch." Evidently +gratified by the success of his conversational opening, the little man +continued-- + +"I would like fine for tae get a contrack oot here after the War. +This country is in a terrible state o' disrepair." Then he added +confidentially-- + +"I'm a hoose-painter tae a trade." + +"I should not like to be that myself," replied Angus, whose early +training as a minister's son was always causing him to forget the +social gulf which is fixed between officers and the rank-and-file. +"Climbing ladders makes me dizzy." + +"Och, it's naething! A body gets used tae it," Mr. Bogle assured him. + +Angus was about to proceed further with the discussion, when the cold +and disapproving voice of the Draft-Sergeant announced in his ear-- + +"An officer wishes to speak to you, sir." + +Second-Lieutenant M'Lachlan, suddenly awake to the enormity of his +conduct, turned guiltily to greet the officer, while the Sergeant +abruptly hunted the genial Private Bogle back into the ranks. + +Angus found himself confronted by an immaculate young gentleman +wearing two stars. Angus, who only wore one, saluted hurriedly. + +"Morning," observed the stranger. "You in charge of this draft?" + +"Yes, sir," said Angus respectfully. + +"Right-o! You are to march them to 'A' Company billets. I'll show you +the way. My name's Cockerell. Your train is late. What time did you +leave the Base?" + +"Indeed," replied Angus meekly, "I am not quite sure. We had barely +landed when they told me the train would start at seventeen-forty. +What time would that be--sir?" + +"About a quarter to ten: more likely about midnight! Well, get your +bunch on to the road, and--Hallo, what's the matter? Let go!" + +The new officer was gripping him excitedly by the arm, and as the +new officer stood six-foot-four and was brawny in proportion, Master +Cockerell's appeal was uttered in a tone of unusual sincerity. + +"Look!" cried Angus excitedly. "The dogs, the dogs!" + +A small cart was passing swiftly by, towed by two sturdy hounds of +unknown degree. They were pulling with the feverish enthusiasm which +distinguishes the Dog in the service of Man, and were being urged to +further efforts by a small hatless girl carrying the inevitable large +umbrella. + +"All right!" explained Cockerell curtly. "Custom of the country, and +all that." + +The impulsive Angus apologised; and the draft, having been safely +manoeuvred on to the road, formed fours and set out upon its march. + +"Are the Battalion in the trenches at present, sir?" inquired Angus. + +"No. Rest-billets two miles from here. About time, too! You'll get +lots of work to do, though." + +"I shall welcome that," said Angus simply. "In the dépôt at home we +were terribly idle. There is a windmill!" + +"Yes; one sees them occasionally out here," replied Cockerell drily. + +"Everything is so strange!" confessed the open-hearted Angus. "Those +dogs we saw just now--the people with their sabots--the country +carts, like wheelbarrows with three wheels--the little shrines at the +cross-roads--the very children talking French so glibly--" + +"Wonderful how they pick it up!" agreed Cockerell. But the sarcasm +was lost on his companion, whose attention was now riveted upon an +approaching body of infantry, about fifty strong. + +"What troops are those, please?" + +Cockerell knitted his brows sardonically. + +"It's rather hard to tell at this distance," he said; "but I rather +think they are the Grenadier Guards." + +Two minutes later the procession had been met and passed. It consisted +entirely of elderly gentlemen in ill-fitting khaki, clumping along +upon their flat feet and smoking clay pipes. They carried shovels on +their shoulders, and made not the slightest response when called upon +by the soldierly old corporal who led them to give Mr. Cockerell "eyes +left!" On the contrary, engaged as they were in heated controversy or +amiable conversation with one another, they cut him dead. + +Angus M'Lachlan said nothing for quite five minutes. Then-- + +"I suppose," he said almost timidly, "that those were members of a +_Reserve_ Regiment of the Guards?" + +Cockerell, who had never outgrown certain characteristics which most +of us shed upon emerging from the Lower Fourth, laughed long and loud. + +"That crowd? They belong to one of the Labour Battalions. They make +roads, and dig support trenches, and sling mud about generally. +Wonderful old sportsmen! Pleased as Punch when a shell falls within +half a mile of them. Something to write home about. What? I say, I +pulled your leg that time! Here we are at Headquarters. Come and +report to the C.O. Grenadier Guards! My aunt!" + + * * * * * + +Angus, although his Celtic enthusiasm sometimes led him into traps, +was no fool. He soon settled down in his new surroundings, and found +favour with Colonel Kemp, which was no light achievement. + +"You won't find that the War, in its present stage, calls for any +display of genius," the Colonel explained to Angus at their first +interview. "I don't expect my officers to exhibit any quality but the +avoidance of _sloppiness_. If I detail you to be at a certain spot, +at a certain hour, with a certain number of men--a ration-party, or a +working-party, or a burial-party, or anything you like,--all I ask is +that you will be _there_, at the appointed hour, with the whole +of your following. That may not sound a very difficult feat, but +experience has taught me that if a man can achieve it, and can be +_relied_ upon to achieve it, say, nine times out of ten--well, he is +a pearl of price; and there is not a C.O. in the British Army who +wouldn't scramble to get him! That's all, M'Lachlan. Good morning!" + +By punctilious attention to this sound advice Angus soon began to +build up a reputation. He treated war-worn veterans like Bobby +Little with immense respect, and this, too, was counted to him for +righteousness. He exercised his platoon with appalling vigour. Upon +Company route-marches he had to be embedded in some safe place in the +middle of the column; in fact, his enormous stride and pedestrian +enthusiasm would have reduced his followers to pulp. At Mess he was +mute: like a wise man, he was feeling for his feet. + +But being, like Moses, slow of tongue, he provided himself with an +Aaron. Quite inadvertently, be it said. Bidden to obtain a servant for +his personal needs, he selected the only man in the Battalion whose +name he knew--Private Bogle, the _ci-devant_ painter of houses. That +friendly creature obeyed the call with alacrity. If his house-painting +was no better than his valeting, then his prospects of a "contrack" +after the War were poor indeed; but as a Mess waiter he was a joy for +ever. Despite the blood-curdling whispers of the Mess Corporal, his +natural urbanity of disposition could not be stemmed. Of the comfort +of others he was solicitous to the point of oppressiveness. A Mess +waiter's idea of efficiency as a rule is to stand woodenly at +attention in an obscure corner of the room. When called upon, he +starts forward with a jerk, and usually trips over something--probably +his own feet. Not so Private Bogle. + +"Wull you try another cup o' tea, Major?" he would suggest at +breakfast to Major Wagstaffe, leaning affectionately over the back of +his chair. + +"No, thank you, Bogle," Major Wagstaffe would reply gravely. + +"Weel, it's cauld onyway," Bogle would rejoin, anxious to endorse his +superior's decision. + +Or--in the same spirit-- + +"Wull I luft the soup now, sir?" + +"_No!_" + +"Varra weel: I'll jist let it bide the way it is." + + * * * * * + +Lastly, Angus M'Lachlan proved himself a useful +acquisition--especially in rest-billets--as an athlete. He arrived +just in time to take part--no mean part, either--in a Rugby Football +match played between the officers of two Brigades. Thanks very largely +to his masterly leading of the forwards, our Brigade were preserved +from defeat at the hands of their opponents, who on paper had appeared +to be irresistible. + +Rugby Football "oot here" is a rarity, though Association, being +essentially the game of the rank-and-file, flourishes in every green +field. But an Inverleith or Queen's Club crowd would have recognised +more than one old friend among the thirty who took the field that day. +There were those participating whose last game had been one of the +spring "Internationals" in 1914, and who had been engaged in a +prolonged and strenuous version of an even greater International ever +since August of that fateful year. Every public school in Scotland +was represented--sometimes three or four times over--and there were +numerous doughty contributions from establishments south of the Tweed. + +The lookers-on were in different case. They were to a man +devoted--nay, frenzied--adherents of the rival code. In less spacious +days they had surged in their thousands every Saturday afternoon to +Ibrox, or Tynecastle, or Parkhead, there to yell themselves into +convulsions--now exhorting a friend to hit some one a kick on the +nose, now recommending the foe to play the game, now hoarsely +consigning the referee to perdition. To these, Rugby Football--the +greatest of all manly games--was a mere name. Their attitude when the +officers appeared upon the field was one of indulgent superiority--the +sort of superiority that a brawny pitman exhibits when his Platoon +Commander steps down into a trench to lend a hand with the digging. + +But in five minutes their mouths were agape with scandalised +astonishment; in ten, the heavens were rent with their protesting +cries. Accustomed to see football played with the feet, and to demand +with one voice the instant execution of any player (on the other side) +who laid so much as a finger upon the ball or the man who was playing +it, the exhibition of savage and promiscuous brutality to which their +superior officers now treated them shocked the assembled spectators +to the roots of their sensitive souls. Howls of virtuous indignation +burst forth upon all sides. + +When the three-quarter-backs brought off a brilliant passing run, +there were stern cries of "Haands, there, referee!" When Bobby Little +stopped an ugly rush by hurling himself on the ball, the supporters +of the other Brigade greeted his heroic devotion with yells of +execration. When Angus M'Lachlan saved a certain try by tackling a +speedy wing three-quarter low and bringing him down with a crash, a +hundred voices demanded his removal from the field. And, when Mr. +Waddell, playing a stuffy but useful game at half, gained fifty yards +for his side by a series of judicious little kicks into touch, the +spectators groaned aloud, and remarked caustically-- + +"This maun be a Cup-Tie, boys! They are playin' for a draw, for tae +get a second gate!" + +Altogether a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon, both for players and +spectators. And so home to tea, domesticity, and social intercourse. +In this connection it may be noted that our relations with the +inhabitants are of the friendliest. On the stroke of six--oh yes, we +have our licensing restrictions out here too!--half a dozen kilted +warriors stroll into the farm-kitchen, and mumble affably to Madame-- + +"Bone sworr! Beer?" + +France boasts one enormous advantage over Scotland. At home, you have +at least to walk to the corner of the street to obtain a drink: "oot +here" you can purchase beer in practically every house in a village. +The French licensing laws are a thing of mystery, but the system +appears roughly to be this. Either you possess a license, or you do +not. If you do you may sell beer, and nothing else. If you do not, you +may--or at any rate do--sell anything you like, including beer. + +However, we have left our friends thirsty. + +Their wants are supplied with cheerful alacrity, and, having been +accommodated with seats round the stove, they converse with the +family. Heaven only knows what they talk about, but talk they do--in +the throaty unintelligible Doric of the Clydeside, with an occasional +Gallicism, like, "Allyman no bon!" or "Compree?" thrown in as a sop to +foreign idiosyncracies. Madame and family respond, chattering French +(or Flemish) at enormous speed. The amazing part of it all is that +neither side appears to experience the slightest difficulty in +understanding the other. One day Mr. Waddell, in the course of a +friendly chat with his hostess of the moment--she was unable to +speak a word of English--received her warm congratulations upon his +contemplated union with a certain fair one of St. Andrew (to whom +reference has previously been made in these pages). Mr. Waddell, a +very fair linguist, replied in suitable but embarrassed terms, and +asked for the source of the good lady's information. + +"Mais votre ordonnance, m'sieur!" was the reply. + +Tackled upon the subject, the "ordonnance" in question, Waddell's +servant--a shock-headed youth from Dundee--admitted having +communicated the information; and added-- + +"She's a decent body, sirr, the lady o' the hoose. She lost her +husband, she was tellin' me, three years ago. She has twa sons in the +Airmy. Her auld Auntie is up at the top o' the hoose--lyin' badly, and +no expectin' tae rise." + +And yet some people study Esperanto! + +We also make ourselves useful. "K(1)" contains members of every craft. +If the pig-sty door is broken, a carpenter is forthcoming to mend it. +Somebody's elbow goes through a pane of glass in the farm-kitchen: +straightway a glazier materialises from the nearest platoon, and puts +in another. The ancestral eight-day clock of the household develops +internal complications; and is forthwith dismembered and reassembled, +"with punctuality, civility, and despatch," by a gentleman who until a +few short months ago had done nothing else for fifteen years. + +And it was in this connection that Corporal Mucklewame stumbled on to +a rare and congenial job, and incidentally made the one joke of his +life. + +One afternoon a cow, the property of Madame _la fermière_, developed +symptoms of some serious disorder. A period of dolorous bellowing was +followed by an outburst of homicidal mania, during which "A" Company +prudently barricaded itself into the barn, the sufferer having taken +entire possession of the farmyard. Next, and finally--so rapidly did +the malady run its course--a state of coma intervened; and finally the +cow, collapsing upon the doorstep of the Officers' Mess, breathed her +last before any one could be found to point out to her the liberty she +was taking. + +It was decided to hold a _post-mortem_--firstly, to ascertain the +cause of death; secondly, because it is easier to remove a dead cow +after dissection than before. Madame therefore announced her intention +of sending for the butcher, and was upon the point of doing so when +Corporal Mucklewame, in whose heart, at the spectacle of the stark and +lifeless corpse, ancient and romantic memories were stirring--it may +be remembered that before answering to the call of "K(1)" Mucklewame +had followed the calling of butcher's assistant at Wishaw--volunteered +for the job. His services were cordially accepted by thrifty Madame; +and the Corporal, surrounded by a silent and admiring crowd, set to +work. + +The officers, leaving the Junior Subaltern in charge, went with one +accord for a long country walk. + +Half an hour later Mucklewame arrived at the seat of the deceased +animal's trouble--the seat of most of the troubles of mankind--its +stomach. After a brief investigation, he produced therefrom a small +bag of nails, recently missed from the vicinity of a cook-house in +course of construction in the corner of the yard. + +Abandoning the rôle of surgical expert for that of coroner, Mucklewame +held the trophy aloft, and delivered his verdict-- + +"There, boys! That's what comes of eating your iron ration without +authority!" + + +III + +Here is an average billet, and its personnel. + +The central feature of our residence is the refuse-pit, which fills +practically the whole of the rectangular farmyard, and resembles +(in size and shape _only_) an open-air swimming bath. Its abundant +contents are apparently the sole asset of the household; for if you +proceed, in the interests of health, to spread a decent mantle of +honest earth thereover, you do so to the accompaniment of a harmonised +chorus of lamentation, very creditably rendered by the entire family, +who are grouped _en masse_ about the spot where the high diving-board +ought to be. + +Round this perverted place of ablution runs a stone ledge, some four +feet wide, and round that again run the farm buildings--the house at +the top end, a great barn down one side, and the cowhouse, together +with certain darksome piggeries and fowl-houses, down the other. These +latter residences are occupied only at night, their tenants preferring +to spend the golden hours of day in profitable occupation upon the +happy hunting ground in the middle. + +Within the precincts of this already overcrowded establishment are +lodged some two hundred British soldiers and their officers. The +men sleep in the barn, their meals being prepared for them upon the +Company cooker, which stands in the muddy road outside, and resembles +the humble vehicle employed by Urban District Councils for the +preparation of tar for road-mending purposes. The officers occupy any +room which may be available within the farmhouse itself. The Company +Commander has the best bedroom--a low-roofed, stone-floored apartment, +with a very small window and a very large bed. The subalterns sleep +where they can--usually in the _grenier_, a loft under the tiles, +devoted to the storage of onions and the drying, during the winter +months, of the family washing, which is suspended from innumerable +strings stretched from wall to wall. + +For a Mess, there is usually a spare apartment of some kind. If not, +you put your pride in your pocket and take your meals at the kitchen +table, at such hours as the family are not sitting humped round the +same with their hats on, partaking of soup or coffee. (This appears +to be their sole sustenance.) A farm-kitchen in northern France is a +scrupulously clean place--the whole family gets up at half-past four +in the morning and sees to the matter--and despite the frugality of +her own home _menu_, the _fermière_ can produce you a perfect omelette +at any hour of the day or night. + +This brings us to the kitchen-stove, which is a marvel. No massive and +extravagant English ranges here! There is only one kind: we call +it the Coffin and Flower-pot. The coffin--small, black, and highly +polished--projects from the wall about four feet, the further end +being supported by what looks like an ornamental black flower-pot +standing on a pedestal. The coffin is the oven, and the flower-pot is +the stove. Given a handful of small coal or charcoal, Madame appears +capable of keeping it at work all day, and of boiling, baking, or +roasting you innumerable dishes. + +Then there is the family. Who or what they all are, and where they all +sleep, is a profound mystery. The family tree is usually headed by a +decrepit and ruminant old gentleman in a species of yachting-cap. He +sits behind the stove--not exactly with one foot in the grave, but +with both knees well up against the coffin--and occasionally offers +a mumbled observation of which no one takes the slightest notice. +Sometimes, too, there is an old, a very old, lady. Probably she is +some one's grandmother, or great-grandmother, but she does not appear +to be related to the old gentleman. At least, they never recognise one +another's existence in any way. + +There are also vague people who possess the power of becoming +invisible at will. They fade in and out of the house like wraiths: +their one object in life appears to be to efface themselves as much +as possible. Madame refers to them as "_refugiés_"; this the +sophisticated Mr. Cockerell translates, "German spies." + +Next in order come one or two farmhands--usually addressed as "'Nri!" +and "'Seph!" They are not as a rule either attractive in appearance or +desirable in character. Every man in this country, who _is_ a man, is +away, as a matter of course, doing a man's only possible duty under +the circumstances. This leaves 'Nri and 'Seph, who through physical or +mental shortcomings are denied the proud privilege, and shamble about +in the muck and mud of the farm, leering or grumbling, while Madame +exhorts them to further activity from the kitchen door. They take +their meals with the family: where they sleep no one knows. External +evidence suggests the cow-house. + +Then, the family. First, Angèle. She may be twenty-five, but is more +probably fifteen. She acts as Adjutant to Madame, and rivals her +mother as deliverer of sustained and rapid recitative. She milks the +cows, feeds the pigs, and dragoons her young brothers and sisters. But +though she works from morning till night, she has always time for +a smiling salutation to all ranks. She also speaks English quite +creditably--a fact of which Madame is justly proud. "Collège!" +explains the mother, full of appreciation for an education which she +herself has never known, and taps her learned daughter affectionately +upon the head. + +Next in order comes Émile. He must be about fourteen, but War has +forced manhood on him. All day long he is at work, bullying very large +horses, digging, hoeing, even ploughing. He is very much a boy, for +all that. He whistles excruciatingly--usually English music-hall +melodies--grins sheepishly at the officers, and is prepared at any +moment to abandon the most important tasks, in order to watch a man +cleaning a rifle or oiling a machine-gun. We seem to have encountered +Émile in other countries than this. + +After Émile, Gabrielle. Her age is probably seven. If you were to give +her a wash and brush-up, dress her in a gauzy frock, and exchange +her thick woollen stockings and wooden sabots for silk and dancing +slippers, she would make a very smart little fairy. Even in her native +state she is a most attractive young person, of an engaging coyness. +If you say: "Bonjour, Gabrielle!" she whispers: "B'jour M'sieur le +Capitaine"--or, "M'sieur le Caporal"; for she knows all badges of +rank--and hangs her head demurely. But presently, if you stand quite +still and look the other way, Gabrielle will sidle up to you and +squeeze your hand. This is gratifying, but a little subversive of +strict discipline if you happen to be inspecting your platoon at the +moment. + +Gabrielle is a firm favourite with the rank and file. Her particular +crony is one Private Mackay, an amorphous youth with flaming red hair. +He and Gabrielle engage in lengthy conversations, which appear to be +perfectly intelligible to both, though Mackay speaks with the solemn +unction of the Aberdonian, and Gabrielle prattles at express speed +in a _patois_ of her own. Last week some unknown humorist, evidently +considering that Gabrielle was not making sufficient progress in her +knowledge of English, took upon himself to give her a private lesson. +Next morning Mackay, on sentry duty at the farm gate, espied his +little friend peeping round a corner. + +"Hey, Garibell!" he observed cheerfully. (No Scottish private ever yet +mastered a French name quite completely.) + +Gabrielle, anxious to exhibit her new accomplishment, drew nearer, +smiled seraphically, and replied-- + +"'Ello, Gingeair!" + +Last of the bunch comes Petit Jean, a chubby and close-cropped +youth of about six. Petit Jean is not his real name, as he himself +indignantly explained when so addressed by Major Wagstaffe. + +"Moi, z'ne suis pas Petit Jean; z'suis Maurrrice!" + +Major Wagstaffe apologised most humbly, but the name stuck. + +Petit Jean is an enthusiast upon matters military. He possesses a +little wooden rifle, the gift of a friendly "Écossais," tipped with a +flashing bayonet cut from a biscuit-tin; and spends most of his time +out upon the road, waiting for some one to salute. At one time he used +to stand by the sentry, with an ancient glengarry crammed over his +bullet head, and conform meticulously to his comrade's slightest +movement. This procedure was soon banned, as being calculated to bring +contempt and ridicule upon the King's uniform, and Petit Jean was +assigned a beat of his own. Behold him upon sentry-go. + +A figure upon horseback swings round the bend in the road. + +"Here's an officer, Johnny!" cries a friendly voice from the farm +gate. + +Petit Jean, as upright as a post, brings his rifle from stand-at-ease +to the order, and from the order to the slope, with the epileptic +jerkiness of a marionette, and scrutinises the approaching officer +for stars and crowns. If he can discern nothing but a star or two, he +slaps the small of his butt with ferocious solemnity; but if a crown, +or a red hatband, reveals itself, he blows out his small chest to its +fullest extent and presents arms. If the salute is acknowledged--as it +nearly always is--Petit Jean is crimson with gratification. Once, when +a friendly subaltern called his platoon to attention, and gave the +order, "Eyes right!" upon passing the motionless little figure at the +side of the road, Petit Jean was so uplifted that he committed the +military crime of deserting his post while on duty--in order to run +home and tell his mother about it. + + * * * * * + +Last of all we arrive at the keystone of the whole fabric--Madame +herself. She is one of the most wonderful women in the world. +Consider. Her husband and her eldest son are away--fighting, she knows +not where, amid dangers and privations which can only be imagined. +During their absence she has to manage a considerable farm, with the +help of her children and one or two hired labourers of more than +doubtful use or reliability. In addition to her ordinary duties as a +parent and _fermière_, she finds herself called upon, for months +on end, to maintain her premises as a combination of barracks and +almshouse. Yet she is seldom cross--except possibly when the +_soldats_ steal her apples and pelt the pigs with the cores--and no +accumulations of labour can sap her energy. She is up by half-past +four every morning; yet she never appears anxious to go to bed at +night. The last sound which sleepy subalterns hear is Madame's voice, +uplifted in steady discourse to the circle round the stove, sustained +by an occasional guttural chord from 'Nri and 'Seph. She has been +doing this, day in, day out, since the combatants settled down to +trench-warfare. Every few weeks brings a fresh crop of tenants, with +fresh peculiarities and unknown proclivities; and she assimilates them +all. + +The only approach to a breakdown comes when, after paying her little +bill--you may be sure that not an omelette nor a broken window will +be missing from the account--and wishing her "Bonne chance!" ere +you depart, you venture on a reference, in a few awkward, stumbling +sentences, to the absent husband and son. Then she weeps, copiously, +and it seems to do her a world of good. All hail to you, Madame--the +finest exponent, in all this War, of the art of Carrying On! We know +now why France is such a great country. + + + + +VI + +YE MERRIE BUZZERS + + +I + +Practically all the business of an Army in the field is transacted by +telephone. If the telephone breaks down, whether by the Act of God +or of the King's Enemies, that business is at a standstill until the +telephone is put right again. + +The importance of the disaster varies with the nature of the business. +For instance, if the wire leading to the Round Game Department is +blown down by a March gale, and your weekly return of Men Recommended +for False Teeth is delayed in transit, nobody minds very much--except +possibly the Deputy Assistant Director of Auxiliary Dental Appliances. +But if you are engaged in battle, and the wires which link up the +driving force in front with the directing force behind are +devastated by a storm of shrapnel, the matter assumes a more--nay, +a most--serious aspect. Hence the superlative importance in modern +warfare of the Signal Sections of the Royal Engineers--tersely +described by the rank-and-file as the "Buzzers," or the +"Iddy-Umpties." + +During peace-training, the Buzzer on the whole has a very pleasant +time of it. Once he has mastered the mysteries of the Semaphore +and Morse codes, the most laborious part of his education is over. +Henceforth he spends his days upon some sheltered hillside, in company +with one or two congenial spirits, flapping cryptic messages out of a +blue-and-white flag at a similar party across the valley. + +A year ago, for instance, you might have encountered an old friend, +Private M'Micking,--one of the original "Buzzers" of "A" Company, and +ultimately Battalion Signal Sergeant--under the lee of a pine wood +near Hindhead, accompanied by Lance-Corporal Greig and Private +Wamphray, regarding with languid interest the frenzied efforts of +three of their colleagues to convey a message from a sunny hillside +three quarters of a mile away. + +"Here a message comin' through, boys," announces the Lance-Corporal. +"They're in a sair hurry: I doot the officer will be there. Jeams, +tak' it doon while Sandy reads it." + +Mr. James M'Micking seats himself upon a convenient log. In order +not to confuse his faculties by endeavouring to read and write +simultaneously, he turns his back upon the fluttering flag, and bends +low over his field message-pad. Private Wamphray stands facing him, +and solemnly spells out the message over his head. + +"Tae g-o-c--I dinna ken what that means--r-e-d, _reid_--a-r-m-y, +_airmy_--h-a-z--" + +"All richt; that'll be Haslemere," says Private M'Micking, scribbling +down the word. "Go on, Sandy!" + +Private Wamphray, pausing to expectorate, continues-- + +"R-e-c-o-n-n-o-i-t-r--Cricky, what a worrd! Let's hae it repeatit." + +Wamphray flaps his flag vigorously,--he knows this particular signal +only too well,--and the word comes through again. The distant +signaller, slowing down a little, continues,-- + +"'Reconnoitring patrol reports hostile cavalry scou--'" + +"That'll be 'scouts,'" says the ever-ready M'Micking. "Carry on!" + +Wamphray continues obediently,--"'Country'; stop; 'Have thrown out +flank guns'; stop; 'Shall I advance or re--'" + +"--tire," gabbles M'Micking, writing it down. + +"--'where I am'; stop; 'From O C Advance Guard'; stop; message ends." + +"And aboot time, too!" observes the scribe severely. "Haw, Johnny!" + +The Lance-Corporal, who has been indulging in a pleasant reverie upon +a bank of bracken, wakes up and reads the proffered message. + + * * * * * + +"Tae G O C, Reid Airmy, Hazlemere. Reconnoitring patrol reports +hostile cavalry scouts country. Have thrown oot flank guns. Shall I +advance or retire where I am? From O C Advance Guard." + +"This message doesna sound altogether sense," he observes mildly. +"That 'shall' should be 'wull,' onyway. Would it no' be better to get +it repeatit? The officer--" + +"I've given the 'message-read' signal now," objects the indolent +Wamphray. + +"How would it be," suggests the Lance-Corporal, whose besetting sin is +a _penchant_ for emendation, "if we were tae transfair yon stop, and +say: 'Reconnoitring patrol reports hostile cavalry scouts. Country has +thrown oot flank guns'?" + +"What does that mean?" inquires M'Micking scornfully. + +"I dinna ken; but these messages about Generals and sic'-like +bodies--" + +At this moment, as ill-luck will have it, the Signal Sergeant appears +breasting the hillside. He arrives puffing--he has seen twenty years' +service--and scrutinises the message. + +"You boys," he says reproachfully, "are an aggravate altogether. Here +you are, jumping at your conclusions again! After all I have been +telling you! See! That worrd in the address should no' be Haslemere at +all. It's just a catch! It's Hazebroucke--a Gairman city that we'll +be capturing this time next year. 'Scouts' is no 'scouts,' but +'scouring'--meaning 'sooping up.' 'Guns' should be 'guarrd,' and +'retire' should be 'remain.' Mind me, now; next time, you'll be up +before the Captain for neglect of duty. Wamphray, give the 'C.I.,' and +let's get hame to oor dinners!" + + +II + +But "oot here" there is no flag-wagging. The Buzzer's first proceeding +upon entering the field of active hostilities is to get underground, +and stay there. + +He is a seasoned vessel, the Buzzer of to-day, and a person of marked +individuality. He is above all things a man of the world. Sitting day +and night in a dug-out, or a cellar, with a telephone receiver clamped +to his ear, he sees little; but he hears much, and overhears more. He +also speaks a language of his own. His one task in life is to prevent +the letter B from sounding like C, or D, or P, or T, or V, over the +telephone; so he has perverted the English language to his own uses. +He calls B "Beer," and D "Don," and so on. He salutes the rosy dawn as +"Akk Emma," and eventide as "Pip Emma." He refers to the letter S as +"Esses," in order to distinguish it from F. He has no respect for the +most majestic military titles. To him the Deputy Assistant Director of +the Mobile Veterinary Section is merely a lifeless formula, entitled +Don Akk Don Emma Vic Esses. + +He is also a man of detached mind. The tactical situation does not +interest him. His business is to disseminate news, not to write +leading articles about it. (_O si sic omnes!_) You may be engaged in a +life-and-death struggle for the possession of your own parapet with a +Boche bombing-party; but this does not render you immune from a pink +slip from the Signal Section, asking you to state your reasons in +writing for having mislaid fourteen pairs of "boots, gum, thigh," +lately the property of Number Seven Platoon. A famous British soldier +tells a story somewhere in his reminiscences of an occasion upon +which, in some long-forgotten bush campaign, he had to defend a zareba +against a heavy attack. For a time the situation was critical. Help +was badly needed, but the telegraph wire had been cut. Ultimately +the attack withered away, and the situation was saved. Almost +simultaneously the victorious commander was informed that telegraphic +communication with the Base had been restored. A message was already +coming through. + +"News of reinforcements, I hope!" he remarked to his subordinate. + +But his surmise was incorrect. The message said, quite simply:-- + + "Your monthly return of men wishing to change their religion is + twenty-four hours overdue. Please expedite." + +There was a time when one laughed at that anecdote as a playful +invention. But we know now that it is true, and we feel a sort of +pride in the truly British imperturbability of our official machinery. + +Thirdly, the Buzzer is a humourist, of the sardonic variety. The +constant clash of wits over the wires, and the necessity of framing +words quickly, sharpens his faculties and acidulates his tongue. +Incidentally, he is an awkward person to quarrel with. One black +night, Bobby Little, making his second round of the trenches about an +hour before "stand-to," felt constrained to send a telephone message +to Battalion Headquarters. Taking a good breath,--you always do this +before entering a trench dug-out,--he plunged into the noisome cavern +where his Company Signallers kept everlasting vigil. The place was in +total darkness, except for the illumination supplied by a strip of +rifle-rag burning in a tin of rifle-oil. The air, what there was of +it, was thick with large, fat, floating particles of free carbon. +The telephone was buzzing plaintively to itself, in unsuccessful +competition with a well-modulated quartette for four nasal organs, +contributed by Bobby's entire signalling staff, who, locked in the +inextricable embrace peculiar to Thomas Atkins in search of warmth, +were snoring harmoniously upon the earthen floor. + +The signaller "on duty"--one M'Gurk--was extracted from the heap and +put under arrest for sleeping at his post. The enormity of his crime +was heightened by the fact that two undelivered messages were found +upon his person. + +Divers pains and penalties followed. Bobby supplemented the sentence +with a homily on the importance of vigilance and despatch. M'Gurk, +deeply aggrieved at forfeiting seven days' pay, said nothing, but +bided his time. Two nights later the Battalion came out of trenches +for a week's rest, and Bobby, weary and thankful, retired to bed in +his hut at 9 P.M., in comfortable anticipation of a full night's +repose. + +His anticipations were doomed to disappointment. He was roused from +slumber--not without difficulty--by Signaller M'Gurk, who appeared +standing by his bedside with a guttering candle-end in one hand and a +pink despatch-form in the other. The message said:-- + +"Prevailing wind for next twenty-four hours probably S.W., with some +rain." + +Mindful of his own recent admonitions, Bobby thanked M'Gurk politely, +and went to sleep again. + +M'Gurk called again at half-past two in the morning, with another +message, which announced:-- + +"Baths will be available for your Company from 2 to 3 P.M. to-morrow." + +Bobby stuffed the missive under his air-pillow, and rolled over +without a word. M'Gurk withdrew, leaving the door of the hut open. + +His next visit was about four o'clock. This time the message said:-- + +"A Zeppelin is reported to have passed over Dunkirk at 5 P.M. +yesterday afternoon, proceeding in a northerly direction." + +Bobby informed M'Gurk that he was a fool and a dotard, and cast him +forth. + +M'Gurk returned at five-thirty, bearing written evidence that the +Zeppelin had been traced as far as Ostend. + +This time his Company Commander promised him that if he appeared again +that night he would be awarded fourteen days' Field Punishment Number +One. + +The result was that upon sitting down to breakfast at nine next +morning, Bobby found upon his plate yet another message--from his +Commanding Officer--summoning him to the Orderly-room on urgent +matters at eight-thirty. + +But Bobby scored the final and winning trick. Sending for M'Gurk and +Sergeant M'Micking, he said:-- + +"This man, Sergeant, appears to be unable to decide when a message +is urgent and when it is not. In future, whenever M'Gurk is on night +duty, and is in doubt as to whether a message should be delivered at +once or put aside till morning, he will come to you and ask for your +guidance in the matter. Do you understand?" + +"Perrfectly, sirr!" replied the Sergeant, outwardly calm. + +"M'Gurk, do _you_ understand?" + +M'Gurk looked at Bobby, and then round at Sergeant M'Micking. He +received a glance which shrivelled his marrow. The game was up. He +grinned sheepishly, and answered,-- + +"Yis, sirr!" + + +III + +Having briefly set forth the character and habits of the Buzzer, we +will next proceed to visit the creature in his lair. This is an easy +feat. We have only to walk up the communication-trench which leads +from the reserve line to the firing-line. Upon either side of the +trench, neatly tacked to the muddy wall by a device of the hairpin +variety, run countless insulated wires, clad in coats of various +colours and all duly ticketed. These radiate from various Headquarters +in the rear to numerous signal stations in the front, and were laid by +the Signallers themselves. (It is perhaps unnecessary to mention that +that single wire running, in defiance of all regulations, across the +top of the trench, which neatly tipped your cap off just now, was laid +by those playful humourists, the Royal Artillery.) It follows that if +we accompany these wires far enough we shall ultimately find ourselves +in a signalling station. + +Our only difficulty lies in judicious choice, for the wires soon begin +to diverge up numerous byways. Some go to the fire-trench, others to +the machine-guns, others again to observation posts--or O.P.'s--whence +a hawk-eyed Forward Observing Officer, peering all day through a chink +in a tumble-down chimney or sandbagged loophole, is sometimes enabled +to flash back the intelligence that he can discern transport upon such +a road in rear of the Boche trenches, and will such a battery kindly +attend to the matter at once? + +However, chance guides us to the Signal dug-out of "A" Company, +where, by the best fortune in the world, Private M'Gurk in person is +installed as officiating sprite. Let us render ourselves invisible, +sit down beside him, and "tap" his wire. + +In the dim and distant days before such phrases as "Boche," and +"T.N.T.," and "munitions," and "economy" were invented; when we lived +in houses which possessed roofs, and never dreamed of lying down +motionless by the roadside when we heard a taxi-whistle blown thrice, +in order to escape the notice of approaching aeroplanes,--in short, in +the days immediately preceding the war,--some of us said in our haste +that the London Telephone Service was The Limit! Since then we have +made the acquaintance of the military field-telephone, and we feel +distinctly softened towards the young woman at home who, from her +dug-out in "Gerrard," or "Vic.," or "Hop.," used to goad us to +impotent frenzy. She was at least terse and decided. If you rang her +up and asked for a number, she merely replied,-- + +(a) "Number engaged"; + +(b) "No reply"; + +(c) "Out of order"-- + +as the case might be, and switched you off. After that you took a taxi +to the place with which you wished to communicate, and there was an +end of the matter. Above all, she never explained, she never wrangled, +she spoke tolerably good English, and there was only one of her--or at +least she was of a uniform type. + +Now, if you put your ear to the receiver of a field-telephone, you +find yourself, as it were, suddenly thrust into a vast subterranean +cavern, filled with the wailings of the lost, the babblings of the +feeble-minded, and the profanity of the exasperated. If you ask a +high-caste Buzzer--say, an R.E. Signalling Officer--why this should be +so, he will look intensely wise and recite some solemn gibberish about +earthed wires and induced currents. + +The noises are of two kinds, and one supplements the other. The human +voice supplies the libretto, while the accompaniment is provided by a +syncopated and tympanum-piercing _ping-ping_, suggestive of a giant +mosquito singing to its young. + +The instrument with which we are contending is capable (in theory) of +transmitting a message either telephonically or telegraphically. In +practice, this means that the signaller, having wasted ten sulphurous +minutes in a useless attempt to convey information through the medium +of the human voice, next proceeds, upon the urgent advice of the +gentleman at the other end, and to the confusion of all other +inhabitants of the cavern, to "buzz" it, employing the dots and dashes +of the Morse code for the purpose. + +It is believed that the wily Boche, by means of ingenious and delicate +instruments, is able to "tap" a certain number of our trench telephone +messages. If he does, his daily Intelligence Report must contain some +surprising items of information. At the moment when we attach our +invisible apparatus to Mr. M'Gurk's wire, the Divisional Telephone +system appears to be fairly evenly divided between-- + +(1) A Regimental Headquarters endeavouring to ring up its Brigade. + +(2) A glee-party of Harmonious Blacksmiths, indulging in the Anvil +Chorus. + +(3) A choleric Adjutant on the track of a peccant Company Commander. + +(4) Two Company Signallers, engaged in a friendly chat from different +ends of the trench line. + +(5) An Artillery F.O.O., endeavouring to convey pressing and momentous +information to his Battery, two miles in rear. + +(6) The Giant Mosquito aforesaid. + +The consolidated result is something like this:-- + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS (_affably_). Hallo, Brigade! Hallo, Brigade! +HALLO, BRIGADE! + +THE MOSQUITO. Ping! + +THE ADJUTANT (_from somewhere in the Support Line, fiercely_). Give me +B Company! + +THE FORWARD OBSERVING OFFICER (_from his eyrie_). Is that C Battery? +There's an enemy working-party-- + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER (_from B Company's Station_). Is that yoursel', +Jock? How's a' wi' you? + +SECOND CHATTY SIGNALLER (_from D Company's Station_). I'm daen fine! +How's your-- + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS. HALLO, BRIGADE! + +THE ADJUTANT. Is that B Company? + +A MYSTERIOUS AND DISTANT VOICE (_politely_.) No, sir; this is Akk and +Esses Aitch. + +THE ADJUTANT (_furiously_). Then for the Lord's sake get off the line! + +THE MOSQUITO. Ping! Ping! + +THE ADJUTANT. And stop that ---- ---- ---- buzzing! + +THE MOSQUITO. Ping! _Ping_! PING! + +THE F.O.O. Is that C Battery? There's-- + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER (_peevishly_). What's that you're sayin'? + +THE F.O.O. (_perseveringly_). Is that C Battery? There's an enemy +working-party in a coppice at-- + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. This is Beer Company, sir. Weel, Jock, did ye +get a quiet nicht? + +SECOND CHATTY SIGNALLER. Oh, aye. There was a wee-- + +THE F.O.O. Is that C Battery? There's-- + +SECOND CHATTY SIGNALLER. No, sir. This is Don Company. Weel, Jimmy, +there was a couple whish-bangs came intil-- + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS. HALLO, BRIGADE! + +A CHEERFUL COCKNEY VOICE. Well, my lad, what abaht it? + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS (_getting to work at once_). Hold the line, +Brigade. Message to Staff Captain. "Ref. your S.C. fourr stroke seeven +eight six, the worrking-parrty in question--" + +THE F.O.O. (_seeing a gleam of hope_). Working-party? Is that C +Battery? I want to speak to-- + +THE ADJUTANT. } +BRIGADE HEADQUARTERS. } Get off the line! +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS. } + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. Haw, Jock, was ye hearin' aboot Andra? + +SECOND CHATTY SIGNALLER. No. Whit was that? + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. Weel-- + +THE F.O.O. (_doggedly_). Is that C Battery? + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS (_resolutely_). "The worrking-parrty in +question was duly detailed for tae proceed to the rendiss vowse at"-- + +THE ADJUTANT. Is that B Company, curse you? + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS (_quite impervious to this sort of +thing_),--"the rendiss vowse, at seeven thirrty Akk Emma, at point +H two B eight nine, near the cross-roads by the Estamint Repose dee +Bicyclistees, for tae"--honk! honkle! honk! + +BRIGADE HEADQUARTERS (_compassionately_). You're makin' a 'orrible +mess of this message, ain't you? Shake your transmitter, do! + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS (_after dutifully performing this operation_). +Honkle, honkle, honk. Yang! + +BRIGADE HEADQUARTERS. Buzz it, my lad, buzz it! + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS (_dutifully_). Ping, ping! Ping, ping! Ping, +ping, ping! Ping-- + +GENERAL CHORUS. Stop that ----, ----, ----, ---- buzzing! + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. Weel, Andra says tae the Sergeant-Major of +Beer Company, says he-- + +THE ADJUTANT. Is that B Company? + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. No, sir; this is Beer Company. + +THE ADJUTANT (_fortissimo_). I _said_ Beer Company! + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. Oh! I thocht ye meant Don Company, sir. + +THE ADJUTANT. Why the blazes haven't you answered me sooner? + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER (_tactfully_). There was other messages comin' +through, sir. + +THE ADJUTANT. Well, get me the Company Commander. + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. Varra good, sirr. + +_A pause. Regimental Headquarters being engaged in laboriously +"buzzing" its message through to the Brigade, all other conversation +is at a standstill. The Harmonious Blacksmiths seize the opportunity +to give a short selection. Presently, as the din dies down_-- + +THE F.O.O. (_faint, yet pursuing_). Is that C Battery? + +A JOVIAL VOICE. Yes. + +THE F.O.O. What a shock! I thought you were all dead. Is that you, +Chumps? + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. It is. What can I do for you this morning? + +THE F.O.O. You can boil your signal sentry's head! + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. What for? + +THE F.O.O. For keeping me waiting. + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. Righto! And the next article? + +THE F.O.O. There's a Boche working-party in a coppice two hundred +yards west of a point-- + +THE MOSQUITO (_with renewed vigour_). Ping, ping! + +THE F.O.O. (_savagely_). Shut up! + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. Working-party? I'll settle them. What's the map +reference? + +THE F.O.O. They are in Square number-- + +THE HARMONIOUS BLACKSMITHS (_suddenly and stunningly_). Whang! + +THE F.O.O. Shut up! They are in Square-- + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER. Hallo, Headquarters! Is the Adjutant there? +Here's the Captain tae speak with him. + +AN EAGER VOICE. Is that the Adjutant? + +REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS. No, sirr. He's away tae his office. Hold the +line while I'll-- + +THE EAGER VOICE. No you don't! Put me straight through to C +Battery--quick! Then get off the line, and stay there! (_Much +buzzing_.) Is that C Battery? + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. Yes, sir. + +THE EAGER VOICE. I am O.C. Beer Company. They are shelling my front +parapet, at L8, with pretty heavy stuff. I want retaliation, please. + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. Very good, sir. (_The voice dies away_.) + +A SOUND OVER OUR HEADS (_thirty seconds later_). Whish! Whish! Whish! + +SECOND CHATTY SIGNALLER. Did ye hear that, Jimmy? + +FIRST CHATTY SIGNALLER (_with relish_). Mphm! That'll sorrt them! + +THE F.O.O. Is that C Battery? + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. Yes. What luck, old son? + +THE F.O.O. You have obtained two direct hits on the Boche parapet. +Will you have a cocoanut or a ci-- + +THE JOVIAL VOICE. A little less lip, my lad! Now tell me all about +your industrious friends in the Coppice, and we will see what we can +do for _them!_ + + * * * * * + +And so on. Apropos of Adjutants and Company Commanders, Private +Wamphray, whose acquaintance we made a few pages back, was ultimately +relieved of his position as a Company Signaller, and returned +ignominiously to duty, for tactless if justifiable interposition in +one of these very dialogues. + +It was a dark and cheerless night in mid-winter. Ominous noises in +front of the Boche wire had raised apprehensive surmises in the breast +of Brigade Headquarters. A forward sap was suspected in the region +opposite the sector of trenches held by "A" Company. The trenches at +this point were barely forty yards apart, and there was a very real +danger that Brother Boche might creep under his own wire, and possibly +under ours too, and come tumbling over our parapet. + +To Bobby Little came instructions to send a specially selected patrol +out to investigate the matter. Three months ago he would have led the +expedition himself. Now, as a full-blown Company Commander, he was +officially precluded from exposing his own most responsible person to +gratuitous risks. So he chose out that recently-joined enthusiast, +Angus M'Lachlan, and put him over the parapet on the dark night in +question, accompanied by Corporal M'Snape and two scouts, with orders +to probe the mystery to its depth and bring back a full report. + +It was a ticklish enterprise. As is frequently the case upon these +occasions, nervous tension manifested itself much more seriously at +Headquarters than in the front-line trenches. The man on the spot is, +as a rule, much too busy with the actual execution of the enterprise +in hand to distress himself by speculation upon its ultimate outcome. +It may as well be stated at once that Angus duly returned from his +quest, with an admirable and reassuring report. But he was a long time +absent. Hence this anecdote. + +Bobby had strict orders to report all "developments," as they +occurred, to Headquarters by telephone. At half-past eleven that +night, as Angus M'Lachlan's colossal form disappeared, crawling, +into the blackness of night, his superior officer dutifully rang up +Battalion Headquarters, and announced that the venture was launched. +It is possible that the Powers Behind were in possession of +information as to the enemy's intentions unrevealed to Bobby; for as +soon as his opening announcement was received, he was switched right +through to a very august Headquarters indeed, and commanded to report +direct. + +Long-distance telephony in the field involves a considerable amount +of "linking-up." Among other slaves of the Buzzer who assisted in +establishing the necessary communications upon this occasion was +Private Wamphray. For the next hour and a half it was his privilege in +his subterranean exchange, to sit, with his receiver clamped to his +ear, an unappreciative auditor of dialogues like the following:-- + +"Is that 'A' Company?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Any news of your patrol?" + +"No, sir." + +Again, five minutes later:-- + +"Is that 'A' Company?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Has your officer returned yet?" + +"No, sir. I will notify you when he does." + +This sort of thing went on until nearly one o'clock in the morning. +Towards that hour, Bobby, who was growing really concerned over +Angus's prolonged absence, cut short his august interlocutor's +fifteenth inquiry and joined his Sergeant-Major on the firing-step. +The two had hardly exchanged a few low-pitched sentences when Bobby +was summoned back to the telephone. + +"Is that Captain Little?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Has your patrol come in?" + +"No, sir." + +Captain's Little's last answer was delivered in a distinctly +insubordinate manner. Feeling slightly relieved, he returned to the +firing-step. Two minutes later Angus M'Lachlan and his posse rolled +over the parapet, safe and sound, and Bobby was able, to his own great +content and that of the weary operators along the line, to announce,-- + +"The patrol has returned, sir, and reports everything quite +satisfactory. I am forwarding a detailed statement." + +Then he laid down the receiver with a happy sigh, and crawled out of +the dug-out on to the duck-board. + +"Now we'll have a look round the sentries, Sergeant-Major," he said. + +But the pair had hardly rounded three traverses when Bobby was haled +back to the Signal Station. + +"Why did you leave the telephone just now?" inquired a cold voice. + +"I was going to visit my sentries, sir." + +"But _I_ was speaking to you." + +"I thought you had finished, sir." + +"I had _not_ finished. If I had finished, I should have informed you +of the fact, and would have said' Good-night!'" + +"How _does_ one choke off a tripe-merchant of this type?" wondered the +exhausted officer. + +From the bowels of the earth came the answer to his unspoken +question--delivered in a strong Paisley accent-- + +"For Goad's sake, kiss him, and say 'Good-Nicht,' and hae done with +it!" + +As already stated, Private Wamphray was returned to his platoon next +morning. + + +IV + +But to regard the Buzzer simply and solely as a troglodyte, of +sedentary habits and caustic temperament, is not merely hopelessly +wrong: it is grossly unjust. Sometimes he goes for a walk--under some +such circumstances as the following. + +The night is as black as Tartarus, and it is raining heavily. Brother +Boche, a prey to nervous qualms, is keeping his courage up by +distributing shrapnel along our communication-trenches. Signal-wires +are peculiarly vulnerable to shrapnel. Consequently no one in the +Battalion Signal Station is particularly surprised when the line to +"Akk" Company suddenly ceases to perform its functions. + +Signal-Sergeant M'Micking tests the instrument, glances over his +shoulder, and observes,-- + +"Line BX is gone, some place or other. Away you, Duncan, and sorrt +it!" + +Mr. Duncan, who has been sitting hunched over a telephone, temporarily +quiescent, smoking a woodbine, heaves a resigned sigh, extinguishes the +woodbine and places it behind his ear; hitches his repairing-wallet +nonchalantly over his shoulder, and departs into the night--there to +grope in several inches of mud for the two broken ends of the wire, +which may be lying fifty yards apart. Having found them, he proceeds to +effect a junction, his progress being impeded from time to time by +further bursts of shrapnel. This done, he tests the new connection, +relights his woodbine, and splashes his way back to Headquarters. That +is a Buzzer's normal method of obtaining fresh air and exercise. + +More than that. He is the one man in the Army who can fairly describe +himself as indispensable. + +In these days, when whole nations are deployed against one another, +no commander, however eminent, can ride the whirlwind single-handed. +There are limits to individual capacity. There are limits to direct +control. There are limits to personal magnetism. We fight upon a +collective plan nowadays. If we propose to engage in battle, we begin +by welding a hundred thousand men into one composite giant. We weld a +hundred thousand rifles, a million bombs, a thousand machine-guns, and +as many pieces of artillery, into one huge weapon of offence, with +which we arm our giant. Having done this, we provide him with a +brain--a blend of all the experience and wisdom and military genius at +our disposal. But still there is one thing lacking--a nervous system. +Unless our giant have that,--unless his brain be able to transmit its +desires to his mighty limbs,--he has nothing. He is of no account; the +enemy can make butcher's-meat of him. And that is why I say that +the purveyor of this nervous system--our friend the Buzzer--is +indispensable. You can always create a body of sorts and a brain of +sorts. But unless you can produce a nervous system of the highest +excellence, you are foredoomed to failure. + +Take a small instance. Supposing a battalion advances to the attack, +and storms an isolated, exposed position. Can they hold on, or can +they not? That question can only be answered by the Artillery behind +them. If the curtain of shell-fire which has preceded the advancing +battalion to its objective can be "lifted" at the right moment and +put down again, with precision, upon a certain vital zone beyond the +captured line, counter-attacks can be broken up and the line held. +But the Artillery lives a long way--sometimes miles--in rear. Without +continuous and accurate information it will be more than useless; it +will be dangerous. (A successful attacking party has been shelled out +of its hardly won position by its own artillery before now--on both +sides!) Sometimes a little visual signalling is possible: sometimes a +despatch-runner may get back through the enemy's curtain of fire; but +in the main your one hope of salvation hangs upon a slender thread of +insulated wire. And round that wire are strung some of the purest gems +of heroism that the War has produced. + +At the Battle of Loos, half a battalion of "K(1)" pushed forward into +a very advanced hostile position. There they hung, by their teeth. +Their achievement was great; but unless Headquarters could be informed +of their exact position and needs, they were all dead men. So Corporal +Greig set out to find them, unreeling wire as he went. He was blown to +pieces by an eight-inch shell, but another signaller was never +lacking to take his place. They pressed forward, these lackadaisical +non-combatants, until the position was reached and communication +established. Again and again the wire was cut by shrapnel, and again +and again a Buzzer crawled out to find the broken ends and piece them +together. And ultimately, the tiny, exposed limb in front having been +enabled to explain its exact requirements to the brain behind, the +necessary help was forthcoming and the Fort was held. + +Next time you pass a Signaller's Dug-out peep inside. You will find +it occupied by a coke brazier, emitting large quantities of carbon +monoxide, and an untidy gentleman in khaki, with a blue-and-white +device upon his shoulder-straps, who is humped over a small black +instrument, luxuriating in a "frowst" most indescribable. He is +reading a back number of a rural Scottish newspaper which you never +heard of. Occasionally, in response to a faint buzz, he takes up his +transmitter and indulges in an unintelligible altercation with a +person unseen. You need feel no surprise if he is wearing the ribbon +of the Distinguished Conduct Medal. + + + + +VII + +PASTURES NEW + + +I + +The outstanding feature of to-day's intelligence is that spring is +coming--has come, in fact. + +It arrived with a bump. March entered upon its second week with seven +degrees of frost and four inches of snow. We said what was natural and +inevitable to the occasion, wrapped our coats of skins more firmly +round us, and made a point of attending punctually when the rum ration +was issued. + +Forty-eight hours later winter had disappeared. The sun was blazing +in a cloudless sky. Aeroplanes were battling for photographic rights +overhead; the brown earth beneath our feet was putting forth its +first blades of tender green. The muck-heap outside our rest-billet +displayed unmistakable signs of upheaval from its winter sleep. +Primroses appeared in Bunghole Wood; larks soared up into the sky +above No Man's Land, making music for the just and the unjust. +Snipers, smiling cheerfully over the improved atmospheric conditions, +polished up their telescopic sights. The artillery on each side hailed +the birth of yet another season of fruitfulness and natural +increase with some more than usually enthusiastic essays in mutual +extermination. Half the Mess caught colds in their heads. + +Frankly, we are not sorry to see the end of winter. Caesar, when he +had concluded his summer campaign, went into winter quarters. Caesar, +as Colonel Kemp once huskily remarked, knew something! + +Still, each man to his taste. Corporal Mucklewame, for one, greatly +prefers winter to summer. + +"In the winter," he points out to Sergeant M'Snape, "a body can +breathe withoot swallowing a wheen bluebottles and bum-bees. A body +can aye streitch himself doon under a tree for a bit sleep withoot +getting wasps and wee beasties crawling up inside his kilt, and +puddocks craw-crawing in his ear! A body can keep himself frae +sweitin'--" + +"He can that!" assents M'Snape, whose spare frame is more vulnerable +to the icy breeze than that of the stout corporal. + +However, the balance of public opinion is against Mucklewame. Most +of us are unfeignedly glad to feel the warmth of the sun again. +That working-party, filling sandbags just behind the machine-gun +emplacement, are actually singing. Spring gets into the blood, even +in this stricken land. The Boche over the way resents our efforts at +harmony. + + Sing us a song, a song of Bonnie Scotland! + Any old song will do. + By the old camp-fire, the rough-and-ready choir + Join in the chorus too. + "You'll tak' the high road and I'll tak' the low road"-- + 'Tis a song that we all know, + To bring back the days in Bonnie Scotland, + Where the heather and the bluebells-- + +_Whang_! + +The Boche, a Wagnerian by birth and upbringing, cannot stand any more +of this, so he has fired a rifle-grenade at the glee-party--on the +whole a much more honest and direct method of condemnation than that +practiced by musical critics in time of peace. But he only elicits an +encore. Private Nigg perches a steel helmet on the point of a bayonet, +and patronisingly bobs the same up and down above the parapet. + +These steel helmets have not previously been introduced to the +reader's notice. They are modelled upon those worn in the French +Army--and bear about as much resemblance to the original pattern as a +Thames barge to a racing yacht. When first issued, they were greeted +with profound suspicion. Though undoubtedly serviceable,--they saved +many a crown from cracking round The Bluff the other day,--they were +undeniably heavy, and they were certainly not becoming to the peculiar +type of beauty rampant in "K(1)." On issue, then, their recipients +elected to regard the wearing of them as a peculiarly noxious form +of "fatigue." Private M'A. deposited his upon the parapet, like a +foundling on a doorstep, and departed stealthily round the nearest +traverse, to report his new headpiece "lost through the exigencies of +military service." Private M'B. wore his insecurely perched upon the +top of his tam-o'-shanter bonnet, where it looked like a very large +ostrich egg in a very small khaki nest. Private M'C. set his up on +a convenient post, and opened rapid fire upon it at a range of six +yards, surveying the resulting holes with the gloomy satisfaction of +the vindicated pessimist. Private M'D. removed the lining from his, +and performed his ablutions in the inverted crown. + +"This," said Colonel Kemp, "will never do. We must start wearing the +dashed things ourselves." + +And it was so. Next day, to the joy of the Battalion, their officers +appeared in the trenches selfconsciously wearing what looked like +small sky-blue wash-hand basins balanced upon their heads. But +discipline was excellent. No one even smiled. In fact, there was a +slight reaction in favour of the helmets. Conversations like the +following were overheard:-- + +"I'm tellin' you, Jimmy, the C.O. is no the man for tae mak' a show of +himself like that for naething. These tin bunnets must be some use. +Wull we pit oors on?" + +"Awa' hame, and bile your held!" replied the unresponsive James. + +"They'll no stop a whish-bang," conceded the apostle of progress, "but +they would keep off splunters, and a wheen bullets, and--and--" + +"And the rain!" supplied Jimmy sarcastically. + +This gibe suddenly roused the temper of the other participant in the +debate. + +"I tell you," he exclaimed, in a voice shrill with indignation, "that +these ---- helmets are some ---- use!" + +"And I tell _you_," retorted James earnestly, "that these ---- helmets +are no ---- ---- use!" + +When two reasonable persons arrive at a controversial _impasse_, they +usually agree to differ and go their several ways. But in "K(1)" we +prefer practical solutions. The upholder of helmets hastily thrust his +upon his head. + +"I'll show you, Jimmy!" he announced, and clambered up on the +firing-step. + +"And I'll ---- well show _you_, Wullie!" screamed James, doing +likewise. + +Simultaneously the two zealots thrust their heads over the parapet, +and awaited results. These came. The rifles of two Boche snipers rang +out, and both demonstrators fell heavily backwards into the arms of +their supporters. + +By all rights they ought to have been killed. But they were both very +much alive. Each turned to the other triumphantly, and exclaimed,-- + +"I tellt ye so!" + +There was a hole right through the helmet of Jimmy, the unbeliever. +The fact that there was not also a hole through his head was due to +his forethought in having put on a tam-o'-shanter underneath. The net +result was a truncated "toorie." Wullie's bullet had struck his helmet +at a more obtuse angle, and had glanced off, as the designer of the +smooth exterior had intended it to do. + +At first glance, the contest was a draw. But subsequent investigation +elicited the fact that Jimmy in his backward fall had bitten his +tongue to the effusion of blood. The verdict was therefore awarded, on +points, to Wullie, and the spectators dispersed in an orderly manner +just as the platoon sergeant came round the traverse to change the +sentry. + + +II + +We have occupied our own present trenches since January. There was +a time when this sector of the line was regarded as a Vale of Rest. +Bishops were conducted round with impunity. Members of Parliament +came out for the week-end, and returned to their constituents with +first-hand information about the horrors of war. Foreign journalists, +and sight-seeing parties of munition-workers, picnicked in Bunghole +Wood. In the village behind the line, if a chance shell removed tiles +from the roof of a house, the owner, greatly incensed, mounted a +ladder and put in some fresh ones. + +But that is all over now. "K(1)"--hard-headed men of business, +bountifully endowed with munitions--have arrived upon the scene, and +the sylvan peace of the surrounding district is gone. Pan has dug +himself in. + +The trouble began two months ago, when our Divisional Artillery +arrived. Unversed in local etiquette, they commenced operations by +"sending up"--to employ a vulgar but convenient catch-phrase--a +strongly fortified farmhouse in the enemy's support line. The Boche, +by way of gentle reproof, deposited four or five small "whizz-bangs" +in our front-line trenches. The tenants thereof promptly telephoned to +"Mother," and Mother came to the assistance of her offspring with a +salvo of twelve-inch shells. After that. Brother Boche, realising that +the golden age was past, sent north to the Salient for a couple of +heavy batteries, and settled down to shell Bunghole village to pieces. +Within a week he had brought down the church tower: within a fortnight +the population had migrated farther back, leaving behind a few +patriots, too deeply interested in the sale of small beer and picture +postcards to uproot themselves. Company Headquarters in Bunghole Wood +ceased to grow primroses and began to fill sandbags. + +A month ago the village was practically intact. The face of the church +tower was badly scarred, but the houses were undamaged. The little +shops were open; children played in the streets. Now, if you stand at +the cross-roads where the church rears its roofless walls, you will +understand what the Abomination of Desolation means. Occasionally a +body of troops, moving in small detachments at generous intervals, +trudges by, on its way to or from the trenches. Occasionally a big +howitzer shell swings lazily out of the blue and drops with a crash or +a dull thud--according to the degree of resistance encountered--among +the crumbling cottages. All is solitude. + +But stay! Right on the cross-roads, in the centre of the village, just +below the fingers of a sign-post which indicates the distance to four +French townships, whose names you never heard of until a year ago, +and now will never forget, there hangs a large, white, newly painted +board, bearing a notice in black letters six inches high. Exactly +underneath the board, rubbing their noses appreciatively against +the sign-post, stand two mules, attached to a limbered waggon, the +property of the A.S.C. Their charioteers are sitting adjacent, in a +convenient shell-hole, partaking of luncheon. + +"That was a rotten place we' ad to wait in yesterday, Sammy," observes +Number One. "The draught was somethink cruel." + +The recumbent Samuel agrees. "This little 'oiler is a bit of all +right," he remarks. "When you've done strarfin' that bully-beef, 'and +it over, ole man!" + +He leans his head back upon the lip of the shell-hole, and gazes +pensively at the notice-board six feet away. It says:-- + + VERY DANGEROUS. + DO NOT + LOITER + HERE. + + +III + +Here is another cross-roads, a good mile farther forward--and less +than a hundred yards behind the fire-trench. It is dawn. + +The roads themselves are not so distinct as they were. They are +becoming grass-grown: for more than a year--in daylight at least--no +human foot has trodden them. The place is like hundreds of others that +you may see scattered up and down this countryside--two straight, +flat, metalled country roads, running north and south and east and +west, crossing one another at a faultless right angle. + +Of the four corners thus created, one is--or was--occupied by an +estaminet: you can still see the sign, _Estaminet au Commerce_, over +the door. Two others contain cottages,--the remains of cottages. At +the fourth, facing south and east, stands what is locally known as a +"Calvaire,"--bank of stone, a lofty cross, and a life-size figure of +Christ, facing east, towards the German lines. + +This spot is shelled every day--has been shelled every day for months. +Possibly the enemy suspects a machine-gun or an observation post amid +the tumble-down buildings. Hardly one brick remains upon another. +And yet--the sorrowful Figure is unbroken. The Body is riddled +with bullets--in the glowing dawn you may Count not five but fifty +wounds--but the Face is untouched. It is the standing miracle of this +most materialistic war. Throughout the length of France you will see +the same thing. + +Agnostics ought to come out here, for a "cure." + + +IV + +With spring comes also the thought of the Next Push. + +But we do not talk quite so glibly of pushes as we did. Neither, for +that matter, does Brother Boche. He has just completed six weeks' +pushing at Verdun, and is beginning to be a little uncertain as to +which direction the pushing is coming from. + +No; once more the military textbooks are being rewritten. We started +this war under one or two rather fallacious premises. One was that +Artillery was more noisy than dangerous. When Antwerp fell, we +rescinded that theory. Then the Boche set out to demonstrate that an +Attack, provided your Artillery preparation is sufficiently thorough, +and you are prepared to set _no_ limit to your expenditure of +Infantry, must ultimately succeed. To do him justice, the Boche +supported his assertions very plausibly. His phalanx bundled the +Russians all the way from Tannenburg to Riga. The Austrians adopted +similar tactics, with similar results. + +We were duly impressed. The world last summer did not quite realize +how far the results of the campaign were due to German efficiency and +how far to Russian unpreparedness. (Russia, we realise now, found +herself in the position of the historic Mrs. Partington, who +endeavoured to repel the Atlantic with a mop. This year, we +understand, she is in a position to discard the mop in favour of +something far, far better.) + +Then came--Verdun. Military science turned over yet another page, and +noted that against consummate generalship, unlimited munitions, and +selfless devotion on the part of the defence, the most spectacular and +highly-doped phalanx can spend itself in vain. Military science also +noted that, under modern conditions, the capture of this position or +that signifies nothing: the only method of computing victory is to +count the dead on either side. On that reckoning, the French at Verdun +have already gained one of the great victories of all time. + +"In fact," said Colonel Kemp, "this war will end when the Boche has +lost so many men as to be unable to man his present trench-line, and +not before." + +"You don't think, sir, that we shall make another Push?" suggested +Angus M'Lachlan eagerly. The others were silent: they had experienced +a Push already. + +"Not so long as the Boche continues to play our game for us, by +attacking. If he tumbles to the error he is making, and digs himself +in again--well, it may become necessary to draw him. In that case, +M'Lachlan, you shall have first chop at the Victoria Crosses. Afraid I +can't recommend you for your last exploit, though I admit it must have +required some nerve!" + +There was unseemly laughter at this allusion. Four nights previously +Angus had been sent out in charge of a wiring-party. He had duly +crawled forth with his satellites, under cover of darkness, on to No +Man's Land; and, there selecting a row of "knife-rests" which struck +him as being badly in need of repair, had well and truly reinforced +the same with many strands of the most barbarous brand of barbed wire. +This, despite more than usually fractious behaviour upon the part of +the Boche. + +Next morning, through a sniper's loophole, he exhibited the result of +his labours to Major Wagstaffe. The Major gazed long and silently upon +his subordinate's handiwork. There was no mistaking it. It stood out +bright and gleaming in the rays of the rising sun, amid its dingy +surroundings of rusty ironmongery. Angus M'Lachlan waited anxiously +for a little praise. + +"Jolly good piece of work," said Major Wagstaffe at last. "But tell +me, why have you repaired the Boche wire instead of your own?" + +"The only enemy we have to fear," continued Colonel Kemp, rubbing his +spectacles savagely, "is the free and independent British voter--I +mean, the variety of the species that we have left at home. Like the +gentleman in Jack Point's song, 'He likes to get value for money'; and +he is quite capable of asking us, about June or July, 'if we know that +we are paid to be funny?'--before we are ready. What's your view of +the situation at home, Wagstaffe? You're the last off leave." + +Wagstaffe shook his head. + +"The British Nation," he said, "is quite mad. That fact, of course, +has been common property on the Continent of Europe ever since Cook's +Tours were invented. But what irritates the orderly Boche is that +there is no method in its madness. Nothing you can go upon, or take +hold of, or wring any advantage from." + +"As how?" + +"Well, take compulsory service. For generations the electorate of +our country has been trained by a certain breed of politician--the +_Bandar-log_ of the British Constitution--to howl down such a low and +degrading business as National Defence. A nasty Continental custom, +they called it. Then came the War, and the glorious Voluntary System +got to work." + +"Aided," the Colonel interpolated, "by a campaign of mural +advertisement which a cinema star's press agent would have boggled +at!" + +"Quite so," agreed Wagstaffe. "Next, when the Voluntary System had +done its damnedest--in other words, when the willing horse had been +worked to his last ounce--we tried the Derby Scheme. The manhood of +the nation was divided into groups, and a fresh method of touting for +troops was adopted. Married shysters, knowing that at least twenty +groups stood between them and a job of work, attested in comparatively +large numbers. The single shysters were less reckless--so much less +reckless, in fact, that compulsion began to materialise at last." + +"But only for single shysters," said Bobby Little regretfully. + +"Yes; and the married shyster rejoiced accordingly. But the single +shyster is a most subtle reptile. On examination, it was found that +the single members of this noble army of martyrs were all 'starred,' +or 'reserved', or 'ear-marked'--or whatever it is that they do to +these careful fellows. So the poor old married shyster, who had only +attested to show his blooming patriotism and encourage the others, +suddenly found himself confronted with the awful prospect of having to +defend his country personally, instead of by letter to the halfpenny +press. Then the fat was fairly in the fire! The married martyr--" + +"Come, come, old man! Not all of them!" said Colonel Kemp. "I have a +married brother of my own, a solicitor of thirty-eight, who is simply +clamouring for active service!" + +"I know that, sir," admitted Wagstaffe quickly. "Thank God, these +fellows are only a minority, and a freak minority at that; but freak +minorities seem to get the monopoly of the limelight in our unhappy +country." + +"The whole affair," mused the Colonel, "can hardly be described as a +frenzied rally round the Old Flag. By God," he broke out suddenly, +"it fairly makes one's blood boil! When I think of the countless good +fellows, married and single, but mainly married, who left _all_ and +followed the call of common decency and duty the moment the War broke +out--most of them now dead or crippled; and when I see this miserable +handful of shirkers, holding up vital public business while the pros +and cons of their wretched claims to exemption are considered--well, I +almost wish I had been born a Boche!" + +"I don't think you need apply for naturalisation papers yet, Colonel," +said Wagstaffe. "The country is perfectly sound at heart over this +question, and always was. The present agitation, as I say, is being +engineered by the more verminous section of our incomparable daily +Press, for its own ends. It makes our Allies lift their eyebrows a +bit; but they are sensible people, and they realise that although we +are a nation of lunatics, we usually deliver the goods in the end. As +for the Boche, poor fellow, the whole business makes him perfectly +rabid. Here he is, with all his splendid organisation and brutal +efficiency, and he can't even knock a dent into our undisciplined, +back-chatting, fool-ridden, self-depreciating old country! I, for one, +sympathise with the Boche profoundly. On paper, we don't _deserve_ to +win!" + +"But we shall!" remarked that single-minded paladin, Bobby Little. + +"Of course we shall! And what's more, we are going to derive a +national benefit out of this war which will in itself be worth the +price of admission!" + +"How?" asked several voices. + +Wagstaffe looked round the table. The Battalion were for the moment in +Divisional Reserve, and consequently out of the trenches. Some one +had received a box of Coronas from home, and the mess president had +achieved a bottle of port. Hence the present symposium at Headquarters +Mess. Wagstaffe's eyes twinkled. + +"Will each officer present," he said, "kindly name his pet aversion +among his fellow-creatures?" + +"A person or a type?" asked Mr. Waddell cautiously. + +"A type." + +Colonel Kemp led off. + +"Male ballet-dancers," he said. + +"Fat, shiny men," said Bobby Little, "with walrus mustaches!" + +"All conscientious objectors, passive resisters, pacifists, and other +cranks!" continued the orthodox Waddell. + +"All people who go on strike during war-time," said the Adjutant. +There was an approving murmur--then silence. + +"Your contribution, M'Lachlan?" said Wagstaffe. + +Angus, who had kept silence from shyness, suddenly blazed out:-- + +"I think," he said, "that the most contemptible people in the world +to-day are those politicians and others who, in years gone by, +systematically cried down anything in the shape of national defence or +national inclination to personal service, because they saw there were +no _votes_ in such a programme; and who _now_"--Angus's passion rose +to fever-heat,--"stand up and endeavour to cultivate popular favour +by reviling the Ministry and the Army for want of preparedness and +initiative. Such men do not deserve to live! Oh, sirs--" + +But Angus's peroration was lost in a storm of applause. + +"You are adjudged to have hit the bull's-eye, M'Lachlan," said Colonel +Kemp. "But tell us, Wagstaffe, your exact object in compiling this +horrible catalogue." + +"Certainly. It is this. Universal Service is a _fait accompli_ at +last, or is shortly going to be--and without anything very much in the +way of exemption either. When it comes, just think of it! All these +delightful people whom we have been enumerating will have to toe the +line at last. For the first time in their little lives they will learn +the meaning of discipline, and fresh air, and _ésprit de corps_. Isn't +that worth a war? If the present scrap can only be prolonged for +another year, our country will receive a tonic which will carry it on +for another century. Think of it! Great Britain, populated by men who +have actually been outside their own parish; men who know that the +whole is greater than the part; men who are too wide awake to go on +doing just what the _Bandar-log_ tell them, and allow themselves to be +used as stalking-horses for low-down political ramps! When _we_, going +round in bath-chairs and on crutches, see that sight--well, I don't +think we shall regret our missing arms and legs quite so much, +Colonel. War is Hell, and all that; but there is one worse thing than +a long war, and that is a long peace!" + +"I wonder!" said Colonel Kemp reflectively. He was thinking of his +wife and four children in distant Argyllshire. + +But the rapt attitude and quickened breath of Temporary Captain Bobby +Little endorsed every word that Major Wagstaffe had spoken. As he +rolled into his "flea-bag" that night, Bobby requoted to himself, for +the hundredth time, a passage from Shakespeare which had recently +come to his notice. He was not a Shakespearian scholar, nor indeed a +student of literature at all; but these lines had been sent to him, +cut out of a daily almanac, by an equally unlettered and very adorable +confidante at home:-- + + "And gentlemen in England now a-bed, + Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, + And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks + That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day!" + +Bobby was the sort of person who would thoroughly have enjoyed the +Battle of Agincourt. + + + + +VIII + +"THE NON-COMBATANT" + + +I + +We will call the village St. Grégoire. That is not its real name; +because the one thing you must not do in war-time is to call a thing +by its real name. To take a hackneyed example, you do not call a spade +a spade: you refer to it, officially, as _Shovels, General Service, +One_. This helps to deceive, and ultimately to surprise, the enemy; +and as we all know by this time, surprise is the essence of successful +warfare. On the same principle, if your troops are forced back from +their front-line trenches, you call this "successfully straightening +out an awkward salient." + +But this by the way. Let us get back to St. Grégoire. Hither, +mud-splashed, ragged, hollow-cheeked, came our battalion--they call +us the Seventh Hairy Jocks nowadays--after four months' continuous +employment in the firing-line. Ypres was a household word to them; +Plugstreet was familiar ground; Givenchy they knew intimately; Loos +was their wash-pot--or rather, a collection of wash-pots, for in +winter all the shell-craters are full to overflowing. In addition to +their prolonged and strenuous labours in the trenches, the Hairy Jocks +had taken part in a Push--a part not altogether unattended with glory, +but prolific in casualties. They had not been "pulled out" to rest and +refit for over six months, for Divisions on the Western Front were not +at that period too numerous, the voluntary system being at its last +gasp, while the legions of Lord Derby had not yet crystallised out of +the ocean of public talk which held them in solution. So the Seventh +Hairy Jocks were bone tired. But they were as hard as a rigorous +winter in the open could make them, and--they were going back to rest +at last. Had not their beloved C.O. told them so? And he had added, in +a voice not altogether free from emotion, that if ever men deserved a +solid rest and a good time, "you boys do!" + +So the Hairy Jocks trudged along the long, straight, nubbly French +road, well content, speculating with comfortable pessimism as to the +character of the billets in which they would find themselves. + +Meanwhile, ten miles ahead, the advance party were going round the +town in quest of the billets. + +Billet-hunting on the Western Front is not quite so desperate an +affair as hunting for lodgings at Margate, because in the last +extremity you can always compel the inhabitants to take you in--or at +least, exert pressure to that end through the _Mairie_. But at the +best one's course is strewn with obstacles, and fortunate is the +Adjutant who has to his hand a subaltern capable of finding lodgings +for a thousand men without making a mess of it. + +The billeting officer on this, as on most occasions, was our +friend Cockerell,--affectionately known to the entire Battalion as +"Sparrow,"--and his qualifications for the post were derived from +three well-marked and invaluable characteristics, namely, an imperious +disposition, a thick skin, and an attractive _bonhomie_ of manner. + +Behold him this morning dismounting from his horse in the _place_ +of St. Grégoire. Around him are grouped his satellites--the +Quartermaster-Sergeant, four Company Sergeants, some odd orderlies, +and a forlorn little man in a neat drab uniform with light blue +facings,--the regimental interpreter. The party have descended, with +the delicate care of those who essay to perform acrobatic feats in +kilts, from bicycles--serviceable but appallingly heavy machines +of Government manufacture, the property of the "Buzzers," but +commandeered for the occasion. The Quartermaster-Sergeant, who is +not accustomed to strenuous exercise, mops his brow and glances +expectantly round the _place_. His eye comes gently to rest upon a +small but hospitable-looking _estaminet_. + +Lieutenant Cockerell examines his wrist-watch. + +"Half-past ten!" he announces. "Quartermaster-Sergeant!" + +"Sirr!" The Quartermaster-Sergeant unglues his longing gaze from the +_estaminet_ and comes woodenly to attention. + +"I am going to see the Town Major about a billeting area. I will meet +you and the party here in twenty minutes." + +Master Cockerell trots off on his mud-splashed steed, followed by the +respectful and appreciative salutes of his followers--appreciative, +because a less considerate officer would have taken the whole party +direct to the Town Major's office and kept them standing in the +street, wasting moments which might have been better employed +elsewhere, until it was time to proceed with the morning's work. + + * * * * * + +"How strong are you?" inquired the Town Major. + +Cockerell told him. The Town Major whistled. + +"That all? Been doing some job of work, haven't you?" + +Cockerell nodded, and the Town Major proceeded to examine a +large-scale plan of St. Grégoire, divided up into different-coloured +plots. + +"We are rather full up at present," he said; "but the Cemetery Area +is vacant. The Seventeenth Geordies moved out yesterday. You can have +that." He indicated a triangular section with his pencil. + +Master Cockerell gave a deprecatory cough. + +"We have come here, sir," he intimated dryly, "for a change of scene." + +The stout Town Major--all Town Majors are stout--chuckled. + +"Not bad for a Scot!" he conceded. "But it's quite a cheery district, +really. You won't have to doss down in the cemetery itself, you know. +These two streets here--" he flicked a pencil--"will hold practically +all your battalion, at its present strength. There's a capital +house in the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau which will do for Battalion +Headquarters. The corporal over there will give you your _billets de +logement_." + +"Are there any other troops in the area, sir?" asked Cockerell, who, +as already indicated, was no child in these matters. + +"There ought not to be, of course. But you know what the Heavy Gunners +and the A.S.C. are! If you come across any of them, fire them out. If +they wear too many stars and crowns for you, let me know, and I will +perform the feat myself. You fellows need a good rest and no worries, +I know. Good-morning." + +At ten minutes to eleven Cockerell found the Quartermaster-Sergeant +and party, wiping their mustaches and visibly refreshed, at the exact +spot where he had left them; and the hunt for billets began. + +"A" Company were easily provided for, a derelict tobacco factory being +encountered at the head of the first street. Lieutenant Cockerell +accordingly detached a sergeant and a corporal from his train, and +passed on. The wants of "B" Company were supplied by commandeering +a block of four dilapidated houses farther down the street--all in +comparatively good repair except the end house, whose roof had been +disarranged by a shell during the open fighting in the early days of +the war. + +This exhausted the possibilities of the first street, and the party +debouched into the second, which was long and straggling, and composed +entirely of small houses. + +"Now for a bit of the retail business!" said Master Cockerell +resignedly. "Sergeant M'Nab, what is the strength of 'C' Company?" + +"One hunner and thairty-fower other ranks, sirr," announced Sergeant +M'Nab, consulting a much-thumbed roll-book. + +"We shall have to put them in twos and threes all down the street," +said Cockerell. "Come on; the longer we look at it the less we shall +like it. Interpreter!" + +The forlorn little man, already described, trotted up, and saluted +with open hand, French fashion. His name was Baptiste Bombominet ("or +words to that effect," as the Adjutant put it), and may have been so +inscribed upon the regimental roll; but throughout the rank and file +Baptiste was affectionately known by the generic title of "Alphonso." +The previous seven years had been spent by him in the congenial and +blameless atmosphere of a Ladies' Tailor's in the west end of London, +where he enjoyed the status and emoluments of chief cutter. Now, +called back to his native land by the voice of patriotic obligation, +he found himself selected, by virtue of a residence of seven years in +England, to act as official interpreter between a Scottish Regiment +which could not speak English, and Flemish peasants who could not +speak French. No wonder that his pathetic brown eyes always appeared +full of tears. However, he followed Cockerell down the street, and +meekly embarked upon a contest with the lady Inhabitants thereof, in +which he was hopelessly outmatched from the start. + +At the first door a dame of massive proportions, but keen business +instincts, announced her total inability to accommodate _soldats_, but +explained that she would be pleased to entertain _officiers_ to any +number. This is a common gambit. Twenty British privates in your +_grenier_, though extraordinarily well-behaved as a class, make a good +deal of noise, buy little, and leave mud everywhere. On the other +hand, two or three officers give no trouble, and can be relied upon to +consume and pay for unlimited omelettes and bowls of coffee. + +That seasoned vessel, Lieutenant Cockerell, turned promptly to the +Sergeant and Corporal of "C" Company. + +"Sergeant M'Nab," he said, "you and Corporal Downie will billet here." +He introduced hostess and guests by an expressive wave of the hand. +But shrewd Madame was not to be bluffed. + +"_Pas de sergents, Monsieur le Capitaine!_" she exclaimed. +"_Officiers!_" + +"_Ils sont officiers--sous-officiers_," explained Cockerell, rather +ingeniously, and moved off down the street. + +At the next house the owner--a small, wizened lady of negligible +physique but great staying power--entered upon a duet with Alphonso, +which soon reduced that very moderate performer to breathlessness. He +shrugged his shoulders feebly, and cast an appealing glance towards +the Lieutenant. + +"What does she say?" inquired Cockerell. + +"She say dis' ouse no good, sair! She 'ave seven children, and one +_malade_--seek." + +"Let me see," commanded the practical officer. + +He insinuated himself as politely as possible past his reluctant +opponent, and walked down the narrow passage into the kitchen. Here he +turned, and inquired-- + +"Er--_ou est la pauvre petite chose?_" + +Madame promptly opened a door, and displayed a little girl in bed--a +very flushed and feverish little girl. + +Cockerell grinned sympathetically at the patient, to that young lady's +obvious gratification; and turned to the mother. + +"_Je suis tres--triste_," he said; "_j'ai grand miséricorde. Je ne +placerai pas de soldats ici. Bon jour!_" + +By this time he was in the street again. He saluted politely and +departed, followed by the grateful regards of Madame. + +No special difficulties were encountered at the next few houses. The +ladies at the house-door were all polite; many of them were most +friendly; but naturally each was anxious to get as few men and as many +officers as possible--except the proprietess of an _estaminel_, who +offered to accommodate the entire regiment. However, with a little +tact here and a little firmness there, Master Cockerell succeeded in +distributing "C" Company among some dozen houses. One old gentleman, +with a black alpaca cap and a six-days beard, proprietor of a +lofty establishment at the corner of the street, proved not only +recalcitrant, but abusive. With him Cockerell dealt promptly. + +"_Ça suffit_!" he announced. "_Montres-moi votre grenier!_" + +The old man, grumbling, led the way up numerous rickety staircases +to the inevitable loft under the tiles. This proved to be a noble +apartment thirty feet long. From wall to wall stretched innumerable +strings. + +"We can get a whole platoon in here," said Cockerell contentedly. +"Tell him, Alphonso. These people," he explained to Sergeant M'Nab, +"always dislike giving up their lofts, because they hang their laundry +there in winter. However, the old boy must lump it. After all, we are +in this country for his health, not ours; and he gets paid for every +man who sleeps here. That fixes 'C' Company. Now for 'D'! The other +side of the street this time." + +Quarters were found in due course for "D" Company; after which +Cockerell discovered a vacant building-site which would serve +for transport lines. An empty garage was marked down for the +Quartermaster's ration store, and the Quartermaster-Sergeant promptly +faded into its recesses with a grateful sigh. An empty shop in the +Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau, conveniently adjacent to Battalion +Headquarters, was appropriated for that gregarious band, the +regimental signallers and telephone section; while a suitable home for +the Anarchists, or Bombers, together with their stock-in-trade, was +found in the basement of a remote dwelling on the outskirts of the +area. + +After this, Lieutenant Cockerell, left alone with Alphonso and the +orderly in charge of his horse, heaved a sigh of exhaustion and +transferred his attention from his notebook to his watch. + +"That finishes the rank and file," he said. "I breakfasted at four +this morning, and the battalion won't arrive for a couple of hours +yet. Alphonso, I am going to have an omelette somewhere. I shall want +you in half an hour exactly. Don't go wandering off for the rest of +the day, pinching soft billets for yourself and the Sergeant-Major and +your other pals, as you usually do!" + +Alphonso saluted guiltily--evidently the astute Cockerell had "touched +the spot"--and was turning away, when suddenly the billeting officer's +eye encountered an illegible scrawl at the very foot of his list. + +"Stop a moment, Alphonso! I have forgotten those condemned +machine-gunners, as usual. _Strafe_ them! Come on! Once more into the +breach, Alphonso! There is a little side-alley down here that we have +not tried." + +The indefatigable Cockerell turned down the Rue Gambetta, followed by +Alphonso, faint but resigned. + +"Here is the very place!" announced Cockerell almost at once. "This +house, Number Five. We can put the gunners and their little guns into +that stable at the back, and the officer can have a room in the house +itself. _Sonnez_, for the last time before lunch!" + +The door was opened by a pleasant-faced young woman of about +thirty, who greeted Cockerell--tartan is always popular with French +ladies--with a beaming smile, but shook her head regretfully upon +seeing the _billet de logement_ in his hand. The inevitable duet with +Alphonso followed. Presently Alphonso turned to his superior. + +"Madame is ver' sorry, sair, but an _officier_ is here already." + +"Show me the _officier_!" replied the prosaic Cockerell. + +The duet was resumed. + +"Madame say," announced Alphonso presently, "that the _officier_ is +not here now; but he will return." + +"So will Christmas! Meanwhile I am going to put an _Emma Gee_ officer +in here." + +Alphonso's desperate attempt to translate the foregoing idiom into +French was interrupted by Madame's retirement into the house, whither +she beckoned Cockerell to follow her. In the front room she produced a +frayed sheet of paper, which she proffered with an apologetic smile. +The paper said:-- + +_This billet is entirely reserved for the Supply Officer of this +District. It is not to be occupied by troops passing through the town. + +By Order_. + +Lieutenant Cockerell whistled softly and vindictively through his +teeth. + +"Well," he said, "for consummate and concentrated nerve, give me the +underlings of the A.S.C.! This pot-bellied blighter not only butts +into an area which doesn't belong to him, but actually leaves a chit +to warn people off the grass even when he isn't here! He hasn't +signed the document, I observe. That means that he is a newly joined +subaltern, trying to get mistaken for a Brass Hat! I'll fix _him_!" + +With great stateliness Lieutenant Cockerell tore the offending +screed into four portions, to the audible concern of Madame. But the +Lieutenant smiled reassuringly upon her. + +"_Je vous donnerai un autre, vous savez_," he assured her. + +He sat down at the table, tore a leaf from his Field Service Pocket +Book, and wrote:-- + +_The Supply Officer of the District is at liberty to occupy this +billet only at such times as it is not required by the troops of the +Combatant Services. + + Signed, F.J. Cockerell, + Lieut. & Asst. Adj., + 7th B. & W. Highes_. + +"That's a pretty nasty one!" he observed with relish. Then, having +pinned the insulting document conspicuously to the mantelpiece, he +observed to the mystified lady of the house:-- + +"_Voilà, Madame. Si l'officier reviendra, je le verrai moi-même, avec +grand plaisir. Bon jour_!" + +And with this dark saying Sparrow Cockerell took his departure. + + +II + +The Battalion, headed by their tatterdemalion pipers, stumped into the +town in due course, and were met on the outskirts by the billeting +party, who led the various companies to their appointed place. After +inspecting their new quarters, and announcing with gloomy satisfaction +that they were the worst, dirtiest, and most uncomfortable yet +encountered, everybody settled down in the best place he could find, +and proceeded to make himself remarkably snug. + +Battalion Headquarters and the officers of "A" Company were billeted +in an imposing mansion which actually boasted a bathroom. It is true +that there was no water, but this deficiency was soon made good by a +string of officers' servants bearing buckets. Beginning with Colonel +Kemp, who was preceded by an orderly bearing a small towel and a large +loofah, each officer performed a ceremonial ablution; and it was a +collection of what Major Wagstaffe termed "bright and bonny young +faces" which collected round the Mess table at seven o'clock. + +It was in every sense a gala meal. Firstly, it was weeks since any one +(except Second Lieutenant M'Corquodale, newly joined, and addressed, +for painfully obvious reasons, as "Tich") had found himself at table +in an apartment where it was possible to stand upright. Secondly, +the Mess President had coaxed glass tumblers out of the ancient +_concierge_; and only those who have drunk from enamelled ironware +for weeks on end can appreciate the pure joy of escape from the +indeterminate metallic flavour which such vessels impart to all +beverages. Thirdly, these same tumblers were filled to the brim +with inferior but exhilarating champagne--purchased, as they +euphemistically put it in the Supply Column, "locally." Lastly, the +battalion had several months of hard fighting behind it, probably +a full month's rest before it, and the conscience of duty done and +recognition earned floating like a halo above it. For the moment +memories of Nightmare Wood and the Kidney Bean Redoubt--more +especially the latter--were effaced. Even the sorrowful gaps in the +ring round the table seemed less noticeable. + +The menu, too, was almost pretentious. First came the _hors +d'oeuvres_--a tin of sardines. This was followed by what the +Mess Corporal described as a savoury omelette, but which the +Second-in-Command condemned as "a regrettable incident." + +"It is false economy," he observed dryly to the Mess President, "to +employ Mark One [1] eggs as anything but hand-grenades." + +[Footnote 1: In the British army each issue of arms or equipment +receives a distinctive "Mark." Mark I denotes the earliest issue.] + +However, the tide of popular favour turned with the haggis, +contributed by Lieutenant Angus M'Lachlan, from a parcel from home. +Even the fact that the Mess cook, an inexperienced aesthete from +Islington, had endeavoured to tone down the naked repulsiveness of the +dainty with discreet festoons of tinned macaroni, failed to arouse +the resentment of a purely Scottish Mess. The next course--the beef +ration, hacked into the inevitable gobbets and thinly disguised by a +sprinkling of curry powder--aroused no enthusiasm; but the unexpected +production of a large tin of Devonshire cream, contributed by Captain +Bobby Little, relieved the canned peaches of their customary +monotony. Last of all came a savoury--usually described as _the_ +savoury--consisting of a raft of toast per person, each raft carrying +an abundant cargo of fried potted meat, and provided with a passenger +in the shape of a recumbent sausage. + +A compound of grounds and dish-water, described by the optimistic Mess +Corporal as coffee, next made its appearance, mitigated by a bottle of +Cointreau and a box of Panatellas; and the Mess turned itself to more +intellectual refreshment. A heavy and long-overdue mail had been found +waiting at St. Grégoire. Letters had been devoured long ago. Now, each +member of the Mess leaned back in his chair, straightened his weary +legs under the table, and settled down, cigar in mouth, to the perusal +of the _Spectator_ or the _Tatler_, according to rank and literary +taste. + +Colonel Kemp, unfolding a week-old _Times_, looked over his glasses at +his torpid disciples. + +"Where is young Sandeman?" he inquired. + +Young Sandeman was the Adjutant. + +"He went out to the Orderly Room, sir, five minutes ago," replied +Bobby Little. + +"I only want to give him to-morrow's Orders. No doubt he'll be back +presently. I may as well mention to you fellows that I propose +to allow the men three clear days' rest, except for bathing and +re-clothing. After that we must do Company Drill, good and hard, so as +to polish up the new draft, who are due to-morrow. I am going to +start a bombing-school, too: at least seventy-five per cent. of the +Battalion ought to pass the test before we go back to the line. +However, we need not rush things. We should be here in peace for at +least a month. We must get up some sports, and I think it would be a +sound scheme to have a singsong one Saturday night. I was just saying, +Sandeman,"--this to the Adjutant, who reëntered the room at that +moment,--"that it would be a sound--" + +The Adjutant laid a pink field-telegraph slip before his superior. + +"This has just come in from Brigade Headquarters, sir," he said. "I +have sent for the Sergeant-Major." + +The Colonel adjusted his glasses and read the despatch. A deathly, +sickening silence reigned in the room. Then he looked up. + +"I am afraid I was a bit previous," he said quietly. "The Royal +Stickybacks have lost the Kidney Bean, and we are detailed to go +up and retake it. Great compliment to the regiment, but a trifle +mistimed! You young fellows had better go to bed. Parade at 4 A.M., +sharp! Good-night! Come along to the Orderly Room, Sandeman." + +The door closed, and the Mess, grinding the ends of their cigars into +their coffee-cups, heaved themselves resignedly to their aching feet. + +"There ain't," quoted Major Wagstaffe, "no word in the blooming +language for it!" + + +III + +The Kidney Bean Redoubt is the key to a very considerable sector of +trenches. + +It lies just behind a low ridge. The two horns of the bean are drawn +back out of sight of the enemy, but the middle swells forward over the +skyline and commands an extensive view of the country beyond. Direct +observation of artillery fire is possible: consequently an armoured +observation post has been constructed here, from which gunner officers +can direct the fire of their batteries with accuracy and elegance. +Lose the Kidney Bean, and the boot is on the other leg. The enemy has +the upper ground now: he can bring observed artillery fire to bear +upon all our tenderest spots behind the line. He can also enfilade our +front-line trenches. + +Well, as already stated, the Twenty-Second Royal Stickybacks had +lost the Kidney Bean. They were a battalion of recent formation, +stout-hearted fellows all, but new to the refinements of intensive +trench warfare. When they took over the sector, they proceeded to +leave undone various vital things which the Hairy Jocks had always +made a point of doing, and to do various unnecessary things which the +Hairy Jocks had never done. The observant Hun promptly recognised that +he was faced by a fresh batch of opponents, and, having carefully +studied the characteristics of the newcomers, prescribed and +administered an exemplary dose of frightfulness. He began by tickling +up the Stickybacks with an unpleasant engine called the _Minenwerfer_, +which despatches a large sausage-shaped projectile in a series of +ridiculous somersaults, high over No Man's Land into the enemy's +front-line trench, where it explodes and annihilates everything +in that particular bay. Upon these occasions one's only chance of +salvation is to make a rapid calculation as to the bay into which +the sausage is going to fall, and then double speedily round a +traverse--or, if possible, two traverses--into another. It is an +exhilarating pastime, but presents complications when played by a +large number of persons in a restricted space, especially when the +persons aforesaid are not unanimous as to the ultimate landing-place +of the projectile. + +After a day and a night of these aerial torpedoes the Hun proceeded +to an intensive artillery bombardment. He had long coveted the +Kidney Bean, and instinct told him that he would never have a better +opportunity of capturing it than now. Accordingly, two hours before +dawn, the Redoubt was subjected to a sudden, simultaneous, and +converging fire from all the German artillery for many miles round, +the whole being topped up with a rain of those crowning instruments of +demoralisation, gas-shells. At the same time an elaborate curtain of +shrapnel and high explosive was let down behind the Redoubt, to +serve the double purpose of preventing either the sending up of +reinforcements or the temporary withdrawal of the garrison. + +At the first streak of dawn the bombardment was switched off, as if by +a tap; the curtain fire was redoubled in volume; and a massed attack +swept across the disintegrated wire into the shattered and pulverised +Redoubt. Other attacks were launched on either flank; but these were +obvious blinds, intended to prevent a too concentrated defence of the +Kidney Bean. The Royal Stickybacks--what was left of them--put up a +tough fight; but half of them were lying dead or buried, or both, +before the assault was launched, and the rest were too dazed and +stupefied by noise and chlorine gas to withstand--much less to +repel--the overwhelming phalanx that was hurled against them. One +by one they went down, until the enemy troops, having swamped the +Redoubt, gathered themselves up in a fresh wave and surged towards +the reserve-line trenches, four hundred yards distant. At this point, +however, they met a strong counter-attack, launched from the Brigade +Reserve, and after heavy fighting were bundled back into the Redoubt +itself. Here the German machine-guns had staked out a defensive line, +and the German retirement came to a standstill. + +Meanwhile a German digging party, many hundred strong, had been +working madly in No Man's Land, striving to link up the newly acquired +ground with the German lines. By the afternoon the Kidney Bean was not +only "reversed and consolidated," but was actually included in the +enemy's front trench system. Altogether a well-planned and admirably +executed little operation. + +Forty-eight hours later the Kidney Bean Redoubt was recaptured, and +remains in British hands to this day. Many arms of the Service +took honourable part in the enterprise--heavy guns, field guns, +trench-mortars, machine-guns; Sappers and Pioneers; Infantry in +various capacities. But this narrative is concerned only with the part +played by the Seventh Hairy Jocks. + +"Sorry to pull you back from rest, Colonel," said the Brigadier, when +the commander of the Hairy Jocks reported; "but the Divisional General +considers that the only feasible way to hunt the Boche from the Kidney +Bean is to bomb him out of it. That means trench-fighting, pure and +simple. I have called you up because you fellows know the ins and outs +of the Kidney Bean as no one else does. The Brigade who are in the +line just now are quite new to the place. Here is an aeroplane +photograph of the Redoubt, as at present constituted. Tell off your +own bombing parties; make your own dispositions; send me a copy of +your provisional orders; and I will fit my plan in with yours. +The Corps Commander has promised to back you with every gun, +trench-mortar, culverin, and arquebus in his possession." + +In due course Battalion Orders were issued and approved. They dealt +with operations most barbarous amid localities of the most homelike +sound. Number Nine Platoon, for instance (Commander Lieutenant +Cockerell), were to proceed in single file, carrying so many grenades +per man, up Charing Cross Road, until stopped by the barrier which the +enemy were understood to have erected in Trafalgar Square, where +a bombing-post and at least one machine-gun would probably be +encountered. At this point they were to wait until Trafalgar Square +had been suitably dealt with by a trench-mortar. (Here followed a +paragraph addressed exclusively to the Trench-Mortar Officer.) After +this the bombers of Number Three Platoon would bomb their way across +the Square and up the Strand. Another party would clear Northumberland +Avenue, while a Lewis gun raked Whitehall. And so on. Every detail +was thought out, down to the composition of the parties which were +to "clean up" afterwards--that is, extract the reluctant Boche from +various underground fastnesses well known to the extractors. The whole +enterprise was then thoroughly rehearsed in some dummy trenches behind +the line, until every one knew his exact part. Such is modern warfare. + +Next day the Kidney Bean Redoubt was in British hands again. +The Hun--what was left of him after an intensive bombardment of +twenty-four hours--had betaken himself back over the ridge, _via_ the +remnants of his two new communication trenches, to his original front +line. The two communication trenches themselves were blocked and +sandbagged, and were being heavily supervised by a pair of British +machine-guns. Fighting in the Redoubt itself had almost ceased, though +a humorous sergeant, followed by acolytes bearing bombs, was still +"combing out" certain residential districts in the centre of the +maze. Ever and anon he would stoop down at the entrance of some deep +dug-out, and bawl-- + +"Ony mair doon there? Come away, Fritz! I'll gie ye five seconds. Yin, +Twa, Three--" + +Then, with a rush like a bolt of rabbits, two or three close-cropped, +grimy Huns would scuttle up from below and project themselves from one +of the exits; to be taken in charge by grinning Caledonians wearing +"tin hats" very much awry, and escorted back through the barrage to +the "prisoners' base" in rear. + +All through the day, amidst unremitting shell fire and local +counter-attack, the Hairy Jocks reconsolidated the Kidney Bean; and +they were so far successful that when they handed over the work to +another battalion at dusk, the parapet was restored, the machine-guns +were in position, and a number of "knife-rest" barbed-wire +entanglements were lying just behind the trench, ready to be hoisted +over the parapet and joined together in a continuous defensive line as +soon as the night was sufficiently dark. + +One by one the members of Number Nine Platoon squelched--for it had +rained hard all day--back to the reserve line. They were utterly +exhausted, and still inclined to feel a little aggrieved at having +been pulled out from rest; but they were well content. They had done +the State some service, and they knew it; and they knew that the +higher powers knew it too. There would be some very flattering reading +in Divisional Orders in a few days' time. + +Meanwhile, their most pressing need was for something to eat. To be +sure, every man had gone into action that morning carrying his day's +rations. But the British soldier, improvident as the grasshopper, +carries his day's rations in one place, and one place only--his +stomach. The Hairy Jocks had eaten what they required at their +extremely early breakfast: the residue thereof they had abandoned. + +About midnight Master Cockerell, in obedience to a most welcome order, +led the remnants of his command, faint but triumphant, back from the +reserve line to a road junction two miles in rear, known as Dead Dog +Corner. Here the Battalion was to _rendezvous_, and march back by easy +stages to St. Grégoire. Their task was done. + +But at the cross-roads Number Nine Platoon found no Battalion: only a +solitary subaltern, with his orderly. This young Casabianca informed +Cockerell that he, Second Lieutenant Candlish, had been left behind to +"bring in stragglers." + +"Stragglers?" exclaimed the infuriated Cockerell. "Do we look like +stragglers?" + +"No," replied the youthful Candlish frankly; "you look more like +sweeps. However, you had better push on. The Battalion isn't far +ahead. The order is to march straight back to St. Grégoire and +re-occupy former billets." + +"What about rations?" + +"Rations? The Quartermaster was waiting here for us when we +_rendezvoused_, and every man had a full ration and a tot of rum." +(Number Nine Platoon cleared their parched throats expectantly.) "But +I fancy he has gone on with the column. However, if you leg it you +should catch them up. They can't be more than two miles ahead. So +long!" + + +IV + +But the task was hopeless. Number Nine Platoon had been bombing, +hacking, and digging all day. Several of them were slightly +wounded--the serious cases had been taken off long ago by the +stretcher-bearers--and Cockerell's own head was still dizzy from the +fumes of a German gas-shell. + +He lined up his disreputable paladins in the darkness, and spoke-- + +"Sergeant M'Nab, how many men are present?" + +"Eighteen, sirr." The platoon had gone into action thirty-four strong. + +"How many men are deficient of an emergency ration? I can make a good +guess, but you had better find out." + +Five minutes later the Sergeant reported. Cockerell's guess was +correct. The British private has only one point of view about the +portable property of the State. To him, as an individual, the sacred +emergency ration is an unnecessary encumbrance, and the carrying +thereof a "fatigue." Consequently, when engaged in battle, one of the +first (of many) things which he jettisons is this very ration. When +all is over, he reports with unctuous solemnity that the provender +in question has been blown out of his haversack by a shell. The +Quartermaster-Sergeant writes it off as "lost owing to the exigencies +of military service," and indents for another. + +Lieutenant Cockerell's haversack contained a packet of meat-lozenges +and about half a pound of chocolate. These were presented to the +Sergeant. + +"Hand these round as far as they will go, Sergeant," said Cockerell. +"They'll make a mouthful a man, anyhow. Tell the platoon to lie down +for ten minutes; then we'll push off. It's only fifteen miles. We +ought to make it by breakfast-time ..." + +Slowly, mechanically, all through the winter night the victors hobbled +along. Cockerell led the way, carrying the rifle of a man with a +wounded arm. Occasionally he checked his bearings with map and +electric torch. Sergeant M'Nab, who, under a hirsute and attenuated +exterior, concealed a constitution of ferro-concrete and the heart of +a lion, brought up the rear, uttering fallacious assurances to the +faint-hearted as to the shortness of the distance now to be covered, +and carrying two rifles. + +The customary halts were observed. At ten minutes to four the men +flung themselves down for the third time. They had covered about seven +miles, and were still eight or nine from St. Grégoire. The everlasting +constellation of Verey lights still rose and fell upon the eastern +horizon behind them, but the guns were silent. + +"There might be a Heavy Battery dug in somewhere about here," mused +Cockerell. "I wonder if we could touch them for a few tins of bully. +Hallo, what's that?" + +A distant rumble came from the north, and out of the darkness loomed a +British motor-lorry, lurching and swaying along the rough cobbles of +the _pavé_. Some of Cockerell's men were lying dead asleep in the +middle of the road, right at the junction. The lorry was going twenty +miles an hour. + +"Get into the side of the road, you men!" shouted Cockerell, "or +they'll run over you. You know what these M.T. drivers are!" + +With indignant haste, and at the last possible moment, the kilted +figures scattered to either side of the narrow causeway. The usual +stereotyped and vitriolic remonstrances were hurled after the great +hooded vehicle as it lurched past. + +And then a most unusual thing happened. The lorry slowed down, and +finally stopped, a hundred yards away. An officer descended, and began +to walk back. Cockerell rose to his weary feet and walked to meet him. + +The officer wore a major's crown upon the shoulder-straps of his +sheepskin-lined "British Warm" and the badge of the Army Service Corps +upon his cap. Cockerell, indignant at the manner in which his platoon +had been hustled off the road, saluted stiffly, and muttered: +"Good-morning, sir!" + +"Good-morning!" said the Major. He was a stout man of nearly fifty, +with twinkling blue eyes and a short-clipped mustache. Cockerell +judged him to be one of the few remnants of the original British Army. + +"I stopped," explained the older man, "to apologise for the scandalous +way that fellow drove over you. It was perfectly damnable; but you +know what these converted taxi-drivers are! This swine forgot for the +moment that he had an officer on board, and hogged it as usual. He +goes under arrest as soon as we get back to billets." + +"Thank you very much, sir," said Master Cockerell, entirely thawed. +"I'm afraid my chaps were lying all over the road; but they are pretty +well down and out at present." + +"Where have you come from?" inquired the Major, turning a curious eye +upon Cockerell's prostrate followers. + +Cockerell explained When he had finished, he added wistfully-- + +"I suppose you have not got an odd tin or two of bully to give away, +sir? My fellows are about--" + +For answer, the Major took the Lieutenant by the arm and led him +towards the lorry. + +"You have come," he announced, "to the very man you want. I am +practically Mr. Harrod. In fact, I am a Corps Supply Officer. How +would a Maconochie apiece suit your boys?" + +Cockerell, repressing the ecstatic phrases which crowded to his +tongue, replied that that was just what the doctor had ordered. + +"Where are you bound for?" continued the Major. + +"St. Grégoire." + +"Of course. You were pulled out from there, weren't you? I am going to +St. Grégoire myself as soon as I have finished my round. Home to bed, +in fact. I haven't had any sleep worth writing home about for four +nights. It is no joke tearing about a country full of shell-holes, +hunting for people who have shifted their ration-dump seven times in +four days. However, I suppose things will settle down again, now that +you fellows have fired Brother Boche out of the Kidney Bean. Pretty +fine work, too! Tell me, what is your strength, here and now?" + +"One officer," said Cockerell soberly, "and eighteen other ranks." + +"All that's left of your platoon?" + +Cockerell nodded. The stout Major began to beat upon the tailboard of +the lorry with his stick. + +"Sergeant Smurthwaite!" he shouted. + +There came a muffled grunt from the recesses of the lorry. Then a +round and ruddy face rose like a harvest moon above the tailboard, and +a stertorous voice replied respectfully-- + +"Sir?" + +"Let down this tailboard; load this officer's platoon into the lorry; +issue them with a Maconochie and a tot of rum apiece; and don't forget +to put Smee under arrest for dangerous driving when we get back to +billets." + +"Very good, sir." + +Ten minutes later the survivors of Number Nine Platoon, soaked to the +skin, dazed, slightly incredulous, but at peace with all the world, +reclined close-packed upon the floor of the swaying lorry. Each man +held an open tin of Mr. Maconochie's admirable ration between his +knees. Perfect silence reigned: a pleasant aroma of rum mellowed the +already vitiated atmosphere. + +In front, beside the chastened Mr. Smee, sat the Major and Master +Cockerell. The latter had just partaken of his share of refreshment, +and was now endeavouring, with lifeless fingers, to light a cigarette. + +The Major scrutinised his guest intently. Then he stripped off his +British Warm coat--incidentally revealing the fact that he wore +upon his tunic the ribbons of both South African Medals and the +Distinguished Service Order--and threw it round Cockerell's shoulders. + +"I'm sorry, boy!" he said. "I never noticed. You are chilled to the +bone. Button this round you." + +Cockerell made a feeble protest, but was cut short. + +"Nonsense! There's no sense in taking risks after you've done your +job." + +Cockerell assented, a little sleepily. His allowance of rum was +bringing its usual vulgar but comforting influence to bear upon an +exhausted system. + +"I see you have been wounded, sir," he observed, noting with a little +surprise two gold stripes upon his host's left sleeve--the sleeve of a +"non-combatant." + +"Yes," said the Major. "I got the first one at Le Gateau. He was only +a little fellow; but the second, which arrived at the Second Show at +Ypres, gave me such a stiff leg that I am only an old crock now. I was +second-in-command of an Infantry Battalion in those days. In these, I +am only a peripatetic Lipton. However, I am lucky to be here at all: +I've had twenty-seven years' service. How old are you?" + +"Twenty," replied Cockerell. He was too tired to feel as ashamed as he +usually did at having to confess to the tenderness of his years. + +The Major nodded thoughtfully. + +"Yes," he said; "I judged that would be about the figure. My son would +have been twenty this month, only--he was at Neuve Chapelle. He +was very like you in appearance--very. His mother would have been +interested to meet you. You might as well take a nap for half an hour. +I have two more calls to make, and we shan't get home till nearly +seven. Lean on me, old man. I'll see you don't tumble overboard ..." + +So Lieutenant Cockerell, conqueror of the Kidney Bean, fell asleep, +his head resting, with scandalous disregard for military etiquette, +upon the shoulder of the stout Major. + + +V + +An hour or two later, Number Nine Platoon, distended with concentrated +nourishment and painfully straightening its cramped limbs, decanted +itself from the lorry into a little _cul-de-sac_ opening off the Rue +Jean Jacques Rousseau in St. Grégoire. The name of the _cul-de-sac_ +was the Rue Gambetta. + +Their commander, awake and greatly refreshed, looked round him and +realised, with a sudden sense of uneasiness, that he was in familiar +surroundings. The lorry had stopped at the door of Number Five. + +"I don't suppose your Battalion will get back for some time," said the +Major. "Tell your Sergeant to put your men into the stable behind this +house--there's plenty of straw there--and--" + +"Their own billet is just round the corner, sir," replied Cockerell. +"They might as well go there, thank you." + +"Very good. But come in with me yourself, and doss here for a few +hours. You can report to your C.O. later in the day, when he arrives. +This is my _pied-à-terre_,"--rapping on the door. "You won't find many +billets like it. As you see, it stands in this little backwater, and +is not included in any of the regular billeting areas of the town. The +Town Major has allotted it to me permanently. Pretty decent of him, +wasn't it? And Madame Vinot is a dear. Here she is! _Bonjour, Madame +Vinot! Avez-vous un feu_--er--_inflammé pour moi dans la chambre_?" +Evidently the Major's French was on a par with Cockerell's. + +But Madame understood him, bless her! + +"_Mais oui, M'sieur le Colonel_!" she exclaimed cheerfully--the rank +of Major is not recognised by the French civilian population--and +threw open the door of the sitting-room, with a glance of compassion +upon the Major's mud-splashed companion, whom she failed to recognise. + +A bright fire was burning in the open stove. + +Immediately above, pinned to the mantelpiece and fluttering in +the draught, hung Cockerell's manifesto upon the subject of +non-combatants. He could recognise his own handwriting across the +room. The Major saw it too. + +"Hallo, what's that hanging up, I wonder?" he exclaimed. "A memorandum +for me, I expect; probably from my old friend 'Dados.'[1] Let us get a +little more light." + +[Footnote 1: D.A.D.O.S. Deputy Assistant Director of Ordnance Stores.] + +He crossed to the window and drew up the blind. Cockerell moved too. +When the Major turned round, his guest was standing by the stove, his +face scarlet through its grime. + +"I'm awfully sorry, sir," said Cockerell, "but that +notice--memorandum--of yours has dropped into the fire." + +"If it came from Dados," replied the Major, "thank you very much!" + +"I can't tell you, sir," added Cockerell humbly, "what a fool I feel." + +But the apology referred to an entirely different matter. + + + + +IX + +TUNING UP + + +I + +It is just one year to-day since we "came oot." A year plays havoc +with the "establishment" of a battalion in these days of civilised +warfare. Of the original band of stout-hearted but inexperienced +Crusaders who crossed the Channel in the van of The First Hundred +Thousand, in May, 1915,--a regiment close on a thousand strong, with +twenty-eight officers,--barely two hundred remain, and most of these +are Headquarters or Transport men. Of officers there are five--Colonel +Kemp, Major Wagstaffe, Master Cockerell, Bobby Little, and Mr. +Waddell, who, by the way, is now Captain Waddell, having succeeded to +the command of his old Company. + +Of the rest, our old Colonel is in Scotland, essaying ambitious +pedestrian and equestrian feats upon his new leg. Others have been +drafted to the command of newer units, for every member of "K(1)" is +a Nestor now. Others are home, in various stages of convalescence. +Others, alas! will never go home again. But the gaps have all been +filled up, and once more we are at full strength, comfortably +conscious that whereas a year ago we were fighting to hold a line, and +play for time, and find our feet, while the people at home behind us +were making good, now we are fighting for one thing and one thing +only; and that is, to administer the knock-out blow to Brother Boche. + +Our last casualty was Ayling, who left us under somewhat unusual +circumstances. + +Towards the end of our last occupancy of trenches the local Olympus +decided that what both sides required, in order to awaken them from +their winter lethargy, or spring lassitude (or whatever it is that +Olympus considers that we in the firing-line are suffering from for +the moment), was a tonic. Accordingly orders were issued for a Flying +Matinée, or trench raid. Each battalion in the Division was to submit +a scheme, and the battalion whose scheme was adjudged the best was +to be accorded the honour--so said the Practical Joke Department--of +carrying out the scheme in person. To the modified rapture of the +Seventh Hairy Jocks their plan was awarded first prize. Headquarters, +after a little excusable recrimination on the subject of unnecessary +zeal and misguided ambition, set to work to arrange rehearsals of our +highly unpopular production. + +Brother Boche has grown "wise" to Flying Matinées nowadays, and +to score a real success you have to present him with something +comparatively novel and unexpected. However, our scheme had been +carefully thought out; and, given sufficient preparation, and an +adequate cast, there seemed no reason to doubt that the piece would +have a highly successful run of one night. + +At one point in the enemy's trenches opposite to us his barbed-wire +defences had worn very thin, and steps were taken by means of +systematic machine-gun fire to prevent him repairing them. This spot +was selected for the raid. A party of twenty-five was detailed. It was +to be led by Angus M'Lachlan, and was to slip over the parapet on a +given moonless night, crawl across No Man's Land to within striking +distance of the German trench, and wait. At a given moment the signal +for attack would be given, and the wire demolished by a means which +need not be specified here. Thereupon the raiding party were to dash +forward and--to quote the Sergeant-Major--"mix themselves up in it." + +Two elements are indispensable in a successful trench-raid--surprise +and despatch. That is to say, you must deliver your raid when and +where it is least expected, and then get home to bed before your +victims have had time to set the machinery of retaliation in motion. +Steps were therefore taken, firstly, to divert the enemy's attention +as far as possible from the true objective of the raid, by a sudden +and furious bombardment of a sector of trenches three hundred yards +away; and secondly, to ensure as far as possible, that the raid, +having commenced at 2 A.M., should conclude at 2.12, sharp. + +In order to cover the retirement of the excursionists, Ayling was +ordered to arrange for machine-gun fire, which should sweep the +enemy's parapet for some hundreds of yards upon either flank, and so +encourage the enemy to keep his head down and mind his own business. + +The raid itself was a brilliant success. Dug-outs were bombed, +emplacements destroyed, and a respectable bag of captives brought +over. But the element of surprise, upon which so much insistence was +laid above, was visited upon both attackers and attacked. To the +former the contribution came from that well-meaning but somewhat +addlepated warrior, Private Nigg, who formed one of the raiding party. + +Nigg's allotted task upon this occasion was to "comb out" certain +German dug-outs. (It may be mentioned that each man had a specific +duty to perform, and a specific portion of the trench opposite to +perform it in; for the raid had been rehearsed several times in a +dummy trench behind the lines constructed exactly to scale from an +aeroplane photograph.) For this purpose he was provided with bombs. +Shortly before two o'clock in the morning the party, headed by Angus +M'Lachlan, crawled over the parapet during a brief lull in the +activities of the Verey lights, and crept steadily, on hands and +knees, across No Man's Land. Fifty yards from the enemy's wire was a +collection of shell-holes, relics of a burst of misdirected energy on +the part of a six-inch battery. Here the raiders disposed themselves, +and waited for the signal. + +Now, it is an undoubted fact, that if you curl yourself up, with two +or three preliminary twirls, after the fashion of a dog going to bed, +in a perfectly circular shell-hole, on a night as black as the inside +of the dog in question, you are extremely likely to lose your sense of +direction. This is what happened to Private Nigg. He and his infernal +machines lay uneasily in their appointed shell-hole for some ten +minutes, surrounded by Verey lights which shot suddenly into the sky +with a disconcerting _plop_, described a graceful parabola, burst into +dazzling flame, and fluttered sizzling down. One or two of these fell +quite near Nigg's party, and continued to burn upon the ground, but +the raiders sank closer into their shell-holes, and no alarm resulted. +Once or twice a machine-gun had a scolding fit, and bullets whispered +overhead. But, on the whole, the night was quiet. + +Then suddenly, with a shattering roar, the feint-artillery bombardment +broke forth. Simultaneously word was passed along the raiding line to +stand by. Next moment Angus M'Lachlan and his followers rose to their +feet in the black darkness, scrambled out of their nests, and dashed +forward to the accomplishment of their mission. + +When Nigg, who had paused a moment to collect his bombs, sprang out of +his shell-hole, not a colleague was in sight. At least, Nigg could +see no one. However, want of courage was not one of his failings. He +bounded blindly forward by himself. + +Try as he would he could not overtake the raiding party. However, this +mattered little, for suddenly a parapet loomed before him. In +this same parapet, low down, Nigg beheld a black and gaping +aperture--plainly a loophole of some kind. + +Without a moment's hesitation, Nigg hurled a Mills grenade straight +through the loophole, and then with one wild screech of "Come away, +boys!" took a flying leap over the parapet--and landed in his own +trench, in the arms of Corporal Mucklewame. + +As already noted, it is difficult, when lying curled up in a circular +shell-hole in the dark, to maintain a true sense of direction. + +So the first-fruits of the raid was Captain Ayling, of the _Emma +Gees_. He had stationed himself in a concrete emplacement in the front +line, the better to "observe" the fire of his guns when it should +be required. Unfortunately this was the destination selected by the +misguided Niggs for his first (and as it proved, last) bomb. The +raiders came safely back in due course, but by that time Ayling, +liberally (but by a miracle not dangerously) ballasted with assorted +scrap-iron, was on his way to the First Aid Post. + + +II + +At the present moment we are right back at rest once more, and are +being treated with a consideration, amounting almost to indulgence, +which convinces us that we are being "fattened up"--to employ +the gruesome but expressive phraseology of the moment--for some +particularly strenuous enterprise in the near future. + +Well, we are ready. It is nine months since Loos, and nearly six since +we scraped the nightmare mud of Ypres from our boots, _gum, thigh_, +for the last time. Our recent casualties have been light--our only +serious effort of late has been the recapture of the Kidney Bean--the +new drafts have settled down, and the young officers have been +blooded. And above all, victory is in the air. We are going into our +next fight with new-born confidence in the powers behind us. Loos was +an experimental affair; and though to the humble instruments with +which the experiment was made the proceedings were less hilarious than +we had anticipated, the results were enormously valuable to a greatly +expanded and entirely untried Staff. + +"We shall do better this time," said Major Wagstaffe to Bobby Little, +as they stood watching the battalion assemble, in workmanlike fashion, +for a route-march. "There are just one or two little points which had +not occurred to us then. We have grasped them now, I think." + +"Such as?" + +"Well, you remember we all went into the Loos show without any very +lucid idea as to how far we were to go, and where to knock off for the +day, so to speak. The result was that the advance of each Division was +regulated by the extent to which the German wire in front of it +had been cut by our artillery. Ours was well and truly cut, so we +penetrated two or three miles. The people on our left never started at +all. Lord knows, they tried hard enough. But how could any troops get +through thirty feet of uncut wire, enfiladed by machine-guns? The +result was that after forty-eight hours' fighting, our whole attacking +front, instead of forming a nice straight line, had bagged out into a +series of bays and peninsulas." + +"Our crowd wasn't even a peninsula," remarked Bobby with feeling. "For +an hour or so it was an island!" + +"I think you will find that in the next show we shall go forward, +after intensive bombardment, quite a short distance; then consolidate; +then wait till the _whole_ line has come up to its appointed +objective; then bombard again; then go forward another piece; and so +on. That will make it impossible for gaps to be created. It will also +give our gunners a chance to cover our advance continuously. You +remember at Loos they lost us for hours, and dare not fire for fear +of hitting us. In fact, I expect that in battle plans of the future, +instead of the artillery trying to conform to the movements of the +infantry, matters will be reversed. The guns, after preliminary +bombardment, will create a continuous Niagara of exploding shells +upon a given line, marked in everybody's map, and timed for an exact +period, just beyond the objective; and the infantry will stroll up +into position a comfortable distance behind, reading the time-table, +and dig themselves in. Then the barrage will lift on to the next line, +and we shall toddle forward again. That's the new plan, Bobby! Close +artillery coöperation, and a series of limited objectives!" + +"It sounds all right," agreed Bobby. "We shall want a good many guns, +though, shan't we?" + +"We shall. But don't let that worry you. It is simply raining guns +at the Base now. In fact, my grandmother in the War Office"--this +mythical relative was frequently quoted by Major Wagstaffe, and +certainly her information had several times proved surprisingly +correct--"tells me that by the beginning of next year we shall have +enough guns, of various calibres, to make a continuous line, hub to +hub, from one end of our front to the other." + +"Golly!" observed Captain Little, with respectful relish. + +"That means," continued Wagstaffe, "that we shall be able to blow +Brother Boche's immediate place of business to bits, and at the same +time take on his artillery with counter-battery work. Our shell-supply +is practically unlimited now; so when the next push comes, we +foot-sloggers ought to have a more gentlemanly time of it than we had +at Loos and Wipers. And I'll tell you another thing, Bobby. We shall +have command of the air too." + +"That will be a pleasant change," remarked Bobby. "I'm getting tired +of putting my fellows under arrest for rushing out of carefully +concealed positions in order to gape up at Boche planes going over. +Angus M'Lachlan is as bad as any of them. The fellow--" + +"But you have not seen many Boche planes lately?" + +"No. Certainly not so many." + +"And the number will grow beautifully less. Our little friends in the +R.F.C. are getting fairly numerous now, and their machines have been +improved out of all knowledge. They are rapidly assuming the position +of top dog. Moreover, the average Boche does not take kindly to +flying. It is too--too individualistic a job for him. He likes to work +in a bunch with other Boches, where he can keep step, and maintain +dressing, and mark time if he gets confused. In the air one cannot +mark time, and it worries Fritz to death. I think you will see, in the +next unpleasantness, that we shall be able to maintain our aeroplane +frontier somewhere over the enemy third line. That means that we shall +make our own dispositions with a certain degree of privacy, and the +Boche will not. Also, when our big guns get to work, they will not +need to fire blindly, as in the days of our youth, but will be +directed by one of our R.F.C. lads, humming about in his little bus +above the target, perhaps fifteen miles from the gun. Hallo, there go +the pipes! Tell your men to fall in." + +"The whole business," observed Bobby, as he struggled into his +equipment, "sounds so attractive that I am beginning quite to look +forward to the next show!" + +"Don't forget the Boche machine-guns, my lad," replied Wagstaffe. + +"One seldom gets the chance," grumbled Bobby. "Is there no way of +knocking them out?" + +"Well--" Wagstaffe looked intensely mysterious--"of course one never +knows, but--have you heard any rumours on the subject?" + +"I have. About--" + +"About the Hush! Hush! Brigade?" + +Bobby nodded. + +"Yes," he said. "Young Osborne, my best subaltern after Angus, +disappeared last month to join it. Tell me, what _is_ the--" + +"Hush! Hush!" said Major Wagstaffe. "_Méfiez vous! Taisez vous_! and +so on!" + +The battalion moved off. + + +So much for the war-talk of veterans. Now let us listen to the +novices. + +"Bogle," said Angus M'Lachlan to his henchman, "I think we shall have +to lighten this Wolseley valise of mine. With one thing and another it +weighs far more than thirty-five pounds." + +"That's a fact, sirr," agreed Mr. Bogle. "It carries ower mony books +in the heid of it." + +They shook out the contents of the valise upon the floor of Angus's +bedroom--a loft over the kitchen in "A" Company's farm billet--and +proceeded to prune Angus's personal effects. There were boots, socks, +shaving-tackle, maps, packets of chocolate, and books of every size, +but chiefly of the ever-blessed sevenpenny type. + +"A lot of these things will have to go, Bogle," said Angus +regretfully. "The colonel has warned officers about their kits, and it +would never do to have mine turned back from the waggon at the last +minute." + +Mr. Bogle pricked up his ears. "The waggon? Are we for off again, +sirr?" he inquired. + +"Indeed I could not say," replied the cautious Angus; "but it is well +to be ready." + +"The boys was saying, sirr," observed Bogle tentatively, "that there +was to be another grand battle soon." + +"It is more than likely," said Angus, with an air of profound wisdom. +"Here we are in June, and we must take the offensive, sooner or later, +or summer will be over." + +"What kind o' a battle will it be this time, sirr?" inquired Bogle +respectfully. + +"Oh, our artillery will pound the German trenches for a week or two, +and then we shall go over the parapet and drive them back for miles," +said Angus simply. + +"And what then, sirr?" + +"What then? We shall go on pushing them until another Division +relieves us." + +Bogle nodded comprehendingly. He now had firmly fixed in his mind the +essential details of the projected great offensive of 1916. He was +not interested to go further in the matter. And it is this +very faculty--philosophic trust, coupled with absolute lack of +imagination--which makes the British soldier the most invincible +person in the world. The Frenchman is inspired to glorious deeds by +his great spirit and passionate love of his own sacred soil; the +German fights as he thinks, like a machine. But the British Tommy wins +through owing to his entire indifference to the pros and cons of the +tactical situation. He settles down to war like any other trade, and, +as in time of peace, he is chiefly concerned with his holidays and +his creature comforts. A battle is a mere incident between one set of +billets and another. Consequently he does not allow the grim realities +of war to obsess his mind when off duty. One might almost ascribe +his success as a soldier to the fact that his domestic instincts are +stronger than his military instincts. + +Put the average Tommy into a trench under fire how does he comport +himself? Does he begin by striking an attitude and hurling defiance +at the foe? No, he begins by inquiring, in no uncertain voice, where +his ---- dinner is? He then examines his new quarters. Before him +stands a parapet, buttressed mayhap with hurdles or balks of +timber, the whole being designed to preserve his life from hostile +projectiles. How does he treat this bulwark? Unless closely watched, +he will begin to chop it up for firewood. His next proceeding is to +construct for himself a place of shelter. This sounds a sensible +proceeding, but here again it is a case of "safety second." A British +Tommy regards himself as completely protected from the assaults of his +enemies if he can lay a sheet of corrugated-iron roofing across his +bit of trench and sit underneath it. At any rate it keeps the rain +off, and that is all that his instincts demand of him. An ounce of +comfort is worth a pound of security. + +He looks about him. The parapet here requires fresh sandbags; there +the trench needs pumping out. Does he fill sandbags, or pump, of his +own volition? Not at all. Unless remorselessly supervised, he will +devote the rest of the morning to inventing and chalking up a +title for his new dug-out--"Jock's Lodge," or "Burns' Cottage," or +"Cyclists' Rest"--supplemented by a cautionary notice, such as--_No +Admittance. This Means You_. Thereafter, with shells whistling over +his head, he will decorate the parapet in his immediate vicinity with +picture postcards and cigarette photographs. Then he leans back with a +happy sigh. His work is done. His home from home is furnished. He is +now at leisure to think about "they Gairmans" again. That may sound +like an exaggeration; but "Comfort First" is the motto of that lovable +but imprudent grasshopper, Thomas Atkins, all the time. + +A sudden and pertinent thought occurred to Mr. Bogle, who possessed a +Martha-like nature. + +"What way, sir, will a body get his dinner, if we are to be fighting +for twa-three days on end?" + +"Every man," replied Angus, "will be issued, I expect, with two days' +rations. But the Colonel tells me that during hard fighting a man +does not feel the desire for food--or sleep either for that matter. +Perhaps, during a lull, it may occur to him that he has not eaten +since yesterday, and he may pull out a bit of biscuit or chocolate +from his pocket, just to nibble. Or he may remember that he has had no +sleep for twenty-four hours--so he just drops down and sleeps for +ten minutes while there is time. But generally, matters of ordinary +routine drop out of a man's thoughts altogether." + +"That's a queer-like thing, a body forgetting his dinner!" murmured +Bogle. + +"Of course," continued Angus, warming to his theme like his own father +in his pulpit, "if Nature is expelled with a pitchfork in this manner, +for too long, _tamen usque recurret_." + +"Is that a fact?" replied Bogle politely. He always adopted the line +of least resistance when his master took to audible rumination. "Weel, +I'll hae to be steppin', sir. I'll pit these twa blankets oot in the +sun, in some place where the dooks frae the pond will no get dandering +ower them. And if you'll sorrt your books, I'll hand ower the yins ye +dinna require to the Y.M.C.A. hut ayont the village." + +Bogle cherished a profound admiration for Lieutenant M'Lachlan both as +a scholar and a strategist, and absorbed his deliverances with a care +and attention which enabled him to misquote the same quite fluently to +his own associates. That very evening he set forth the coming plan of +campaign, as elucidated to him by his master, to a mixed assemblage +at the _Estaminet au Clef des Champs_. Some of the party were duly +impressed; but Mr. Spike Johnson, a resident in peaceful times of +Stratford-atte-Bow, the recognised humourist of the Sappers' Field +Company attached to the Brigade, was pleased to be facetious. + +"It won't be no good you Jocks goin' over no parapet to attack no +'Uns," he said, "after what 'appened last week!" + +This dark saying had the effect of rousing every Scottish soldier in +the _estaminet_ to a state of bristling attention. + +"And what was it," inquired Private Cosh with heat, "that happened +last week?" + +"Why," replied Mr. Johnson, who had been compounding this jest for +some days, and now saw his opportunity to deliver it with effect at +short range, "your trenches got raided last Wednesday, when you was +in' em. By the Brandyburgers, I think it was." + +The entire symposium stared at the jester with undisguised amazement. + +"Our--trenches," proclaimed Private Tosh with forced calm, "were never +raided by no--Brandyburrrgerrs! Was they, Jimmie?" + +Mr. Cosh corroborated, with three adjectives which Mr. Tosh had not +thought of. + +Spike Johnson merely smiled, with the easy assurance of a man who has +the ace up his sleeve. + +"Oh yes, they was!" he reiterated. + +"They werre _not_!" shouted half a dozen voices. + +The next stage of the discussion requires no description. It +terminated, at the urgent request of Madame from behind the bar, and +with the assistance of the Military Police, in the street outside. + +"And now, Spike Johnson," inquired Private Cosh, breathing heavily but +much refreshed, "can you tell me what way Gairmans could get intil the +trenches of a guid Scots regiment withoot bein' _seen_?" + +"I can," replied Mr. Johnson with relish, "and I will. They got in all +right, but you didn't see them, because they was disguised." + +Cosh and Tosh snorted disdainfully, and Private Nigg, who was present +with his friend Buncle, inquired-- + +"What way was they disguised?" + +Like lightning came the answer-- + +"_As a joke_! Oh, you Jocks." + +Cosh and Tosh (who had already been warned by the Police sergeant) +merely glared and gurgled impotently. Private Nigg, who, as already +mentioned, was slightly wanting in quickness of perception, was led +away by the faithful Buncle, to have the outrage explained to him +at leisure. It was Private Bogle who intervened, and brought the +intellectual Goliath crashing to the ground. + +"Man, Johnson," he remarked, and shook his head mournfully, "youse +ought to be varra careful aboot sayin' things like that to the likes +of us. 'Deed aye!" + +"What for, ole son?" inquired the jester indulgently. + +"Naithing," replied Bogle with artistic reticence. + +"Come along--aht with it!" insisted Johnson. "Cough it up, duckie!" + +"Man, man," cried Bogle with passionate earnestness, "dinna gang ower +far!" + +"What the 'ell _for_?" inquired Johnson, impressed despite himself. + +"What for?" Bogle's voice dropped to a ghostly whisper. "Has it ever +occurred to you, my mannie, what would happen tae the English--if +Scotland was tae make a separate peace?" + +And Mr. Bogle retired, not before it was time, within the sheltering +portals of the _estaminet_, where not less than seven inarticulate but +appreciative fellow-countrymen offered him refreshment. + + + + +X + +FULL CHORUS + + +I + +An Observation Post--or "O Pip," in the mysterious _patois_ of the +Buzzers--is not exactly the spot that one would select either for +spaciousness or accessibility. It may be situated up a chimney or up a +tree, or down a tunnel bored through a hill. But it certainly enables +you to see something of your enemy; and that, in modern warfare, is a +very rare and valuable privilege. + +Of late the scene-painter's art--technically known as +_camouflage_--has raised the concealment of batteries and their +observation posts to the realm of the uncanny. According to Major +Wagstaffe, you can now disguise anybody as anything. For instance, you +can make up a battery of six-inch guns to look like a flock of sheep, +and herd them into action browsing. Or you can despatch a scouting +party across No Man's Land dressed up as pillar-boxes, so that the +deluded Hun, instead of opening fire with a machine-gun, will merely +post letters in them--valuable letters, containing military secrets. +Lastly, and more important still, you can disguise yourself to look +like nothing at all, and in these days of intensified artillery fire +it is very seldom that nothing at all is hit. + +The particular O Pip with which we are concerned at present, however, +is a German post--or was a fortnight ago, before the opening of the +Battle of the Somme. + +For nearly two years the British Armies on the Western Front have been +playing for time. They have been sticking their toes in and holding +their ground, with numerically inferior forces and inadequate +artillery support, against a nation in arms which has set out, with +forty years of preparation at its back, to sweep the earth. We have +held them, and now _der Tag_ has come for us. The deal has passed +into our hand at last. A fortnight ago, ready for the first time to +undertake the offensive on a grand and prolonged scale,--Loos was a +mere reconnaissance compared with this,--the New British Army went +over the parapet shoulder to shoulder with the most heroic Army in the +world--the Army of France--and attacked over a sixteen-mile front in +the Valley of the Somme. + +It was a critical day for the Allies: certainly it was a most critical +day in the history of the British Army. For on that day an answer +had to be given to a very big question indeed. Hitherto we had been +fighting on the defensive--unready, uphill, against odds. It would +have been no particular discredit to us had we failed to hold our +line. But we had held it, and more. Now, at last, we were ready--as +ready as we were ever likely to be. We had the men, the guns, and the +munitions. We were in a position to engage the enemy on equal, and +more than equal, terms. And the question that the British Empire had +to answer in that day, the First of July 1916, was this: "Are these +new amateur armies of ours, raised, trained, and equipped in less than +two years, with nothing in the way of military tradition to uphold +them--nothing but the steady courage of their race: are they a match +for, and more than a match for, that grim machine-made, iron-bound +host that lies waiting for them along that line of Picardy hills? +Because if they are _not_, we cannot win this war. We can only make a +stalemate of it." + +We, looking back now over a space of twelve months, know how our boys +answered that question. In the greatest and longest battle that the +world had yet seen, that Army of city clerks, Midland farm-lads, +Lancashire mill-hands, Scottish miners, and Irish corner-boys, side +by side with their great-hearted brethren from Overseas, stormed +positions which had been held impregnable for two years, captured +seventy thousand prisoners, reclaimed several hundred square miles +of the sacred soil of France, and smashed once and for all the +German-fostered fable of the invincibility of the German Army. It was +good to have lived and suffered during those early and lean years, if +only to be present at their fulfilment. + +But at this moment the battle was only beginning, and the bulk of +their astounding achievement was still to come. Nevertheless, in the +cautious and modest estimate of their Commander-in-Chief, they had +already done something. + +_After ten days and nights of continuous fighting_, said the first +official report, _our troops have completed the methodical capture +of the whole of the enemy's first system of defence on a front of +fourteen thousand yards. This system of defence consisted of numerous +and continuous lines of fire trenches, extending to depths of from two +thousand to four thousand yards, and included five strongly fortified +villages, numerous heavily entrenched woods, and a large number of +immensely strong redoubts. The capture of each of these trenches +represented an operation of some importance, and the whole of them are +now in our hands_. + +Quite so. One feels, somehow, that Berlin would have got more out of +such a theme. + + * * * * * + +Now let us get back to our O Pip. If you peep over the shoulder of +Captain Leslie, the gunner observing officer, as he directs the fire +of his battery, situated some thousands of yards in rear, through +the medium of map, field-glass, and telephone, you will obtain an +excellent view of to-morrow's field of battle. Present in the O Pip +are Colonel Kemp, Wagstaffe, Bobby Little, and Angus M'Lachlan. The +latter had been included in the party because, to quote his Commanding +Officer, "he would have burst into tears if he had been left out." + +Overhead roared British shells of every kind and degree of +unpleasantness, for the ground in front was being "prepared" for the +coming assault. The undulating landscape, running up to a low ridge +on the skyline four miles away, was spouting smoke in all +directions--sometimes black, sometimes green, and sometimes, where +bursting shell and brick-dust intermingled, blood-red. Beyond the +ridge all-conquering British aeroplanes occupied the firmament, +observing for "mother" and "granny" and signalling encouragement or +reproof to these ponderous but sprightly relatives as their shells hit +or missed the target. + +"Yes, sir," replied Leslie to Colonel Kemp's question, "that is +Longueval, on the slope opposite, with the road running through on the +way to Flers, over the skyline. That is Delville Wood on its right. As +you see, the guns are concentrating on both places. That is Waterlot +Farm, on this side of the wood--a sugar refinery. Regular nest of +machine-guns there, I'm told." + +"No doubt we shall be able to confirm the rumour to-morrow," said +Colonel Kemp drily. "That is Bernafay Wood on our right, I suppose?" + +"Yes, sir. We hold the whole of that. The pear-shaped wood out beyond +it--it looks as if it were joined on, but the two are quite separate +really--is Trones Wood. It has changed hands several times. Just at +present I don't think we hold more than the near end. Further away, +half-right, you can see Guillemont." + +"In that case," remarked Wagstaffe, "our right flank would appear to +be strongly supported by the enemy." + +"Yes. We are in a sort of right-angled salient here. We have the enemy +on our front and our right. In fact, we form the extreme right of the +attacking front. Our left is perfectly secure, as we now hold Mametz +Wood and Contalmaison. There they are." He waved his glass to the +northwest. "When the attack takes place, I understand that our Division +will go straight ahead, for Longueval and Delville Wood, while the next +Division makes a lateral thrust out to the right, to push the Boche out +of Trones Wood and cover our flank." + +"I believe that is so," said the Colonel. "Bobby, take a good look +at the approaches to Longueval. That is the scene of to-morrow's +constitutional." + +Bobby and Angus obediently scanned the village through their glasses. +Probably they did not learn much. One bombarded French village is +very like another bombarded French village. A cowering assemblage +of battered little houses; a pitiful little main street, with its +eviscerated shops and _estaminets_; a shattered church-spire. Beyond +that, an enclosure of splintered stumps that was once an orchard. +Below all, cellars, reinforced with props and sandbags, and filled +with machine-guns. _Voilà tout_! + +Presently the Gunner Captain passed word down to the telephone +operator to order the battery to cease fire. + +"Knocking off?" inquired Wagstaffe. + +"For the present, yes. We are only registering this morning. Not all +our batteries are going at once, either. We don't want Brother Boche +to know our strength until we tune up for the final chorus. We +calculate that--" + +"There is a comfortable sense of decency and order about the way we +fight nowadays," said Colonel Kemp. "It is like working out a problem +in electrical resistance by a nice convenient algebraical formula. +Very different from the state of things last year, when we stuck it +out by employing rule of thumb and hanging on by our eyebrows." + +"The only problem we can't quite formulate is the machine-gun," said +Leslie. The Boche's dug-outs here are thirty feet deep. When +crumped by our artillery he withdraws his infantry and leaves his +machine-gunners behind, safe underground. Then, when our guns lift +and the attack comes over, his machine-gunners appear on the surface, +hoist their guns after them with a sort of tackle arrangement, and get +to work on a prearranged band of fire. The infantry can't do them in +until No Man's Land is crossed, and--well, they don't all get across, +that's all! However, _I have_ heard rumours--" + +"So have we all," said Colonel Kemp. + +"I forgot to tell you, Colonel," interposed Wagstaffe, "that I met +young Osborne at Divisional Headquarters last night. You remember, he +left us some time ago to join the Hush! Hush! Brigade." + +"I remember," said the Colonel. + +By this time the party, including the Gunner Captain, were filing +along a communication trench, lately the property of some German +gentlemen, on their way back to headquarters. + +"Did he tell you anything, Wagstaffe?" continued Colonel Kemp. + +"Not much. Apparently the time of the H.H.B. is not yet. But he made +an appointment with me for this evening--in the gloaming, so to speak. +He is sending a car. If all he says is true, the Boche _Emma Gee_ is +booked for an eye-opener in a few weeks' time." + + +II + +That evening a select party of sight-seers were driven to a secluded +spot behind the battle line. Here they were met by Master Osborne, +obviously inflated with some important matter. + +"I've got leave from my C.O. to show you the sights, sir," he +announced to Colonel Kemp. "If you will all stand here and watch that +wood on the opposite side of this clearing, you may see something. +We don't show ourselves much except in late evening, so this is our +parade hour." + +The little group took up its appointed stand and waited in the +gathering dusk. In the east the sky was already twinkling with +intermittent Verey lights. All around the British guns were thundering +forth their hymns of hate--full-throated now, for the hour for the +next great assault was approaching. + +Wagstaffe's thoughts went back to a certain soft September night +last year, when he and Blaikie had stood on the eastern outskirts of +Béthune listening to a similar overture--the prelude to the Battle of +Loos. But this overture was ten times more awful, and, from a material +British point of view, ten times more inspiring. It would have +thrilled old Blaikie's fighting spirit, thought Wagstaffe. But Loos +had taken his friend from him, and he, Wagstaffe, only was left. What +did fate hold in store for him to-morrow? he wondered. And Bobby? They +had both escaped marvellously so far. Well, better men had gone before +them. Perhaps-- + +Fingers of steel bit into his biceps muscle, and the excited whinny of +Angus M'Lachlan besought him to look! + +_Down in the forest something stirred_. But it was not the note of a +bird, as the song would have us believe. From the depths of the wood +opposite came a crackling, crunching sound, as of some prehistoric +beast forcing its way through tropical undergrowth. And then, +suddenly, out from the thinning edge there loomed a monster--a +monstrosity. It did not glide, it did not walk. It wallowed. It +lurched, with now and then a laborious heave of its shoulders. It +fumbled its way over a low bank matted with scrub. It crossed a ditch, +by the simple expedient of rolling the ditch out flat, and waddled +forward. In its path stood a young tree. The monster arrived at the +tree and laid its chin lovingly against the stem. The tree leaned +back, crackled, and assumed a horizontal position. In the middle of +the clearing, twenty yards farther on, gaped an enormous shell-crater, +a present from the Kaiser. Into this the creature plunged blindly, to +emerge, panting and puffing, on the farther side. Then it stopped. A +magic opening appeared in its stomach, from which emerged, grinning, a +British subaltern and his grimy associates. + +And that was our friends' first encounter with a "Tank." The +secret--unlike most secrets in this publicity-ridden war--had been +faithfully kept; so far the Hush! Hush! Brigade had been little more +than a legend even to the men high up. Certainly the omniscient +Hun received the surprise of his life when, in the early mist of a +September morning some weeks later, a line of these selfsame tanks +burst for the first time upon his incredulous vision, waddling +grotesquely up the hill to the ridge which had defied the British +infantry so long and so bloodily--there to squat complacently down on +the top of the enemy's machine-guns, or spout destruction from her +own up and down beautiful trenches which had never been intended for +capture. In fact, Brother Boche was quite plaintive about the matter. +He described the employment of such engines as wicked and brutal, +and opposed to the recognised usages of warfare. When one of these +low-comedy vehicles (named the _Crême-de-Menthe_) ambled down the main +street of the hitherto impregnable village of Flers, with hysterical +British Tommies slapping her on the back, he appealed to the civilised +world to step in and forbid the combination of vulgarism and +barbarity. + +"Let us at least fight like gentlemen," said the Hun, with simple +dignity. "Let us stick to legitimate military devices--the murder of +women and children, and the emission of chlorine gas. But Tanks--no! +One must draw the line somewhere!" + +But the ill-bred _Crême-de-Menthe_ took no notice. None whatever. She +simply went waddling on--towards Berlin. + +"An experiment, of course," commented Colonel Kemp, as they returned +to headquarters--"a fantastic experiment. But I wish they were ready +now. I would give something to see one of them leading the way into +action to-morrow. It might mean saving the lives of a good many of my +boys." + + + + +XI + +THE LAST SOLO + + +It was dawn on Saturday morning, and the second phase of the Battle +of the Somme was more than twenty-four hours old. The programme had +opened with a night attack, always the most difficult and uncertain of +enterprises, especially for soldiers who were civilians less than two +years ago. But no undertaking is too audacious for men in whose veins +the wine of success is beginning to throb. And this undertaking, this +hazardous gamble, had succeeded all along the line. During the past +day and night, more than three miles of the German second system of +defences, from Bazentin le Petit to the edge of Delville Wood, had +received their new tenants; and already long streams of not altogether +reluctant Hun prisoners were being escorted to the rear by perspiring +but cheerful gentlemen with fixed bayonets. + +Meanwhile--in case such of the late occupants of the line as were +still at large should take a fancy to revisit their previous haunts, +working-parties of infantry, pioneers, and sappers were toiling at +full pressure to reverse the parapets, run out barbed wire, and bestow +machine-guns in such a manner as to produce a continuous lattice-work +of fire along the front of the captured position. + +All through the night the work had continued. As a result, positions +were now tolerably secure, the intrepid "Buzzers" had included +the newly grafted territory in the nervous system of the British +Expeditionary Force, and Battalion Headquarters and Supply Dépôts had +moved up to their new positions. + +To Colonel Kemp and his Adjutant Cockerell, ensconced in a dug-out +thirty feet deep, furnished with a real bed, electric-light fittings, +and ornaments obviously made in Germany, entered Major Wagstaffe, +encrusted with mud, but as imperturbable as ever. He saluted. + +"Good-morning, sir. You seem to have struck a cushie little home +time." + +"Yes. The Boche officer harbours no false modesty about acknowledging +his desire for creature comforts. That is where he scores off people +like you and me, who pretend we like sleeping in mud. Have you been +round the advanced positions?" + +"Yes. There is some pretty hard fighting going on in the village +itself--the Boche still holds the north-west corner--and in the wood +on the right. 'A' Company are holding a line of broken-down cottages +on our right front, but they can't make any further move until they +get more bombs. The Boche is occupying various buildings opposite, but +in no great strength at present. However, he seems to have plenty of +machine-guns." + +"I have sent up more bombs," said the Colonel. "What about 'B' +Company?" + +"'B' have reached their objective, and consolidated. 'C' and 'D' are +lying close up, ready to go forward in support when required. I think +'A' could do with a little assistance." + +"I don't want to send up 'C' and 'D'," replied the Colonel, "until the +Divisional Reserve arrives. The Brigade has just telephoned through +that reinforcements are on the way. When they get here, we can afford +to stuff in the whole battalion. Are 'A' Company capable of handling +the situation at present?" + +"Yes, I think so. Little is directing his platoons from a convenient +cellar. He was in touch with them all when I left. But it is possible +that the Boche may make a rush when it grows a bit lighter. At +present he is too demoralised to attempt anything beyond intermittent +machine-gun fire." + +Colonel Kemp turned to Cockerell. + +"Get Captain Little on the telephone," he said, "and tell him, if the +enemy displays any disposition to counter-attack, to let me know at +once." Then he turned to Wagstaffe, and asked the question which +always lurks furtively on the tongue of a commanding officer. + +"Many--casualties?" + +"'A' Company have caught it rather badly crossing the open. 'B' got +off lightly. Glen is commanding them now: Waddell was killed leading +his men in the rush to the final objective." + +Colonel Kemp sighed. + +"Another good boy gone--veteran, rather. I must write to his wife. +Fairly newly married, I fancy?" + +"Four months," said Wagstaffe briefly. + +"What was his Christian name, do you know?" + +"Walter, I think, sir," said Cockerell. + +Colonel Kemp, amid the stress of battle, found time to enter a note in +his pocket-diary to that effect. + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile, up in the line, 'A' Company were holding on grimly to what +are usually described as "certain advanced elements" of the village. + +Village fighting is a confused and untidy business, but it possesses +certain redeeming features. The combatants are usually so inextricably +mixed up that the artillery are compelled to refrain from +participation. That comes later, when you have cleared the village of +the enemy, and his guns are preparing the ground for the inevitable +counter-attack. + +So far 'A' Company had done nobly. From the moment when they had lined +up before Montauban in the gross darkness preceding yesterday's dawn +until the moment when Bobby Little led them in one victorious rush +into the outskirts of the village, they had never encountered a +setback. By sunset they had penetrated some way farther; now creeping +stealthily forward under the shelter of a broken wall to hurl bombs +into the windows of an occupied cottage; now climbing precariously to +some commanding position in order to open fire with a Lewis gun; now +making a sudden dash across an open space. Such work offered peculiar +opportunities to small and well-handled parties--opportunities of +which Bobby Little's veterans availed themselves right readily. + +Angus M'Lachlan, for instance, accompanied by a small following +of seasoned experts, had twice rounded up parties of the enemy in +cellars, and had despatched the same back to Headquarters with his +compliments and a promise of more. Mucklewame and four men had bombed +their way along a communication trench leading to one of the side +streets of the village--a likely avenue for a counter-attack--and +having reached the end of the trench, had built up a sandbag +barricade, and had held the same against the assaults of hostile +bombers until a Vickers machine-gun had arrived in charge of an +energetic subaltern of that youthful but thriving organisation, the +Suicide Club, or Machine-Gun Corps, and closed the street to further +Teutonic traffic. + +During the night there had been periods of quiescence, devoted to +consolidation, and here and there to snatches of uneasy slumber. Angus +M'Lachlan, fairly in his element, had trailed his enormous length in +and out of the back-yards and brick-heaps of the village, visiting +every point in his irregular line, testing defences; bestowing +praise; and ensuring that every man had his share of food and rest. +Unutterably grimy but inexpressibly cheerful, he reported progress to +Major Wagstaffe when that nocturnal rambler visited him in the small +hours. + +"Well, Angus, how goes it?" inquired Wagstaffe. + +"We have won the match, sir," replied Angus with simple seriousness. +"We are just playing the bye now!" + +And with that he crawled away, with the unnecessary stealth of a +small boy playing robbers, to encourage his dour paladins to further +efforts. + +"We shall probably be relieved this evening," he explained to them, +"and we must make everything secure. It would never do to leave +our new positions untenable by other troops. They might not be so +reliable"--with a paternal smile--"as you! Now, our right flank is not +safe yet. We can improve the position very much if we can secure that +_estaminet_, standing up like an island among those ruined houses on +our right front. You see the sign, _Aux Bons Fermiers_, over the door. +The trouble is that a German machine-gun is sweeping the intervening +space--and we cannot see the gun! There it goes again. See the +brick-dust fly! Keep down! They are firing mainly across our front, +but a stray bullet may come this way." + +The platoon crouched low behind their improvised rampart of brick +rubble, while machine-gun bullets swept low, with misleading +_claquement_, along the space in front of them, from some hidden +position on their right. Presently the firing stopped. Brother Boche +was merely "loosing off a belt," as a precautionary measure, at +commendably regular intervals. + +"I cannot locate that gun," said Angus impatiently. "Can you, Corporal +M'Snape?" + +"It is not in the estamint itself, sirr," replied M'Snape. ("Estamint" +is as near as our rank and file ever get to _estaminet_.) "It seems to +be mounted some place higher up the street. I doubt they cannot see us +themselves--only the ground in front of us." + +"If we could reach the _estaminet_ itself," said Angus thoughtfully, +"we could get a more extended view. Sergeant Mucklewame, select ten +men, including three bombers, and follow me. I am going to find a +jumping-off place. The Lewis gun too." + +Presently the little party were crouching round their officer in a +sheltered position on the right of the line--which for the moment +appeared to be "in the air." Except for the intermittent streams of +machine-gun fire, and an occasional shrapnel-burst overhead, all was +quiet. The enemy's counter-attack was not yet ready. + +"Now listen carefully," said Angus, who had just finished scribbling +a despatch. "First of all, you, Bogle, take this message to the +telephone, and get it sent to Company Headquarters. Now you others. +We will wait till that machine-gun has fired another belt. Then, the +moment it has finished, while they are getting out the next belt, I +will dash across to the _estaminet_ over there. M'Snape, you will come +with me, but no one else--yet. If the _estaminet_ seems capable of +being held, I will signal to you, Sergeant Mucklewame, and you will +send your party across, in driblets, not forgetting the Lewis gun. By +that time I may have located the German machine-gun, so we should be +able to knock it out with the Lewis." + +Further speech was cut short by a punctual fantasia from the gun +in question. Angus and M'Snape crouched behind the shattered wall, +awaiting their chance. The firing ceased. + +"_Now!_" whispered Angus. + +Next moment officer and corporal were flying across the open, and +before the mechanical Boche gunner could jerk the new belt into +position, both had found sanctuary within the open doorway of the +half-ruined _estaminet_. + +Nay, more than both; for as the panting pair flung themselves into +shelter, a third figure, short and stout, in an ill-fitting kilt, +tumbled heavily through the doorway after them. Simultaneously a +stream of machine-gun bullets went storming past. + +"Just in time!" observed Angus, well pleased. "Bogle, what are you +doing here?" + +"I was given tae unnerstand, sirr," replied Mr. Bogle calmly, "when I +jined the regiment, that in action an officer's servant stands by his +officer." + +"That is true," conceded Angus; "but you had no right to follow me +against orders. Did you not hear me say that no one but Corporal +M'Snape was to come?" + +"No, sirr. I doubt I was away at the 'phone." + +"Well, now you are here, wait inside this doorway, where you can see +Sergeant Mucklewame's party, and look out for signals. M'Snape, let us +find that machine-gun." + +The pair made their way to the hitherto blind side of the building, +and cautiously peeped through a much-perforated shutter in the +living-room. + +"Do you see it, sirr?" inquired M'Snape eagerly. + +Angus chuckled. + +"See it? Fine! It is right in the open, in the middle of the street. +Look!" + +He relinquished his peep-hole. The German machine-gun was mounted +in the street itself, behind an improvised barrier of bricks and +sandbags. It was less than a hundred yards away, sited in a position +which, though screened from the view of Angus's platoon farther down, +enabled it to sweep all the ground in front of the position. This it +was now doing with great intensity, for the brief public appearance +of Angus and M'Snape had effectually converted intermittent into +continuous fire. + +"We must get the Lewis gun over at once," muttered Angus. "It can +knock that breastwork to pieces." + +He crossed the house again, to see if any of Mucklewame's men had +arrived. + +They had not. The man with the Lewis gun was lying dead halfway across +the street, with his precious weapon on the ground beside him. Two +other men, both wounded, were crawling back whence they came, taking +what cover they could from the storm of bullets which whizzed a few +inches over their flinching bodies. + +Angus hastily semaphored to Mucklewame to hold his men in check for +the present. Then he returned to the other side of the house. + +"How many men are serving that gun?" he said to M'Snape. "Can you +see?" + +"Only two, sirr, I think. I cannot see them, but that wee breastwork +will not cover more than a couple of men." + +"Mphm," observed Angus thoughtfully. "I expect they have been left +behind to hold on. Have you a bomb about you?" + +The admirable M'Snape produced from his pocket a Mills grenade, and +handed it to his superior. + +"Just the one, sirr," he said. + +"Go you," commanded Angus, his voice rising to a more than usually +Highland inflection, "and semaphore to Mucklewame that when he hears +the explosion of _this_"--he pulled out the safety-pin of the grenade +and gripped the grenade itself in his enormous paw--"followed, +probably, by the temporary cessation of the machine-gun, he is to +bring his men over here in a bunch, as hard as they can pelt. Put it +as briefly as you can, but make sure he understands. He has a good +signaller with him. Send Bogle to report when you have finished. Now +repeat what I have said to you.... That's right. Carry on!" + +M'Snape was gone. Angus, left alone, pensively restored the safety-pin +to the grenade, and laid the grenade upon the ground beside him. Then +he proceeded to write a brief letter in his field message-book. This +he placed in an envelope which he took from his breast pocket. The +envelope was already addressed--to the _Reverend Neil M'Lachlan, The +Manse_, in a very remote Highland village. (Angus had no mother.) He +closed the envelope, initialled it, and buttoned it up in his breast +pocket again. After that he took up his grenade and proceeded to make +a further examination of the premises. Presently he found what he +wanted; and by the time Bogle arrived to announce that Sergeant +Mucklewame had signalled "message understood," his arrangements were +complete. + +"Stay by this small hole in the wall, Bogle," he said, "and the moment +the Lewis gun arrives tell them to mount it here and open fire on the +enemy gun." + +He left the room, leaving Bogle alone, to listen to the melancholy +rustle of peeling wall-paper within and the steady crackling of +bullets without. But when, peering through the improvised loophole, he +next caught sight of his officer, Angus had emerged from the house by +the cellar window, and was creeping with infinite caution behind the +shelter of what had once been the wall of the _estaminet's_ back-yard +(but was now an uneven bank of bricks, averaging two feet high), in +the direction of the German machine-gun. The gun, oblivious of the +danger now threatening its right front, continued to fire steadily and +hopefully down the street. + +Slowly, painfully, Angus crawled on, until he found himself within the +right angle formed by the corner of the yard. He could go no further +without being seen. Between him and the German gun lay the cobbled +surface of the street, offering no cover whatsoever except one mighty +shell-crater, situated midway between Angus and the gun, and full to +the brim with rainwater. + +A single peep over the wall gave him his bearings. The gun was too far +away to be reached by a grenade, even when thrown by Angus M'Lachlan. +Still, it would create a diversion. It was a time bomb. He would-- + +He stretched out his long arm to its full extent behind him, gave +one mighty overarm sweep, and with all the crackling strength of his +mighty sinews, hurled the grenade. + +It fell into the exact centre of the flooded shell-crater. + +Angus said something under his breath which would have shocked a +disciple of Kultur. Fortunately the two German gunners did not hear +him. But they observed the splash fifty yards away, and it relieved +them from _ennui_, for they were growing tired of firing at nothing. +They had not seen the grenade thrown, and were a little puzzled as to +the cause of the phenomenon. + +Four seconds later their curiosity was more than satisfied. With a +muffled roar, the shell-hole suddenly, spouted its liquid contents and +other _débris_ straight to the heavens, startling them considerably +and entirely obscuring their vision. + +A moment later, with an exultant yell, Angus M'Lachlan was upon them. +He sprang into their vision out of the descending cascade--a towering, +terrible, kilted figure, bare-headed and Berserk mad. He was barely +forty yards away. + +Initiative is not the _forte_ of the Teuton. Number One of the German +gun mechanically traversed his weapon four degrees to the right and +continued to press the thumb-piece. Mud and splinters of brick sprang +up round Angus's feet; but still he came on. He was not twenty yards +away now. The gunner, beginning to boggle between waiting and bolting, +fumbled at his elevating gear, but Angus was right on him before +his thumbs got back to work. Then indeed the gun spoke out with no +uncertain voice, for perhaps two seconds. After that it ceased fire +altogether. + +Almost simultaneously there came a triumphant roar lower down the +street, as Mucklewame and his followers dashed obliquely across into +the _estaminet_. Mucklewame himself was carrying the derelict Lewis +gun. In the doorway stood the watchful M'Snape. + +"This way, quick!" he shouted. "We have the Gairman gun spotted, and +the officer is needing the Lewis!" + +But M'Snape was wrong. The Lewis was not required. + + +A few moments later, in the face of brisk sniping from the houses +higher up the street, James Bogle, officer's servant,--a member of +that despised class which, according to the _Bandar-log_ at home, +spend the whole of its time pressing its master's trousers and smoking +his cigarettes somewhere back in billets,--led out a stretcher party +to the German gun. Number One had been killed by a shot from Angus's +revolver. Number Two had adopted Hindenburg tactics, and was no more +to be seen. Angus himself was lying, stone dead, a yard from the +muzzle of the gun which he, single-handed, had put out of action. + +His men carried him back to the _Estaminet aux Bons Fermiers_, with +the German gun, which was afterwards employed to good purpose during +the desperate days of attacking and counter-attacking which ensued +before the village was finally secured. They laid him in the +inner room, and proceeded to put the _estaminet_ in a state of +defence--ready to hold the same against all comers until such time +as the relieving Division should take over, and they themselves be +enabled, under the kindly cloak of darkness, to carry back their +beloved officer to a more worthy resting-place. + +In the left-hand breast pocket of Angus's tunic they found his last +letter to his father. Two German machine-gun bullets had passed +through it. It was forwarded with a covering letter, by Colonel Kemp. +In the letter Angus's commanding officer informed Neil M'Lachlan that +his son had been recommended posthumously for the highest honour that +the King bestows upon his soldiers. + + * * * * * + +But for the moment Mucklewame's little band had other work to occupy +them. Shelling had recommenced; the enemy were mustering in force +behind the village; and presently a series of counter-attacks were +launched. They were successfully repelled, in the first instance by +the remainder of "A" Company, led in person by Bobby Little, and, +when the final struggle came, by the Battalion Reserve under Major +Wagstaffe. And throughout the whole grim struggle which ensued, the +_Estaminet aux Bons Fermiers_, tenanted by some of our oldest friends, +proved itself the head and corner of the successful defence. + + + + +XII + +RECESSIONAL + + +I + +Two steamers lie at opposite sides of the dock. One is painted a most +austere and unobtrusive grey; she is obviously a vessel with no +desire to advertise her presence on the high seas. In other words, a +transport. The other is dazzling white, ornamented with a good deal +of green, supplemented by red. She makes an attractive picture in the +early morning sun. Even by night you could not miss her, for she +goes about her business with her entire hull outlined in red lights, +regatta fashion, with a great luminous Red Cross blazing on either +counter. Not even the Commander of a U-boat could mistake her for +anything but what she is--a hospital ship. + +First, let us walk round to where the grey ship is discharging her +cargo. The said cargo consists of about a thousand unwounded German +prisoners. + +With every desire to be generous to a fallen foe, it is quite +impossible to describe them as a prepossessing lot. Not one man walks +like a soldier; they shamble. Naturally, they are dirty and unshaven. +So are the wounded men on the white ship: but their outstanding +characteristic is an invincible humanity. Beneath the mud and blood +they are men--white men. But this strange throng are grey--like their +ship. With their shifty eyes and curiously shaped heads, they look +like nothing human. They move like overdriven beasts. We realise now +why it is that the German Army has to attack in mass. + +They pass down the gangway, and are shepherded into form in the dock +shed by the Embarkation Staff, with exactly the same silent briskness +that characterises the R.A.M.C., over the way. Their guard, with fixed +bayonets, exhibit no more or no less concern over them than over +half-a-dozen Monday morning malefactors paraded for Orderly Room. +Presently they will move off, possibly through the streets of the +town; probably they will pass by folk against whose kith and kin they +have employed every dirty trick possible in warfare. But there will +be no demonstration: there never has been. As a nation we possess a +certain number of faults, on which we like to dwell. But we have one +virtue at least--we possess a certain sense of proportion; and we are +not disposed to make subordinates suffer because we cannot, as yet, +get at the principals. + +They make a good haul. Fifteen German regiments are here +represented--possibly more, for some have torn off their +shoulder-straps to avoid identification. Some of the units are thinly +represented; others more generously. One famous Prussian regiment +appears to have thrown its hand in to the extent of about five +hundred. + +Still, as they stand there, filthy, forlorn, and dazed, one suddenly +realises the extreme appropriateness of a certain reference in the +Litany to All Prisoners and Captives. + + +II + +We turn to the hospital ship. + +Two great 'brows,' or covered gangways, connect her with her native +land. Down these the stretchers are beginning to pass, having been +raised from below decks by cunning mechanical devices which cause no +jar; and are being conveyed into the cool shade of the dock-shed. Here +they are laid in neat rows upon the platform, ready for transfer to +the waiting hospital train. Everything is a miracle of quietness and +order. The curious public are afar off, held aloof by dock-gates. +(They are there in force to-day, partly to cheer the hospital trains +as they pass out, partly for reasons connected with the grey-painted +ship.) In the dock-shed, organisation and method reign supreme. The +work has been going on without intermission for several days and +nights; and still the great ships come. The Austurias is outside, +waiting for a place at the dock. The Lanfranc is half-way across the +English Channel; and there are rumours that the mighty Britannic[1] +has selected this, the busiest moment in the opening fortnight of the +Somme Battle, to arrive with a miscellaneous and irrelevant cargo of +sick and wounded from the Mediterranean. But there is no fuss. The +R.A.M.C. Staff Officers, unruffled and cheery, control everything, +apparently by a crook of the finger. The stretcher-bearers do their +work with silent aplomb. + +[Footnote 1: These three hospital ships were all subsequently sunk by +German submarines.] + +The occupants of the stretchers possess the almost universal feature +of a six days' beard--always excepting those who are of an age which +is not troubled by such manly accretions. They lie very still--not +with the stillness of exhaustion or dejection, but with the +comfortable resignation of men who have made good and have suffered in +the process; but who now, with their troubles well behind them, are +enduring present discomfort under the sustaining prospect of clean +beds, chicken diet, and ultimate tea-parties. Such as possess them are +wearing Woodbine stumps upon the lower lip. + +They are quite ready to compare notes. Let us approach, and listen, to +a heavily bandaged gentleman who--so the label attached to him informs +us--is Private Blank, of the Manchesters, suffering from three "G.S." +machine-gun bullet wounds. + +"Did the Fritzes run? Yes--they run all right! The last lot saved +us trouble by running towards us--with their 'ands up! But their +machine-guns--they gave us fair 'Amlet till we got across No Man's +Land. After that we used the baynit, and they didn't give us no more +vexatiousness. Where did we go in? Oh, near Albert. Our objective was +Mary's Court, or some such place." (It is evident that the Battle +of the Somme is going to add some fresh household words to our +war vocabulary. 'Wipers' is a veteran by this time: 'Plugstreet,' +'Booloo,' and 'Armintears' are old friends. We must now make room +for 'Monty Ban,' 'La Bustle,' 'Mucky Farm,' 'Lousy Wood,' and +'Martinpush.') + +"What were your prisoners like?" + +"'Alf clemmed," said the man from Manchester. + +"No rations for three days," explained a Northumberland Fusilier close +by. One of his arms was strapped to his side, but the other still +clasped to his bosom a German helmet. A British Tommy will cheerfully +shed a limb or two in the execution of his duty, but not all the +might and majesty of the Royal Army Medical Corps can force him to +relinquish a fairly earned 'souvenir.' In fact, owing to certain +unworthy suspicions as to the true significance of the initials, +"R.A.M.C.," he has been known to refuse chloroform. + +"They couldn't get nothing up to them for four days, on account of our +artillery fire," he added contentedly. + +"'Barrage,' my lad!" amended a rather superior person with a +lance-corporal's stripe and a bandaged foot. + +Indeed, all are unanimous in affirming that our artillery preparation +was a tremendous affair. Listen to this group of officers sunning +themselves upon the upper deck. They are 'walking cases,' and must +remain on board, with what patience they may, until all the'stretcher +cases' have been evacuated. + +"Loos was child's play to it," says one--a member of a certain +immortal, or at least irrepressible Division which has taken part in +every outburst of international unpleasantness since the Marne. "The +final hour was absolute pandemonium. And when our new trench-mortar +batteries got to work too,--at sixteen to the dozen,--well, it was bad +enough for _us_; but what it must have been like at the business end +of things, Lord knows! For a few minutes I was almost a pro-Boche!" + +Other items of intelligence are gleaned. The weather was 'rotten': +mud-caked garments corroborate this statement. The wire, on the whole, +was well and truly cut to pieces everywhere; though there were spots +at which the enemy contrived to repair it. Finally, ninety per cent. +of the casualties during the assault were due to machine-gun fire. + +But the fact most clearly elicited by casual conversation is +this--that the more closely you engage in a battle, the less you know +about its progress. This ship is full of officers and men who were in +the thick of things for perhaps forty-eight hours on end, but who are +quite likely to be utterly ignorant of what was going on round the +next traverse in the trench which they had occupied. The wounded +Gunners are able to give them a good deal of information. One F.O.O. +saw the French advance. + +"It was wonderful to see them go in," he said. "Our Batteries were on +the extreme right of the British line, so we were actually touching +the French left flank. I had met hundreds of _poilus_ back in billets, +in _cafés_, and the like. To look at them strolling down a village +street in their baggy uniforms, with their hands in their pockets, +laughing and chatting to the children, you would never have thought +they were such tigers. I remember one big fellow a few weeks ago, home +on leave--_permission_--who used to frisk about with a big umbrella +under his arm! I suppose that was to keep the rain off his tin hat. +But when they went for Maricourt the other day, there weren't many +umbrellas about--only bayonets! I tell you, they were marvels!" + +It would be interesting to hear the _poilu_ on his Allies. + +The first train moves off, and another takes its place. The long lines +of stretchers are thinning out now. There are perhaps a hundred left. +They contain men of all units--English, Scottish, and Irish. There are +Gunners, Sappers, and Infantry. Here and there among them you may note +bloodstained men in dirty grey uniforms--men with dull, expressionless +faces and closely cropped heads. They are tended with exactly the +same care as the others. Where wounded men are concerned, the British +Medical Service is strictly neutral. + +A wounded Corporal of the R.A.M.C. turns his head and gazes +thoughtfully at one of those grey men. + +"You understand English, Fritz?" he enquires. + +Apparently not. Fritz continues to stare woodenly at the roof of the +dock-shed. + +"I should like to tell 'im a story, Jock," says the Corporal to his +other neighbour. "My job is on a hospital train. 'Alf-a-dozen 'Un +aeroplanes made a raid behind our lines; and seeing a beautiful Red +Cross train--it was a new London and North Western train, chocolate +and white, with red crosses as plain as could be--well, they simply +couldn't resist such a target as that! One of their machines swooped +low down and dropped his bombs on us. Luckily he only got the rear +coach; but I happened to be in it! D' yer 'ear that, Fritz?" + +"I doot he canna unnerstand onything," remarked the Highlander. "He's +fair demoralised, like the rest. D' ye ken what happened tae me? I was +gaun' back wounded, with _this_--" he indicates an arm strapped +close to his side--"and there was six Fritzes came crawlin' oot o' +a dug-oot, and gave themselves up tae me--_me_, that was gaun' back +wounded, withoot so much as my jack-knife! Demorralised--that's it!" + +"Did you 'ear," enquired a Cockney who came next in the line, "that +all wounded are going to 'ave a nice little gold stripe to wear--a +stripe for every wound?" + +There was much interest at this. + +"That'll be fine," observed a man of Kent, who had been out since +Mons, and been wounded three times. "Folks'll know now that I'm not a +Derby recruit." + +"Where will us wear it?" enquired a gigantic Yorkshireman, from the +next stretcher. + +"Wherever you was 'it, lad!" replied the Cockney humourist. + +"At that rate," comes the rueful reply, "I shall 'ave to stand oop to +show mine!" + + +III + +But now R.A.M.C. orderlies are at hand, and the symposium comes to an +end. The stretchers are conveyed one by one into the long open coaches +of the train, and each patient is slipped sideways, with gentleness +and dispatch, into his appointed cot. + +One saloon is entirely filled with officers--the severe cases in the +cots, the rest sitting where they can. A newspaper is passed round. +There are delighted exclamations, especially from a second lieutenant +whose features appear to be held together entirely by strips of +plaster. Such parts of the countenance as can be discerned are smiling +broadly. + +"I _knew_ we were doing well," says the bandaged one, devouring the +headlines; "but I never knew we were doing as well as this. Official, +too! Somme Battle--what? Sorry! I apologise!" as a groan ran round the +saloon. + +"Never mind," said an unshaven officer, with a twinkling eye, and a +major's tunic wrapped loosely around him. "I expect that jest will +be overworked by more people than you for the next few weeks. Does +anybody happen to know where this train is going to?" + +"West of England, somewhere, I believe," replied a voice. + +There was an indignant groan from various north countrymen. + +"I suppose it is quite impossible to sort us all out at a time like +this," remarked a plaintive Caledonian in an upper cot; "but I fail +to see why the R.A.M.C. authorities should go through the mockery of +_asking_ every man in the train where he wants to be taken, when the +train can obviously only go to one place--or perhaps two. I was asked. +I said 'Edinburgh'; and the medical wallah said, 'Righto! We'll send +you to Bath!'" + +"I think I can explain," remarked the wounded major. "These trains +usually go to two places--one half to Bath, the other, say, to Exeter. +Bath is nearer to Edinburgh than Exeter, so they send you there. It is +kindly meant, but--" + +"I say," croaked a voice from another cot,--its owner was a young +officer who must just have escaped being left behind at a Base +hospital as too dangerously wounded to move,--"is that a newspaper +down there? Would some one have a look, and tell me if we have got +Longueval all right? Longueval? Long--I got pipped, and don't quite--" + +The wounded major turned his head quickly. + +"Hallo, Bobby!" he observed cheerfully. "That you? I didn't notice you +before." + +Bobby Little's hot eyes turned slowly on Wagstaffe, and he exclaimed +feverishly:-- + +"Hallo, Major! Cheeroh! Did we stick to Longueval all right? I've been +dreaming about it a bit, and--" + +"We did," replied Wagstaffe--"thanks to 'A' Company." + +Bobby Little's head fell back on the pillow, and he remarked +contentedly:-- + +"Thanks awfully. I think I can sleep a bit now. So long! See you +later!" + +His eyes closed, and he sighed happily, as the long train slid out +from the platform. + + + + +XIII + +"TWO OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN THE WARS" + + +The smoking-room of the Britannia Club used to be exactly like the +smoking-room of every other London Club. That is to say, members +lounged about in deep chairs, and talked shop, or scandal--or +slumbered. At any moment you might touch a convenient bell, and a +waiter would appear at your elbow, like a jinnee from a jar, and +accept an order with silent deference. You could do this all day, and +the jinnee never failed to hear and obey. + +That was before the war. Now, those idyllic days are gone. So is the +waiter. So is the efficacy of the bell. You may ring, but all that +will materialise is a self-righteous little girl, in brass buttons, +who will shake her head reprovingly and refer you to certain passages +in the Defence of the Realm Act. + +Towards the hour of six-thirty, however, something of the old spirit +of Liberty asserts itself. A throng of members--chiefly elderly +gentlemen in expanded uniforms--assembles in the smoking-room, +occupying all the chairs, and even overflowing on to the tables and +window-sills. They are not the discursive, argumentative gathering +of three years ago. They sit silent, restless, glancing furtively at +their wrist-watches. + +The clocks of London strike half-past six. Simultaneously the door of +the smoking-room is thrown open, and a buxom young woman in cap and +apron bounces in. She smiles maternally upon her fainting flock, and +announces:-- + +"The half-hour's gone. Now you can _all_ have a drink!" + +What would have happened if the waiter of old had done this thing, it +is difficult to imagine. But the elderly gentlemen greet their Hebe +with a chorus of welcome, and clamour for precedence like children at +a school-feast. And yet trusting wives believe that in his club, at +least, a man is safe! + +Major Wagstaffe, D.S.O., having been absent from London upon urgent +public affairs for nearly three years, was not well versed in the +newest refinements of club life. He had arrived that morning from his +Convalescent Home in the west country, and had already experienced a +severe reverse at the hands of the small girl with brass buttons on +venturing to order a sherry and bitters at 11.45 A.M. Consequently, at +the statutory hour, his voice was not uplifted with the rest; and he +was served last. Not least, however; for Hebe, observing his empty +sleeve, poured out his soda-water with her own fair hands, and offered +to light his cigarette. + +This scene of dalliance was interrupted by the arrival of Captain +Bobby Little. He wore the ribbon of the Military Cross and walked with +a stick--a not unusual combination in these great days. Wagstaffe made +room for him upon the leather sofa, and Hebe supplied his modest wants +with an indulgent smile. + +An autumn and a winter had passed since the attack on Longueval. From +July until the December floods, the great battle had raged. The New +Armies, supplied at last with abundant munitions, a seasoned Staff, +and a concerted plan of action, had answered the question propounded +in a previous chapter in no uncertain fashion. Through Longueval and +Delville Wood, where the graves of the Highlanders and South Africans +now lie thick, through Flers and Martinpuich, through Pozieres and +Courcelette, they had fought their way, till they had reached the +ridge, with High Wood at its summit, which the Boche, not altogether +unreasonably, had regarded as impregnable. The tide had swirled over +the crest, down the reverse slope, and up at last to the top of that +bloodstained knoll of chalk known as the Butte de Warlencourt. There +the Hun threw in his hand. With much loud talk upon the subject of +victorious retirements and Hindenburg Lines, he withdrew himself to +a region far east of Bapaume; with the result that now some thousand +square miles of the soil of France had been restored once and for all +to their rightful owners. + +But Bobby and Wagstaffe had not been there. All during the autumn and +winter they had lain softly in hospital, enjoying their first rest for +two years. Wagstaffe had lost his left arm and gained a decoration. +Bobby, in addition to his Cross, had incurred a cracked crown and a +permanently shortened leg. But both were well content. They had done +their bit--and something over; and they had emerged from the din of +war with their lives, their health, and their reason. A man who can +achieve that feat in this war can count himself fortunate. + +Now, passed by a Medical Board as fit for Home Service, they had said +farewell to their Convalescent Home and come to London to learn what +fate Olympus held in store for them. + +"Where have you been all day, Bobby?" enquired Wagstaffe, as they sat +down to dinner an hour later. + +"Down in Kent," replied Bobby briefly. + +"Very well: I will not probe the matter. Been to the War Office?" + +"Yes. I was there this morning. I am to be Adjutant of a Cadet school, +at Great Snoreham. What sort of a job is that likely to be?" + +"On the whole," replied Wagstaffe, "a Fairy Godmother Department job. +It might have been very much worse. You are thoroughly up to the +Adjutant business, Bobby, and of course the young officers under you +will be immensely impressed by your game leg and bit of ribbon. A very +sound appointment." + +"What are they going to do with you?" asked Bobby in his turn. + +"I am to command our Reserve Battalion, with acting rank of +Lieutenant-Colonel. Think of that, my lad! They have confirmed you in +your rank as Captain, I suppose?" + +"Yes." + +"Good! The only trouble is that you will be stationed in the South of +England and I in the North of Scotland; so we shall not see quite +so much of one another as of late. However, we must get together +occasionally, and split a tin of bully for old times' sake." + +"Bully? By gum!" said Bobby thoughtfully. "I have almost forgotten +what it tastes like. (Fried sole, please; then roast lamb.) Eight +months in hospital do wash out certain remembrances." + +"But not all," said Wagstaffe. + +"No, not all. I--I wonder how our chaps are getting on, over there." + +"The regiment?" + +"Yes. It is so hard to get definite news." + +"They were in the Arras show. Did better than ever; but--well, they +required a big draft afterwards." + +"The third time!" sighed Bobby. "Did any one write to you about it?" + +"Yes. Who do you think?" + +"Some one in the regiment?" + +"Yes." + +"I didn't know there were any of the old lot left. Who was it?" + +"Mucklewame." + +"Mucklewame? You mean to say the Boche hasn't got _him_ yet? It's like +missing Rheims Cathedral." + +"Yes, they got him at Arras. Mucklewame is in hospital. Fortunately +his chief wound is in the head, so he's doing nicely. Here is his +letter." + +Bobby took the pencilled screed, and read:-- + +_Major Wagstaffe, + +Sir,--I take up my pen for to inform you that I am now in hospital in +Glasgow, having become a cassuality on the 18th inst. + +I was struck on the head by the nose-cap of a German shell (now in the +possession of my guidwife). Unfortunately I was wearing one of they +steel helmets at the time, with the result that I sustained a serious +scalp-wound, also very bad concussion. I have never had a liking for +they helmets anyway. + +The old regiment did fine in the last attack. They were specially +mentioned in Orders next day. The objective was reached under heavy +fire and position consolidated before we were relieved next morning_. + +"Good boys!" interpolated Bobby softly. + +_Colonel Carmichael, late of the Second Battn., I think, is now in +command. A very nice gentleman, but we have all been missing you and +the Captain. + +They tell me that I will be for home service after this. My head is +doing well, but the muscules of my right leg is badly torn. I should +have liked fine for to have stayed out and come home with the other +boys when we are through with Berlin. + +Having no more to say, sir, I will now draw to a close. + +Jas. Mucklewame, + +C.S.M_. + +After the perusal of this characteristic _Ave atque Vale!_ the two +friends adjourned to the balcony, overlooking the Green Park. Here +they lit their cigars in reminiscent silence, while neighbouring +search-lights raked the horizon for Zeppelins which no longer came. It +was a moment for confidences. + +"Old Mucklewame is like the rest of us," said Wagstaffe at last. + +"How?" + +"Wanting to go back, and all that. I do too--just because I'm here, +I suppose. A year ago, out there, my chief ambition was to get home, +with a comfortable wound and a comfortable conscience." + +"Same here," admitted Bobby. + +"It was the same with practically every one," said Wagstaffe. "If any +man asserts that he really enjoys modern warfare, after, say, six +months of it, he is a liar. In the South African show I can honestly +say I was perfectly happy. We were fighting in open country, against +an adversary who was a gentleman; and although there was plenty of +risk, the chances were that one came through all right. At any rate, +there was no poison gas, and one did not see a whole platoon blown to +pieces, or buried alive, by a single shell. If Brother Boer took +you prisoner, he did not stick you in the stomach with a saw-edged +bayonet. At the worst he pinched your trousers. But Brother Boche is +a different proposition. Since he butted in, war has descended in +the social scale. And modern scientific developments have turned a +sporting chance of being scuppered into a mathematical certainty. +And yet--and yet--old Mucklewame is right. One _hates_ to be out of +it--especially at the finish. When the regiment comes stumping through +London on its way back to Euston--next year, or whenever it's going to +be--with their ragged pipers leading the way, you would like to be +at the head of 'A' Company, Bobby, and I would give something to be +exercising my old function of whipper-in. Eh, boy?" + +"Never mind," said practical Bobby. "Perhaps we shall be on somebody's +glittering Staff. What I hate to feel at present is that the other +fellows, out there, have got to go on sticking it, while we--" + +"And by God," exclaimed Wagstaffe, "what stickers they are--and were! +Did you ever see anything so splendid, Bobby, as those six-months-old +soldiers of ours--in the early days, I mean, when we held our +trenches, week by week, under continuous bombardment, and our gunners +behind could only help us with four or five rounds a day?" + +"I never did," said Bobby, truthfully. + +"I admit to you," continued Wagstaffe, "that when I found myself +pitchforked into 'K(1)' at the outbreak of the war, instead of getting +back to my old line battalion, I was a pretty sick man. I hated +everybody. I was one of the old school--or liked to think I was--and +the ways of the new school were not my ways. I hated the new officers. +Some of them bullied the men; some of them allowed themselves to be +bullied by N.C.O.'s. Some never gave or returned salutes, others went +about saluting everybody. Some came into Mess in fancy dress of their +own design, and elbowed senior officers off the hearthrug. I used to +marvel at the Colonel's patience with them. But many of them are dead +now, Bobby, and they nearly all made good. Then the men! After ten +years in the regular Army I hated them all--the way they lounged, the +way they dressed, the way they sat, the way they spat. I wondered how +I could ever go on living with them. And now--I find myself wondering +how I am ever going to live without them. We shall not see their +like again. The new lot--present lot--are splendid fellows. They are +probably better soldiers. Certainly they are more uniformly trained. +But there was a piquancy about our old scamps in 'K(1)' that was +unique--priceless--something the world will never see again." + +"I don't know," said Bobby thoughtfully. "That Cockney regiment which +lay beside us at Albert last summer was a pretty priceless lot. Do you +remember a pair of fat fellows in their leading platoon? We called +them Fortnum and Mason!" + +"I do--particularly Fortnum. Go on!" + +"Well, their bit of trench was being shelled one day, and Fortnum, who +was in number one bay with five other men, kept shouting out to Mason, +who was round a traverse and out of sight, to enquire how he was +getting on. 'Are you all right, Bill?' 'Are you _sure_ you're all +right, Bill?' 'Are you _still_ all right, Bill?' and so on. At last +Bill, getting fed up with this unusual solicitude, yelled back: +'What's all the anxiety abaht, eh?' And Fortnum put his head round the +traverse and explained. 'We're getting up a little sweepstake in our +bay,' he said, 'abaht the first casuality, and I've drawn you, ole +son!'" + +Wagstaffe chuckled. + +"That must have been the regiment that had the historic poker party," +he said. + +"What yarn was that?" + +"I heard it from the Brigadier--four times, to be exact. Five men off +duty were sitting in a dug-out playing poker. A gentleman named 'Erb +had just gone to the limit on his hand, when a rifle-grenade came into +the dug-out from somewhere and did him in. While they were waiting for +the stretcher-bearers, one of the other players picked up 'Erb's hand +and examined it. Then he laid it down again, and said: 'It doesn't +matter, chaps. Poor 'Erb wouldn't a made it, anyway. I 'ad four +queens.'" + +"Tommy has his own ideas of fun, I'll admit," said Bobby. "Do you +remember those first trenches of ours at Festubert? There was a dead +Frenchman buried in the parapet--you know how they used to bury people +in those days?" + +"I did notice it. Go on." + +"Well, this poor chap's hand stuck out, just about four feet from the +floor of the trench. My dug-out was only a few yards away, and I never +saw a member of my platoon go past that spot without shaking the hand +and saying, Good-morning, Alphonse!' I had it built up with sandbags +ultimately, and they were quite annoyed!" + +"They have some grisly notions about life and death," agreed +Wagstaffe, "but they are extraordinarily kind to people in trouble, +such as wounded men, or prisoners. You can't better them." + +"And now there are five millions of them. We are all in it, at last!" + +"We certainly are--men and women. I'm afraid I had hardly realised +what our women were doing for us. Being on service all the time, one +rather overlooks what is going on at home. But stopping a bullet puts +one in the way of a good deal of inside information on that score." + +"You mean hospital work, and so on?" + +"Yes. One meets a lot of wonderful people that way! Sisters, and +ward-maids, and V.A.D.'s--" + +"I love all V.A.D.'s!" said Bobby, unexpectedly. + +"Why, my youthful Mormon?" + +"Because they are the people who do all the hard work and get no +limelight--like--like--!" + +"Like Second Lieutenants--eh?" + +"Yes, that is the idea. They have a pretty hard time, you know," +continued Bobby confidentially: "And nothing heroic, either. Giving up +all the fun that a girl is entitled to; washing dishes; answering the +door-bell; running up and downstairs; eating rotten food. That's the +sort of--" + +"What is her name?" enquired the accusing voice of Major Wagstaffe. +Then, without waiting to extort an answer from the embarrassed +Bobby:-- + +"You are quite right. This war has certainly brought out the best in +our women. The South African War brought out the worst. My goodness, +you should have seen the Mount Nelson Hotel at Capetown in those +days! But they have been wonderful this time--wonderful. I love them +all--the bus-conductors, the ticket-punchers, the lift-girls--one +of them nearly shot me right through the roof of Harrod's the +other day--and the window-cleaners and the page-girls and the +railway-portresses! I divide my elderly heart among them. And I met a +bunch of munition girls the other day, Bobby, coming home from work. +They were all young, and most of them were pretty. Their faces and +hands were stained a bright orange-colour with picric acid, and will +be, I suppose, until the Boche is booted back into his stye. In other +words, they had deliberately sacrificed their good looks for the +duration of the war. That takes a bit of doing, I know, innocent +bachelor though I am. But bless you, they weren't worrying. They +waved their orange-coloured hands to me, and pointed to their +orange-coloured faces, and laughed. They were _proud_ of them; they +were doing their bit. They nearly made me cry, Bobby. Yes, we are all +in it now; and those of us who come out of it are going to find this +old island of ours a wonderfully changed place to live in." + +"How? Why?" enquired Bobby. Possibly he was interested in Wagstaffe's +unusual expansiveness: possibly he hoped to steer the conversation +away from the topic of V.A.D.'s--possibly towards it. You never know. + +"Well," said Wagstaffe, "we are all going to understand one another a +great deal better after this war." + +"Who? Labour and Capital, and so on?" + +"'Labour and Capital' is a meaningless and misleading expression, +Bobby. For instance, our men regard people like you and me as +Capitalists; the ordinary Brigade Major regards us as Labourers, and +pretty common Labourers at that. It is all a question of degree. But +what I mean is this. You can't call your employer a tyrant and an +extortioner after he has shared his rations with you and never +spared himself over your welfare and comfort through weary months of +trench-warfare; neither, when you have experienced a working-man's +courage and cheerfulness and reliability in the day of battle, can you +turn round and call him a loafer and an agitator in time of peace--can +you? That is just what the _Bandar-log_ overlook, when they jabber +about the dreadful industrial upheaval that is coming with peace. Most +of all have they overlooked the fact that with the coming of peace +this country will be invaded by several million of the wisest men that +she has ever produced--the New British Army. That Army will consist +of men who have spent three years in getting rid of mutual +misapprehensions and assimilating one another's point of view--men +who went out to the war ignorant and intolerant and insular, and are +coming back wise to all the things that really matter. They will flood +this old country, and they will make short work of the agitator, and +the alarmist, and the profiteer, and all the nasty creatures that +merely make a noise instead of _doing_ something, and who crab the +work of the Army and Navy--more especially the Navy--because there +isn't a circus victory of some kind in the paper every morning. Yes, +Bobby, when our boys get back, and begin to ask the _Bandar-log_ what +they _did_ in the Great War--well, it's going to be a rotten season +for _Bandar-log_ generally!" + +There was silence again. Presently Bobby spoke:-- + +"When our boys get back! Some of them are never coming back again, +worse luck!" + +"Still," said Wagstaffe, "what they did was worth doing, and what they +died for was worth while. I think their one regret to-day would +be that they did not live to see their own fellows taking the +offensive--the line going forward on the Somme; the old tanks waddling +over the Boche trenches; and the Boche prisoners throwing up their +hands and yowling 'Kamerad'! And the Kut unpleasantness cleaned up, +and all the kinks in the old Salient straightened out! And Wytchaete +and Messines! You remember how the two ridges used to look down into +our lines at Wipers and Plugstreet? And now we're on top of both of +them! Some of our friends out there--the friends who are not coming +back--would have liked to know about that, Bobby. I wish they could, +somehow." + +"Perhaps they do," said Bobby simply. + + +It was close on midnight. Our "two old soldiers, broken in the wars," +levered themselves stiffly to their feet, and prepared to depart. + +"Heigho!" said Wagstaffe. "It is time for two old wrecks like us to be +in bed. That's what we are, Bobby--wrecks, dodderers, has-beens! But +we have had the luck to last longer than most. We have dodged the +missiles of the Boche to an extent which justifies us in claiming that +we have followed the progress of their war with a rather more than +average degree of continuity. We were the last of the old crowd, too. +Kemp has got his Brigade, young Cockerell has gone to be a Staff +Captain, and--you and I are here. Some of the others dropped out far +too soon. Young Lochgair, old Blaikie--" + +"Waddell, too," said Bobby. "We joined the same day." + +"And Angus M'Lachlan. I think he would have made the finest soldier of +the lot of us," added Wagstaffe. "You remember his remark to me, that +we only had the bye to play now? He was a true prophet: we are dormy, +anyhow. (Only cold feet at Home can let us down now.) And he only saw +three months' service! Still, he made a great exit from this world, +Bobby, and that is the only thing that matters in these days. Ha! H'm! +As our new Allies would say, I am beginning to 'pull heart stuff' on +you. Let us go to bed. Sleeping here?" + +"Yes, till to-morrow. Then off on leave." + +"How much have you got?" + +"A month. I say?" + +"Yes?" + +"Are you doing anything on the nineteenth?" + +Wagstaffe regarded his young friend suspiciously. + +"Is this a catch of some kind?" he enquired. + +"Oh, no. Will you be my--" Bobby turned excessively pink, and +completed his request. + +Wagstaffe surveyed him resignedly. + +"We all come to it, I suppose," he observed. + +"Only some come to it sooner than others. Are you of age, my lad? Have +your parents--" + +"I'm twenty-two," said Bobby shortly. + +"Will the bridesmaids be pretty?" + +"They are all peaches," replied Bobby, with enthusiasm. "But nothing +whatever," he added, in a voice of respectful rapture, "compared with +the bride!" + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of All In It K(1) Carries On +by John Hay Beith (AKA: Ian Hay) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALL IN IT K(1) CARRIES ON *** + +***** This file should be named 12302-8.txt or 12302-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/0/12302/ + +Produced by Produced from images provided by the Million Book Project +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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