diff options
Diffstat (limited to '12877-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 12877-0.txt | 9088 |
1 files changed, 9088 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/12877-0.txt b/12877-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..01b2a9b --- /dev/null +++ b/12877-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9088 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12877 *** + +THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND + +Being the Unofficial Chronicle of a Unit of "K(1)" + +BY + +IAN HAY + + + + + + + +[Illustration: CAPTAIN IAN HAY BEITH] + + + +By Ian Hay + +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. + + + +TO MY WIFE + + + + +PUBLISHERS' NOTE + + +The "Junior Sub," who writes the following account of the experiences +of some of the first hundred thousand of Kitchener's army, is, as the +title-page of the volume now reveals, Ian Hay Beith, author of those +deservedly popular novels, _The Right Stuff, A Man's Man, A Safety +Match_, and _Happy-Go-Lucky_. + +Captain Beith, who was born in 1876 and therefore narrowly came within +the age limit for military service, enlisted at the first outbreak of +hostilities in the summer of 1914, and was made a sub-lieutenant in +the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. After training throughout the +fall and winter at Aldershot, he accompanied his regiment to the front +in April, and, as his narrative discloses, immediately saw some +very active service and rapidly rose to the rank of captain. In the +offensive of September, Captain Beith's division was badly cut up and +seriously reduced in numbers. He has lately been transferred to +a machine-gun division, and "for some mysterious reason"--as he +characteristically puts it in a letter to his publishers,--has been +recommended for the military cross. + +The story of _The First Hundred Thousand_ was originally contributed +in the form of an anonymous narrative to _Blackwood's Magazine_. +Writing to his publishers, last May, Captain Beith describes the +circumstances under which it was written:-- + +"I write this from the stone floor of an outhouse, where the pig meal +is first accumulated and then boiled up at a particularly smelly +French farm, which is saying a good deal. It is a most interesting +life, and if I come through the present unpleasantness I shall +have enough copy to last me twenty years. Meanwhile, I am using +_Blackwood's Magazine_ as a safety-valve under a pseudonym." + +It is these "safety-valve" papers that are here offered to the +American public in their completeness,--a picture of the great +struggle uniquely rich in graphic human detail. + +4 PARK STREET + + + + +CONTENTS + +BOOK ONE +BLANK CARTRIDGES + + I. AB OVO + II. THE DAILY GRIND + III. GROWING PAINS + IV. THE CONVERSION OF PRIVATE M'SLATTERY + V. "CRIME" + VI. THE LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PERSIANS + VII. SHOOTING STRAIGHT + VIII. BILLETS + IX. MID-CHANNEL + X. DEEDS OF DARKNESS + XI. OLYMPUS + XII. ... AND SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE + XIII. CONCERT PITCH + +BOOK TWO +LIVE ROUNDS + + XIV. THE BACK OF THE FRONT + XV. IN THE TRENCHES--AN OFF-DAY + XVI. "DIRTY WORK AT THE CROSS-ROADS TO-NIGHT" + XVII. THE NEW WARFARE +XVIII. THE FRONT OF THE FRONT + XIX. THE TRIVIAL ROUND + XX. THE GATHERING OF THE EAGLES + XXI. THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS + + + + +"K(1)" + + _We do not deem ourselves A 1, + We have no past: we cut no dash: + Nor hope, when launched against the Hun, + To raise a more than moderate splash. + + But yesterday, we said farewell + To plough; to pit; to dock; to mill. + For glory_? Drop it! _Why? Oh, well-- + To have a slap at Kaiser Bill. + + And now to-day has come along. + With rifle, haversack, and pack, + We're off, a hundred thousand strong. + And--some of us will not come back. + + But all we ask, if that befall, + Is this. Within your hearts be writ + This single-line memorial_:-- + He did his duty--and his bit! + + + + +NOTE + + +The reader is hereby cautioned against regarding this narrative as an +official history of the Great War. + +The following pages are merely a record of some of the personal +adventures of a typical regiment of Kitchener's Army. + +The chapters were written from day to day, and published from month to +month. Consequently, prophecy is occasionally falsified, and opinions +moderated, in subsequent pages. + +The characters are entirely fictitious, but the incidents described +all actually occurred. + + + + +BOOK ONE + +BLANK CARTRIDGES + + + + +The First Hundred Thousand + +I + +AB OVO + + +"Squoad--'_Shun!_ Move to the right in fours. Forrm--_fourrrs!_" + +The audience addressed looks up with languid curiosity, but makes no +attempt to comply with the speaker's request. + +"Come away now, come away!" urges the instructor, mopping his brow. +"Mind me: on the command 'form fours,' odd numbers will stand fast; +even numbers tak' a shairp pace to the rear and anither to the right. +Now--forrm _fourrs!_" + +The squad stands fast, to a man. Apparently--nay, verily--they are all +odd numbers. + +The instructor addresses a gentleman in a decayed Homburg hat, who is +chewing tobacco in the front rank. + +"Yous, what's your number?" + +The ruminant ponders. + +"Seeven fower ought seeven seeven," he announces, after a prolonged +mental effort. + +The instructor raises clenched hands to heaven. + +"Man, I'm no askin' you your regimental number! Never heed that. It's +your number in the squad I'm seeking. You numbered off frae the right +five minutes syne." + +Ultimately it transpires that the culprit's number is ten. He is +pushed into his place, in company with the other even numbers, and the +squad finds itself approximately in fours. + +"Forrm--two _deep!_" barks the instructor. + +The fours disentangle themselves reluctantly, Number Ten being the +last to forsake his post. + +"Now we'll dae it jist yince more, and have it right," announces the +instructor, with quite unjustifiable optimism. "Forrm--_fourrs!_" + +This time the result is better, but there is confusion on the left +flank. + +"Yon man, oot there on the left," shouts the instructor, "what's your +number?" + +Private Mucklewame, whose mind is slow but tenacious, answers--not +without pride at knowing-- + +"Nineteen!" + +(Thank goodness, he reflects, odd numbers stand fast upon all +occasions.) + +"Weel, mind this," says the sergeant--"Left files is always even +numbers, even though they are odd numbers." + +This revelation naturally clouds Private Mucklewame's intellect for +the afternoon; and he wonders dimly, not for the first time, why he +ever abandoned his well-paid and well-fed job as a butcher's assistant +in distant Wishaw ten long days ago. + +And so the drill goes on. All over the drab, dusty, gritty +parade-ground, under the warm September sun, similar squads are being +pounded into shape. They have no uniforms yet: even their instructors +wear bowler hats or cloth caps. Some of the faces under the brims of +these hats are not too prosperous. The junior officers are drilling +squads too. They are a little shaky in what an actor would call their +"patter," and they are inclined to lay stress on the wrong syllables; +but they move their squads about somehow. Their seniors are dotted +about the square, vigilant and helpful--here prompting a rusty +sergeant instructor, there unravelling a squad which, in a spirited +but misguided endeavour to obey an impossible order from Second +Lieutenant Bobby Little, has wound itself up into a formation closely +resembling the third figure of the Lancers. + +Over there, by the officers' mess, stands the Colonel. He is in +uniform, with a streak of parti-coloured ribbon running across +above his left-hand breast-pocket. He is pleased to call himself a +"dug-out." A fortnight ago he was fishing in the Garry, his fighting +days avowedly behind him, and only the Special Reserve between him and +_embonpoint_. Now he finds himself pitchforked back into the Active +List, at the head of a battalion eleven hundred strong. + +He surveys the scene. Well, his officers are all right. The Second +in Command has seen almost as much service as himself. Of the four +company commanders, two have been commandeered while home on leave +from India, and the other two have practised the art of war in company +with brother Boer. Of the rest, there are three subalterns from the +Second Battalion--left behind, to their unspeakable woe--and four from +the O.T.C. The juniors are very junior, but keen as mustard. + +But the men! Is it possible? Can that awkward, shy, self-conscious +mob, with scarcely an old soldier in their ranks, be pounded, within +the space of a few months, into the Seventh (Service) Battalion of the +Bruce and Wallace Highlanders--one of the most famous regiments in the +British Army? + +The Colonel's boyish figure stiffens. + +"They're a rough crowd," he murmurs, "and a tough crowd: but they're +a stout crowd. By gad! we'll make them a credit to the Old Regiment +yet!" + + + + +II + +THE DAILY GRIND + + +We have been in existence for more than three weeks now, and +occasionally we are conscious of a throb of real life. Squad drill is +almost a thing of the past, and we work by platoons of over fifty men. +To-day our platoon once marched, in perfect step, for seven +complete and giddy paces, before disintegrating into its usual +formation--namely, an advance in irregular _échelon_, by individuals. + +Four platoons form a company, and each platoon is (or should be) led +by a subaltern, acting under his company commander. But we are very +short of subalterns at present. (We are equally short of N.C.O.'s; +but then you can always take a man out of the ranks and christen him +sergeant, whereas there is no available source of Second Lieutenants +save capricious Whitehall.) Consequently, three platoons out of four +in our company are at present commanded by N.C.O.'s, two of whom +appear to have retired from active service about the time that bows +and arrows began to yield place to the arquebus, while the third has +been picked out of the ranks simply because he possesses a loud voice +and a cake of soap. None of them has yet mastered the new drill--it +was all changed at the beginning of this year--and the majority of the +officers are in no position to correct their anachronisms. + +Still, we are getting on. Number Three Platoon (which boasts a +subaltern) has just marched right round the barrack square, without-- + +(1) Marching through another platoon. + +(2) Losing any part or parts of itself. + +(3) Adopting a formation which brings it face to face with a blank +wall, or piles it up in a tidal wave upon the verandah, of the married +quarters. + +They could not have done that a week ago. + +But stay, what is this disturbance on the extreme left? The command +"Right form" has been given, but six files on the outside flank have +ignored the suggestion, and are now advancing (in skirmishing order) +straight for the ashbin outside the cookhouse door, looking piteously +round over their shoulders for some responsible person to give them +an order which will turn them about and bring them back to the fold. +Finally they are rounded up by the platoon sergeant, and restored to +the strength. + +"What went wrong, Sergeant?" inquires Second Lieutenant Bobby Little. +He is a fresh-faced youth, with an engaging smile. Three months ago he +was keeping wicket for his school eleven. + +The sergeant comes briskly to attention. + +"The order was not distinctly heard by the men, sir," he explains, +"owing to the corporal that passed it on wanting a tooth. Corporal +Blain, three paces forward--march!" + +Corporal Blain steps forward, and after remembering to slap the small +of his butt with his right hand, takes up his parable-- + +"I was sittin' doon tae ma dinner on Sabbath, sir, when my front teeth +met upon a small piece bone that was stickit' in--" + +Further details of this gastronomic tragedy are cut short by the blast +of a whistle. The Colonel, at the other side of the square, has given +the signal for the end of parade. Simultaneously a bugle rings out +cheerfully from the direction of the orderly-room. Breakfast, blessed +breakfast, is in sight. It is nearly eight, and we have been as busy +as bees since six. + +At a quarter to nine the battalion parades for a route-march. This, +strange as it may appear, is a comparative rest. Once you have got +your company safely decanted from column of platoons into column of +route, your labours are at an end. All you have to do is to march; and +that is no great hardship when you are as hard as nails, as we are +fast becoming. On the march the mental gymnastics involved by the +formation of an advanced guard or the disposition of a piquet line +are removed to a safe distance. There is no need to wonder guiltily +whether you have sent out a connecting-file between the vanguard and +the main-guard, or if you remembered to instruct your sentry groups as +to the position of the enemy and the extent of their own front. + +Second Lieutenant Little heaves a contented sigh, and steps out +manfully along the dusty road. Behind him tramp his men. We have no +pipers as yet, but melody is supplied by "Tipperary," sung in ragged +chorus, varied by martial interludes upon the mouth-organ. Despise not +the mouth-organ. Ours has been a constant boon. It has kept sixty men +in step for miles on end. + +Fortunately the weather is glorious. Day after day, after a sharp and +frosty dawn, the sun swings up into a cloudless sky; and the hundred +thousand troops that swarm like ants upon, the undulating plains of +Hampshire can march, sit, lie, or sleep on hard, sun-baked earth. A +wet autumn would have thrown our training back months. The men, as +yet, possess nothing but the fatigue uniforms they stand up in, so it +is imperative to keep them dry. + +Tramp, tramp, tramp. "Tipperary" has died away. The owner of the +mouth-organ is temporarily deflated. Here is an opportunity for +individual enterprise. It is soon seized. A husky soloist breaks +into one of the deathless ditties of the new Scottish Laureate; his +comrades take up the air with ready response; and presently we are all +swinging along to the strains of "I Love a Lassie,"--"Roaming in +the Gloaming" and "It's Just Like Being at Hame" being rendered as +encores. + +Then presently come snatches of a humorously amorous nature--"Hallo, +Hallo, Who's Your Lady Friend?"; "You're my Baby"; and the +ungrammatical "Who Were You With Last Night?" Another great favourite +is an involved composition which always appears to begin in the +middle. It deals severely with the precocity of a youthful lover who +has been detected wooing his lady in the Park. Each verse ends, with +enormous gusto-- + + "Hold your haand _oot_, you naughty boy!" + +Tramp, tramp, tramp. Now we are passing through a village. The +inhabitants line the pavement and smile cheerfully upon us--they are +always kindly disposed toward "Scotchies"--but the united gaze of the +rank and file wanders instinctively from the pavement towards upper +windows and kitchen entrances, where the domestic staff may be +discerned, bunched together and giggling. Now we are out on the +road again, silent and dusty. Suddenly, far in the rear, a voice of +singular sweetness strikes up "The Banks of Loch Lomond." Man after +man joins in, until the swelling chorus runs from end to end of the +long column. Half the battalion hail from the Loch Lomond district, +and of the rest there is hardly a man who has not indulged, during +some Trades' Holiday or other, in "a pleesure trup" upon its historic +but inexpensive waters. + + "You'll tak' the high road and I'll tak' the low + road--" + +On we swing, full-throated. An English battalion, halted at a +cross-road to let us go by, gazes curiously upon us. "Tipperary" they +know, Harry Lauder they have heard of; but this song has no meaning +for them. It is ours, ours, ours. So we march on. The feet of Bobby +Little, as he tramps at the head of his platoon, hardly touch the +ground. His head is in the air. One day, he feels instinctively, he +will hear that song again, amid sterner surroundings. When that day +comes, the song, please God, for all its sorrowful wording, will +reflect no sorrow from the hearts of those who sing it--only courage, +and the joy of battle, and the knowledge of victory. + + "--And I'll be in Scotland before ye. + But me and my true love will never meet again + On the bonny, bonny _baanks_--" + +A shrill whistle sounds far ahead. It means "March at Attention." +"Loch Lomond" dies away with uncanny suddenness--discipline is waxing +stronger every day--and tunics are buttoned and rifles unslung. Three +minutes later we swing demurely on to the barrack-square, across +which a pleasant aroma of stewed onions is wafting, and deploy with +creditable precision into the formation known as "mass." Then comes +much dressing of ranks and adjusting of distances. The Colonel is very +particular about a clean finish to any piece of work. + +Presently the four companies are aligned: the N.C.O.'s retire to the +supernumerary ranks. The battalion stands rigid, facing a motionless +figure upon horseback. The figure stirs. + +"Fall out, the officers!" + +They come trooping, stand fast, and salute--very smartly. We must set +an example to the men. Besides, we are hungry too. + +"Battalion, slope _arms!_ Dis-_miss!_" + +Every man, with one or two incurable exceptions, turns sharply to his +right and cheerfully smacks the butt of his rifle with his disengaged +hand. The Colonel gravely returns the salute; and we stream away, all +the thousand of us, in the direction of the savoury smell. Two o'clock +will come round all too soon, and with it company drill and tiresome +musketry exercises; but by that time we shall have _dined_, and Fate +cannot touch us for another twenty-four hours. + + + + +III + +GROWING PAINS + + +We have our little worries, of course. + +Last week we were all vaccinated, and we did not like it. Most of +us have "taken" very severely, which is a sign that we badly needed +vaccinating, but makes the discomfort no easier to endure. It is +no joke handling a rifle when your left arm is swelled to the full +compass of your sleeve; and the personal contact of your neighbour in +the ranks is sheer agony. However, officers are considerate, and the +work is made as light as possible. The faint-hearted report themselves +sick; but the Medical Officer, an unsentimental man of coarse mental +fibre, who was on a panel before he heard his country calling, merely +recommends them to get well as soon as possible, as they are going to +be inoculated for enteric next week. So we grouse--and bear it. + +There are other rifts within the military lute. At home we are persons +of some consequence, with very definite notions about the dignity of +labour. We have employers who tremble at our frown; we have Trades +Union officials who are at constant pains to impress upon us our own +omnipotence in the industrial world in which we live. We have at our +beck and call a Radical M.P. who, in return for our vote and suffrage, +informs us that we are the backbone of the nation, and that we must +on no account permit ourselves to be trampled upon by the effete +and tyrannical upper classes. Finally, we are Scotsmen, with all a +Scotsman's curious reserve and contempt for social airs and graces. + +But in the Army we appear to be nobody. We are expected to stand +stiffly at attention when addressed by an officer; even to call him +"sir"--an honour to which our previous employer has been a stranger. +At home, if we happened to meet the head of the firm in the street, +and none of our colleagues was looking, we touched a cap, furtively. +Now, we have no option in the matter. We are expected to degrade +ourselves by meaningless and humiliating gestures. The N.C.O.'s are +almost as bad. If you answer a sergeant as you would a foreman, you +are impertinent; if you argue with him, as all good Scotsmen must, you +are insubordinate; if you endeavour to drive a collective bargain with +him, you are mutinous; and you are reminded that upon active service +mutiny is punishable by death. It is all very unusual and upsetting. + +You may not spit; neither may you smoke a cigarette in the ranks, nor +keep the residue thereof behind your ear. You may not take beer to +bed with you. You may not postpone your shave till Saturday: you must +shave every day. You must keep your buttons, accoutrements, and rifle +speckless, and have your hair cut in a style which is not becoming to +your particular type of beauty. Even your feet are not your own. Every +Sunday morning a young officer, whose leave has been specially stopped +for the purpose, comes round the barrack-rooms after church and +inspects your extremities, revelling in blackened nails and gloating +over hammer-toes. For all practical purposes, decides Private +Mucklewame, you might as well be in Siberia. + +Still, one can get used to anything. Our lot is mitigated, too, by the +knowledge that we are all in the same boat. The most olympian N.C.O. +stands like a ramrod when addressing an officer, while lieutenants +make obeisance to a company commander as humbly as any private. Even +the Colonel was seen one day to salute an old gentleman who rode on to +the parade-ground during morning drill, wearing a red band round his +hat. Noting this, we realise that the Army is not, after all, as we +first suspected, divided into two classes--oppressors and oppressed. +We all have to "go through it." + +Presently fresh air, hard training, and clean living begin to +weave their spell. Incredulous at first, we find ourselves slowly +recognising the fact that it is possible to treat an officer +deferentially, or carry out an order smartly, without losing one's +self-respect as a man and a Trades Unionist. The insidious habit of +cleanliness, once acquired, takes despotic possession of its victims: +we find ourselves looking askance at room-mates who have not yet +yielded to such predilections. The swimming-bath, where once we +flapped unwillingly and ingloriously at the shallow end, becomes quite +a desirable resort, and we look forward to our weekly visit with +something approaching eagerness. We begin, too, to take our profession +seriously. Formerly we regarded outpost exercises, advanced guards, +and the like, as a rather fatuous form of play-acting, designed to +amuse those officers who carry maps and notebooks. Now we begin to +consider these diversions on their merits, and seriously criticise +Second Lieutenant Little for having last night posted one of his +sentry groups upon the skyline. Thus is the soul of a soldier born. + +We are getting less individualistic, too. We are beginning to think +more of our regiment and less of ourselves. At first this loyalty +takes the form of criticising other regiments, because their marching +is slovenly, or their accoutrements dirty, or--most significant sign +of all--their discipline is bad. We are especially critical of our own +Eighth Battalion, which is fully three weeks younger than we are, and +is not in the First Hundred Thousand at all. In their presence we are +war-worn veterans. We express it as our opinion that the officers of +some of these battalions must be a poor lot. From this it suddenly +comes home to us that our officers are a good lot, and we find +ourselves taking a queer pride in our company commander's homely +strictures and severe sentences the morning after pay-night. Here is +another step in the quickening life of the regiment. _Esprit de +corps_ is raising its head, class prejudice and dour "independence" +notwithstanding. + +Again, a timely hint dropped by the Colonel on battalion parade this +morning has set us thinking. We begin to wonder how we shall compare +with the first-line regiments when we find ourselves "oot there." +Silently we resolve that when we, the first of the Service Battalions, +take our place in trench or firing line alongside the Old Regiment, no +one shall be found to draw unfavourable comparisons between parent and +offspring. We intend to show ourselves chips of the old block. No +one who knows the Old Regiment can ask more of a young battalion than +_that_. + + + + +IV + +THE CONVERSION OF PRIVATE M'SLATTERY + + +One evening a rumour ran round the barracks. Most barrack rumours die +a natural death, but this one was confirmed by the fact that next +morning the whole battalion, instead of performing the usual platoon +exercises, was told off for instruction in the art of presenting arms. +"A" Company discussed the portent at breakfast. + +"What kin' o' a thing is a Review?" inquired Private M'Slattery. + +Private Mucklewame explained. Private M'Slattery was not impressed, +and said so quite frankly. In the lower walks of the industrial world +Royalty is too often a mere name. Personal enthusiasm for a Sovereign +whom they have never seen, and who in their minds is inextricably +mixed up with the House of Lords, and capitalism, and the police, is +impossible to individuals of the stamp of Private M'Slattery. To such, +Royalty is simply the head and corner-stone of a legal system which +officiously prevents a man from being drunk and disorderly, and the +British Empire an expensive luxury for which the working man pays +while the idle rich draw the profits. + +If M'Slattery's opinion of the Civil Code was low, his opinion of +Military Law was at zero. In his previous existence in his native +Clydebank, when weary of rivet-heating and desirous of change and +rest, he had been accustomed to take a day off and become pleasantly +intoxicated, being comfortably able to afford the loss of pay involved +by his absence. On these occasions he was accustomed to sleep off his +potations in some public place--usually upon the pavement outside +his last house of call--and it was his boast that so long as nobody +interfered with him he interfered with nobody. To this attitude the +tolerant police force of Clydebank assented, having their hands full +enough, as a rule, in dealing with more militant forms of alcoholism. +But Private M'Slattery, No. 3891, soon realised that he and Mr. +Matthew M'Slattery, rivet-heater and respected citizen of Clydebank, +had nothing in common. Only last week, feeling pleasantly fatigued +after five days of arduous military training, he had followed the +invariable practice of his civil life, and taken a day off. The result +had fairly staggered him. In the orderly-room upon Monday morning he +was charged with-- + +(1) Being absent from Parade at 9 A.M. on Saturday. + +(2) Being absent from Parade at 2 P.M. on Saturday. + +(3) Being absent from Tattoo at 9.30 P.M. on Saturday. + +(4) Being drunk in High Street about 9.40 P.M. on Saturday. + +(5) Striking a Non-Commissioned Officer. + +(6) Attempting to escape from his escort. + +(7) Destroying Government property. (Three panes of glass in the +guard-room.) + +Private M'Slattery, asked for an explanation, had pointed out that if +he had been treated as per his working arrangement with the police at +Clydebank, there would have been no trouble whatever. As for his day +off, he was willing to forgo his day's pay and call the thing square. +However, a hidebound C.O. had fined him five shillings and sentenced +him to seven days' C.B. Consequently he was in no mood for Royal +Reviews. He stated his opinions upon the subject in a loud voice +and at some length. No one contradicted him, for he possessed +the straightest left in the company; and no dog barked even when +M'Slattery said that black was white. + +"I wunner ye jined the Airmy at all, M'Slattery," observed one bold +spirit, when the orator paused for breath. + +"I wunner myself," said M'Slattery simply. "If I had kent all aboot +this 'attention,' and 'stan'-at-ease,' and needin' tae luft your hand +tae your bunnet whenever you saw yin o' they gentry-pups of officers +goin' by,--dagont if I'd hae done it, Germans or no! (But I had a dram +in me at the time.) I'm weel kent in Clydebank, and they'll tell you +there that I'm no the man to be wastin' my time presenting airms tae +kings or any other bodies." + +However, at the appointed hour M'Slattery, in the front rank of A +Company, stood to attention because he had to, and presented arms very +creditably. He now cherished a fresh grievance, for he objected upon +principle to have to present arms to a motor-car standing two hundred +yards away upon his right front. + +"Wull we be gettin' hame to our dinners now?" he inquired gruffly of +his neighbour. + +"Maybe he'll tak' a closer look at us," suggested an optimist in the +rear rank. "He micht walk doon the line." + +"Walk? No him!" replied Private M'Slattery. "He'll be awa' hame in the +motor. Hae ony o' you billies gotten a fag?" + +There was a smothered laugh. The officers of the battalion were +standing rigidly at attention in front of A Company. One of these +turned his head sharply. + +"No talking in the ranks there!" he said. "Sergeant, take that man's +name." + +Private M'Slattery, rumbling mutiny, subsided, and devoted his +attention to the movements of the Royal motor-car. + +Then the miracle happened. + +The great car rolled smoothly from the saluting-base, over the +undulating turf, and came to a standstill on the extreme right of the +line, half a mile away. There descended a slight figure in khaki. It +was the King--the King whom Private M'Slattery had never seen. Another +figure followed, and another. + +"Herself iss there too!" whinnied an excited Highlander on +M'Slattery's right. "And the young leddy! Pless me, they are all for +walking town the line on their feet. And the sun so hot in the sky! We +shall see them close!" + +Private M'Slattery gave a contemptuous sniff. + +The excited battalion was called to a sense of duty by the voice of +authority. Once more the long lines stood stiff and rigid--waiting, +waiting, for their brief glimpse. It was a long time coming, for they +were posted on the extreme left. + +Suddenly a strangled voice was uplifted--"In God's name, what for can +they no come tae _us_? Never heed the others!" + +Yet Private M'Slattery was quite unaware that he had spoken. + +At last the little procession arrived. There was a handshake for the +Colonel, and a word with two or three of the officers; then a quick +scrutiny of the rank and file. For a moment--yea, more than a +moment--keen Royal eyes rested upon Private M'Slattery, standing like +a graven image, with his great chest straining the buttons of his +tunic. + +Then a voice said, apparently in M'Slattery's ear-- + +"A magnificent body of men, Colonel. I congratulate you." + +A minute later M'Slattery was aroused from his trance by the sound of +the Colonel's ringing voice-- + +"Highlanders, three cheers for His Majesty the King!" + +M'Slattery led the whole Battalion, his glengarry high in the air. + +Suddenly his eye fell upon Private Mucklewame, blindly and woodenly +yelling himself hoarse. + +In three strides M'Slattery was standing face to face with the +unconscious criminal. + +"Yous low, lousy puddock," he roared--"tak' off your bonnet!" He saved +Mucklewame the trouble of complying, and strode back to his place in +the ranks. + +"Yin mair, chaps," he shouted--"for the young leddy!" + +And yet there are people who tell us that the formula, O.H.M.S., is a +mere relic of antiquity. + + + + +V + +"CRIME" + + +"Bring in Private Dunshie, Sergeant-Major," says the Company +Commander. + +The Sergeant-Major throws open the door, and barks--"Private Dunshie's +escort!" + +The order is repeated _fortissimo_ by some one outside. There is a +clatter of ammunition boots getting into step, and a solemn procession +of four files into the room. The leader thereof is a stumpy but +enormously important-looking private. He is the escort. Number two is +the prisoner. Numbers three and four are the accuser--counsel for the +Crown, as it were--and a witness. The procession reaches the table at +which the Captain is sitting. Beside him is a young officer, one Bobby +Little, who is present for "instructional" purposes. + +"Mark time!" commands the Sergeant-Major. "Halt! Right turn!" + +This evolution brings the accused face to face with his judge. He +has been deprived of his cap, and of everything else "which may be +employed as, or contain, a missile." (They think of everything in the +King's Regulations.) + +"What is this man's crime, Sergeant-Major?" inquires the Captain. + +"On this sheet, sir," replies the Sergeant-Major.... + +By a "crime" the ordinary civilian means something worth recording in +a special edition of the evening papers--something with a meat-chopper +in it. Others, more catholic in their views, will tell you that it +is a crime to inflict corporal punishment on any human being; or to +permit performing animals to appear upon the stage; or to subsist upon +any food but nuts. Others, of still finer clay, will classify such +things as Futurism, The Tango, Dickeys, and the Albert Memorial as +crimes. The point to note is, that in the eyes of all these persons +each of these things is a sin of the worst possible degree. That being +so, they designate it a "crime." It is the strongest term they can +employ. + +But in the Army, "crime" is capable of infinite shades of intensity. +It simply means "misdemeanour," and may range from being unshaven on +parade, or making a frivolous complaint about the potatoes at dinner, +to irrevocably perforating your rival in love with a bayonet. So let +party politicians, when they discourse vaguely to their constituents +about "the prevalence of crime in the Army under the present effete +and undemocratic system," walk warily. + +Every private in the Army possesses what is called a conduct-sheet, +and upon this his crimes are recorded. To be precise, he has two such +sheets. One is called his Company sheet, and the other his Regimental +sheet. His Company sheet contains a record of every misdeed for which +he has been brought before his Company Commander. His Regimental sheet +is a more select document, and contains only the more noteworthy +of his achievements--crimes so interesting that they have to be +communicated to the Commanding Officer. + +However, this morning we are concerned only with Company +conduct-sheets. It is 7.30 A.M., and the Company Commander is sitting +in judgment, with a little pile of yellow Army forms before him. He +picks up the first of these, and reads-- + +"_Private Dunshie. While on active service, refusing to obey an +order_. Lance-Corporal Ness!" + +The figure upon the prisoner's right suddenly becomes animated. +Lance-Corporal Ness, taking a deep breath, and fixing his eyes +resolutely on the whitewashed wall above the Captain's head, recites-- + +"Sirr, at four P.M. on the fufth unst. I was in charge of a party told +off for tae scrub the floor of Room Nummer Seeventeen. I ordered the +prisoner tae scrub. He refused. I warned him. He again refused." + +Click! Lance-Corporal Ness has run down. He has just managed the +sentence in a breath. + +"Corporal Mackay!" + +The figure upon Lance-Corporal Ness's right stiffens, and inflates +itself. + +"Sirr, on the fufth unst. I was Orderly Sergeant. At aboot +four-thirrty P.M., Lance-Corporal Ness reported this man tae me for +refusing for tae obey an order. I confined him." + +The Captain turns to the prisoner. + +"What have you to say, Private Dunshie?" + +Private Dunshie, it appears, has a good deal to say. + +"I jined the Airmy for tae fight they Germans, and no for tae be +learned tae scrub floors--" + +"Sirr!" suggests the Sergeant-Major in his ear. + +"Sirr," amends Private Dunshie reluctantly. "I was no in the habit of +scrubbin' the floor mysel' where I stay in Glesca'; and ma wife would +be affronted--" + +But the Captain looks up. He has heard enough. + +"Look here, Dunshie," he says. "Glad to hear you want to fight the +Germans. So do I. So do we all. All the same, we've got a lot of dull +jobs to do first." (Captain Blaikie has the reputation of being the +most monosyllabic man in the British Army.) "Coals, and floors, and +fatigues like that: they are your job. I have mine too. Kept me up +till two this morning. But the point is this. You have refused to obey +an order. Very serious, that. Most serious crime a soldier can commit. +If you start arguing now about small things, where will you be when +the big orders come along--eh? Must learn to obey. Soldier now, +whatever you were a month ago. So obey all orders like a shot. Watch +me next time I get one. No disgrace, you know! Ought to be a soldier's +pride, and all that. See?" + +"Yes--sirr," replies Private Dunshie, with less truculence. + +The Captain glances down at the paper before him. + +"First time you have come before me. Admonished!" + +"Right turn! Quick march!" thunders the Sergeant-Major. + +The procession clumps out of the room. The Captain turns to his +disciple. + +"That's my homely and paternal tap," he observes. "For first offenders +only. That chap's all right. Soon find out it's no good fussing +about your rights as a true-born British elector in the Army. +Sergeant-Major!" + +"Sirr?" + +"Private McNulty!" + +After the usual formalities, enter Private McNulty and escort. Private +McNulty is a small scared-looking man with a dirty face. + +"Private McNulty, sirr!" announces the Sergeant-Major to the Company +Commander, with the air of a popular lecturer on entomology placing a +fresh insect under the microscope. + +Captain Blaikie addresses the shivering culprit-- + +"_Private McNulty; charged with destroying Government property_. +Corporal Mather!" + +Corporal Mather clears his throat, and assuming the wooden expression +and fish-like gaze common to all public speakers who have learned +their oration by heart, begins-- + +"Sirr, on the night of the sixth inst. I was Orderly Sergeant. Going +round the prisoner's room about the hour of nine-thirty I noticed that +his three biscuits had been cut and slashed, appariently with a knife +or other instrument." + +"What did you do?" + +"Sirr, I inquired of the men in the room who was it had gone for to do +this. Sirr, they said it was the prisoner." + +Two witnesses are called. Both, certify, casting grieved and virtuous +glances at the prisoner, that this outrage upon the property of His +Majesty was the work of Private McNulty. + +To the unsophisticated Bobby Little this charge appears rather a +frivolous one. If you may not cut or slash a biscuit, what _are_ you +to do with it? Swallow it whole? + +"Private McNulty?" queries the Captain. + +Private McNulty, in a voice which is shrill with righteous +indignation, gives the somewhat unexpected answer-- + +"Sirr, I plead guilty!" + +"Guilty--eh? You did it, then?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Why?" + +This is what Private McNulty is waiting for. + +"The men in that room, sirr," he announces indignantly, "appear tae +look on me as a sort of body that can be treated onyways. They go for +tae aggravate me. I was sittin' on my bed, with my knife in my hand, +cutting a piece bacca and interfering with naebody, when they all +commenced tae fling biscuits at me. I was keepin' them off as weel as +I could; but havin' a knife in my hand, I'll no deny but what I gave +twa three of them a bit cut." + +"Is this true?" asks the Captain of the first witness, curtly. + +"Yes, sir." + +"You saw the men throwing biscuits at the prisoner?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"He was daen' it himsel'!" proclaims Private McNulty. + +"This true?" + +"Yes, sir." + +The Captain addresses the other witness. + +"You doing it too?" + +"Yes, sir." + +The Captain turns again to the prisoner. + +"Why didn't you lodge a complaint?" (The schoolboy code does not +obtain in the Army.) + +"I did, sir. I tellt"--indicating Corporal Mather with an elbow--"this +genelman here." + +Corporal Mather cannot help it. He swells perceptibly. But swift +puncture awaits him. + +"Corporal Mather, why didn't you mention this?" + +"I didna think it affected the crime, sir." + +"Not your business to think. Only to make a straightforward charge. Be +very careful in future. You other two"--the witnesses come guiltily to +attention--"I shall talk to your platoon sergeant about you. Not going +to have Government property knocked about!" + +Bobby Little's eyebrows, willy-nilly, have been steadily rising during +the last five minutes. He knows the meaning of red tape now! + +Then comes sentence. + +"Private McNulty, you have pleaded guilty to a charge of destroying +Government property, so you go before the Commanding Officer. Don't +suppose you'll be punished, beyond paying for the damage." + +"Right turn! Quick march!" chants the Sergeant-Major. + +The downtrodden McNulty disappears, with his traducers. But Bobby +Little's eyebrows have not been altogether thrown away upon his +Company Commander. + +"Got the biscuits here, Sergeant-Major?" + +"Yes, sirr." + +"Show them." + +The Sergeant-Major dives into a pile of brown blankets, and presently +extracts three small brown mattresses, each two feet square. These +appear to have been stabbed in several places with a knife. + +Captain Blaikie's eyes twinkle, and he chuckles to his now +scarlet-faced junior-- + +"More biscuits in heaven and earth than ever came out of Huntley and +Palmer's, my son! Private Robb!" + +Presently Private Robb stands at the table. He is a fresh-faced, +well-set-up youth, with a slightly receding chin and a most dejected +manner. + +"_Private Robb_," reads the Captain. "_While on active service, drunk +and singing in Wellington Street about nine p.m. on Saturday, the +sixth_. Sergeant Garrett!" + +The proceedings follow their usual course, except that in this case +some of the evidence is "documentary"--put in in the form of a report +from the sergeant of the Military Police who escorted the melodious +Robb home to bed. + +The Captain addresses the prisoner. + +"Private Robb, this is the second time. Sorry--very sorry. In all +other ways you are doing well. Very keen and promising soldier. Why is +it--eh?" + +The contrite Robb hangs his head. His judge continues-- + +"I'll tell you. You haven't found out yet how much you can hold. That +it?" + +The prisoner nods assent. + +"Well--find out! See? It's one of the first things a young man ought +to learn. Very valuable piece of information. I know myself, so I'm +safe. Want you to do the same. Every man has a different limit. What +did you have on Saturday?" + +Private Robb reflects. + +"Five pints, sirr," he announces. + +"Well, next time try three, and then you won't go serenading +policemen. As it is, you will have to go before the Commanding Officer +and get punished. Want to go to the front, don't you?" + +"Yes, sirr." Private Robb's dismal features flush. + +"Well, mind this. We all want to go, but we can't go till every man in +the battalion is efficient. You want to be the man who kept the rest +from going to the front--eh?" + +"No, sirr, I do not." + +"All right, then. Next Saturday night say to yourself: 'Another pint, +and I keep the Battalion back!' If you do that, you'll come back to +barracks sober, like a decent chap. That'll do. Don't salute with your +cap off. Next man, Sergeant-Major!" + +"Good boy, that," remarks the Captain to Bobby Little, as the contrite +Robb is removed. "Keen as mustard. But his high-water mark for beer is +somewhere in his boots. All right, now I've scared him." + +"Last prisoner, sirr," announces the Sergeant-Major. + +"Glad to hear it. H'm! Private M'Queen again!" + +Private M'Queen is an unpleasant-looking creature, with a drooping red +moustache and a cheese-coloured complexion. His misdeeds are recited. +Having been punished for misconduct early in the week, he has piled +Pelion on Ossa by appearing fighting drunk at defaulters' parade. +From all accounts he has livened up that usually decorous assemblage +considerably. + +After the corroborative evidence, the Captain asks his usual question +of the prisoner-- + +"Anything to say?" + +"No," growls Private M'Queen. + +The Captain takes up the prisoner's conduct-sheet, reads it through, +and folds it up deliberately. + +"I am going to ask the Commanding Officer to discharge you," he says; +and there is nothing homely or paternal in his speech now. "Can't make +out why men like you join the Army--especially _this_ Army. Been a +nuisance ever since you came here. Drunk--beastly drunk--four times in +three weeks. Always dirty and insubordinate. Always trying to stir up +trouble among the young soldiers. Been in the army before, haven't +you?" + +"No." + +"That's not true. Can always tell an old soldier on parade. Fact is, +you have either deserted or been discharged as incorrigible. Going to +be discharged as incorrigible again. Keeping the regiment back, that's +why: that's a real crime. Go home, and explain that you were turned +out of the King's Army because you weren't worthy of the honour of +staying in. When decent men see that people like you have no place in +this regiment, perhaps they will see that this regiment is just the +place for them. Take him away." + +Private M'Queen shambles out of the room for the last time in +his life. Captain Blaikie, a little exhausted by his own unusual +loquacity, turns to Bobby Little with a contented sigh. + +"That's the last of the shysters," he says. "Been weeding them out for +six weeks. Now I have got rid of that nobleman I can look the rest of +the Company in the face. Come to breakfast!" + + + + +VI + +THE LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PERSIANS + + +One's first days as a newly-joined subaltern are very like one's +first days at school. The feeling is just the same. There is the same +natural shyness, the same reverence for people who afterwards turn out +to be of no consequence whatsoever, and the same fear of transgressing +the Laws of the Medes and Persians--regimental traditions and +conventions--which alter not. + +Dress, for instance. "Does one wear a sword on parade?" asks the tyro +of himself his first morning. "I'll put it on, and chance it." He +invests himself in a monstrous claymore and steps on to the barrack +square. Not an officer in sight is carrying anything more lethal than +a light cane. There is just time to scuttle back to quarters and +disarm. + +Again, where should one sit at meal-times? We had supposed that the +C.O. would be enthroned at the head of the table, with a major sitting +on his right and left, like Cherubim and Seraphim; while the rest +disposed themselves in a descending scale of greatness until it came +down to persons like ourselves at the very foot. But the C.O. has a +disconcerting habit of sitting absolutely anywhere. He appears to be +just as happy between two Second Lieutenants as between Cherubim and +Seraphim. Again, we note that at breakfast each officer upon entering +sits down and shouts loudly, to a being concealed behind a screen, for +food, which is speedily forthcoming. Are we entitled to clamour in +this peremptory fashion too? Or should we creep round behind the +screen and take what we can get? Or should we sit still, and wait till +we are served? We try the last expedient first, and get nothing. Then +we try the second, and are speedily convinced, by the demeanour of the +gentleman behind the screen, that we have committed the worst error of +which we have yet been guilty. + +There are other problems--saluting, for instance. On the parade ground +this is a simple matter enough; for there the golden rule appears +to be--When in doubt, salute! The Colonel calls up his four Company +Commanders. They salute. He instructs them to carry on this morning +with coal fatigues and floor-scrubbing. The Company Commanders salute, +and retire to their Companies, and call up their subalterns, who +salute. They instruct these to carry on this morning with coal +fatigues and floor-scrubbing. The sixteen subalterns salute, and +retire to their platoons. Here they call up their Platoon Sergeants, +who salute. They instruct these to carry on this morning with coal +fatigues and floor-scrubbing. The Platoon Sergeants salute, and +issue commands to the rank and file. The rank and file, having no +instructions to salute sergeants, are compelled, as a last resort, to +carry on with the coal fatigues and floor-scrubbing themselves. You +see, on parade saluting is simplicity itself. + +But we are not always on parade; and then more subtle problems arise. +Some of those were discussed one day by four junior officers, who sat +upon a damp and slippery bank by a muddy roadside during a "fall-out" +in a route-march. The four ("reading from left to right," as they say +in high journalistic society) were Second Lieutenant Little, Second +Lieutenant Waddell, Second Lieutenant Cockerell, and Lieutenant +Struthers, surnamed "Highbrow." Bobby we know. Waddell was a +slow-moving but pertinacious student of the science of war from the +kingdom of Fife. Cockerell came straight from a crack public-school +corps, where he had been a cadet officer; so nothing in the heaven +above or the earth beneath was hid from him. Struthers owed his +superior rank to the fact that in the far back ages, before the days +of the O.T.C., he had held a commission in a University Corps. He was +a scholar of his College, and was an expert in the art of accumulating +masses of knowledge in quick time for examination purposes. He knew +all the little red manuals by heart, was an infallible authority on +buttons and badges, and would dip into the King's Regulations or the +Field Service Pocket-book as another man might dip into the "Sporting +Times." Strange to say, he was not very good at drilling a platoon. We +all know him. + +"What do you do when you are leading a party along a road and meet a +Staff Officer?" asked Bobby Little. + +"Make a point," replied Cockerell patronisingly, "of saluting all +persons wearing red bands round their hats. They may not be entitled +to it, but it tickles their ribs and gets you the reputation, of being +an intelligent young officer." + +"But I say," announced Waddell plaintively, "_I_ saluted a man with a +red hat the other day, and he turned out to be a Military Policeman!" + +"As a matter of fact," announced the pundit Struthers, after the +laughter had subsided, "you need not salute anybody. No compliments +are paid on active service, and we are on active service now." + +"Yes, but suppose some one salutes _you_?" objected the conscientious +Bobby Little. "You must salute back again, and sometimes you don't +know how to do it. The other day I was bringing the company back +from the ranges and we met a company from another battalion--the Mid +Mudshires, I think. Before I knew where I was the fellow in charge +called them to attention and then gave 'Eyes right!'" + +"What did you do?" asked Struthers anxiously. + +"I hadn't time to do anything except grin, and say, 'Good morning!'" +confessed Bobby Little. + +"You were perfectly right," announced Struthers, and Cockerell +murmured assent. + +"Are you sure?" persisted Bobby Little. "As I passed the tail of their +company one of their subs turned to another and said quite loud, 'My +God, what swine!'" + +"Showed his rotten ignorance," commented Cockerell. + +At this moment Mr. Waddell, whose thoughts were never disturbed by +conversation around him, broke in with a question. + +"What does a Tommy do," he inquired, "if he meets an officer wheeling +a wheelbarrow?" + +"Who is wheeling the barrow," inquired the meticulous Struthers--"the +officer or the Tommy?" + +"The Tommy, of course!" replied Waddell in quite a shocked voice. +"What is he to do? If he tries to salute he will upset the barrow, you +know." + +"He turns his head sharply towards the officer for six paces," +explained the ever-ready Struthers. "When a soldier is not in a +position to salute in the ordinary way--" + +"I say," inquired Bobby Little rather shyly, "do you ever look the +other way when you meet a Tommy?" + +"How do you mean?" asked everybody. + +"Well, the other day I met one walking out with his girl along the +road, and I felt so blooming _de trop_ that--" + +Here the "fall-in" sounded, and this delicate problem was left +unsolved. But Mr. Waddell, who liked to get to the bottom of things, +continued to ponder these matters as he marched. He mistrusted the +omniscience of Struthers and the superficial infallibility of the +self-satisfied Cockerell. Accordingly, after consultation with that +eager searcher after knowledge, Second Lieutenant Little, he took the +laudable but fatal step of carrying his difficulties to one Captain +Wagstaffe, the humorist of the Battalion. + +Wagstaffe listened with an appearance of absorbed interest. Finally he +said-- + +"These are very important questions, Mr. Waddell, and you acted quite +rightly in laying them before me. I will consult the Deputy Assistant +Instructor in Military Etiquette, and will obtain a written answer to +your inquiries." + +"Oh, thanks awfully, sir!" exclaimed Waddell. + +The result of Captain Wagstaffe's application to the mysterious +official just designated was forthcoming next day in the form of a +neatly typed document. It was posted in the Ante-room (the C.O. being +out at dinner), and ran as follows:-- + + +SALUTES + +YOUNG OFFICERS, HINTS FOR THE GUIDANCE OF + +The following is the correct procedure for a young officer in charge +of an armed party upon meeting-- + +(a) A Staff Officer riding a bicycle. + +_Correct Procedure_.--If marching at attention, order your men to +march at ease and to light cigarettes and eat bananas. Then, having +fixed bayonets, give the order: _Across the road--straggle!_ + +(b) A funeral. + +_Correct Procedure_.--Strike up _Tipperary_, and look the other way. + +(c) A General Officer, who strolls across your Barrack Square +precisely at the moment when you and your Platoon have got into mutual +difficulties. + +_Correct Procedure_.--Lie down flat upon your face (directing your +platoon to do the same), cover your head with gravel, and pretend you +are not there. + + +SPECIAL CASES + +(a) A soldier, wheeling a wheelbarrow and balancing a swill-tub on his +head, meets an officer walking out in review dress. + +_Correct Procedure_.--The soldier will immediately cant the swill-tub +to an angle of forty-five degrees at a distance of one and a half +inches above his right eyebrow. (In the case of Rifle Regiments the +soldier will balance the swill-tub on his nose.) He will then invite +the officer, by a smart movement of the left ear, to seat himself on +the wheelbarrow. + +_Correct Acknowledgment_.--The officer will comply, placing his feet +upon the right and left hubs of the wheel respectively, with the +ball of the toe in each case at a distance of one inch (when serving +abroad, 2-1/2 centimetres) from the centre of gravity of the +wheelbarrow. (In the case of Rifle Regiments the officer will tie his +feet in a knot at the back of his neck.) The soldier will then advance +six paces, after which the officer will dismount and go home and have +a bath. + +(b) A soldier, with his arm round a lady's waist in the gloaming, +encounters an officer. + +_Correct Procedure_.--The soldier will salute with his disengaged arm. +The lady will administer a sharp tap with the end of her umbrella to +the officer's tunic, at point one inch above the lowest button. + +_Correct Acknowledgment_.--The officer will take the end of the +umbrella firmly in his right hand, and will require the soldier to +introduce him to the lady. He will then direct the soldier to double +back to barracks. + +(c) A party of soldiers, seated upon the top of a transport waggon, +see an officer passing at the side of the road. + +_Correct Procedure_.--The senior N.C.O. (or if no N.C.O. be present, +the oldest soldier) will call the men to attention, and the party, +taking their time from the right, will spit upon the officer's head in +a soldier-like manner. + +_Correct Acknowledgment_.--The officer will break into a smart trot. + +(d) A soldier, driving an officer's motor-car without the knowledge of +the officer, encounters the officer in a narrow country lane. + +_Correct Procedure_.--The soldier will open the throttle to its full +extent and run the officer over. + +_Correct Acknowledgment_.--No acknowledgment is required. + +NOTE.--_None of the above compliments will be paid upon active +service_. + +Unfortunately the Colonel came home from dining out sooner than +was expected, and found this outrageous document still upon the +notice-board. But he was a good Colonel. He merely remarked +approvingly-- + +"H'm. Quite so! _Non semper arcum tendit Apollo_. It's just as well to +keep smiling these days." + +Nevertheless, Mr. Waddell made a point in future, when in need of +information, of seeking the same from a less inspired source than +Captain Wagstaffe. + + * * * * * + +There was another Law of the Medes and Persians with which our four +friends soon became familiar--that which governs the relations of the +various ranks to one another. Great Britain is essentially the home of +the chaperon. We pride ourselves, as a nation, upon the extreme +care with which we protect our young gentlewomen from contaminating +influences. But the fastidious attention which we bestow upon our +national maidenhood is as nothing in comparison with the protective +commotion with which we surround that shrinking sensitive plant, Mr. +Thomas Atkins. + +Take etiquette and deportment. If a soldier wishes to speak to an +officer, an introduction must be effected by a sergeant. Let us +suppose that Private M'Splae, in the course of a route-march, develops +a blister upon his great toe. He begins by intimating the fact to +the nearest lance-corporal. The lance-corporal takes the news to the +platoon sergeant, who informs the platoon commander, who may or may +not decide to take the opinion of his company commander in the matter. +Anyhow, when the hobbling warrior finally obtains permission to fall +out and alleviate his distress, a corporal goes with him, for fear he +should lose himself, or his boot--it is wonderful what Thomas _can_ +lose when he sets his mind to it--or, worst crime of all, his rifle. + +Again, if two privates are detailed to empty the regimental ashbin, +a junior N.C.O. ranges them in line, calls them to attention, and +marches them off to the scene of their labours, decently and in order. +If a soldier obtains leave to go home on furlough for the week-end, he +is collected into a party, and, after being inspected to see that +his buttons are clean, his hair properly cut, and his nose correctly +blown, is marched off to the station, where a ticket is provided +for him, and he and his fellow-wayfarers are safely tucked into a +third-smoker labelled "Military Party." (No wonder he sometimes gets +lost on arriving at Waterloo!) In short, if there is a job to be done, +the senior soldier present chaperons somebody else while he does it. + +This system has been attacked on the ground that it breeds loss of +self-reliance and initiative. As a matter of fact, the result is +almost exactly the opposite. Under its operation a soldier rapidly +acquires the art of placing himself under the command of his nearest +superior in rank; but at the same time he learns with equal rapidity +to take command himself if no superior be present--no bad thing in +times of battle and sudden death, when shrapnel is whistling, and +promotion is taking place with grim and unceasing automaticity. + +This principle is extended, too, to the enforcement of law and order. +If Private M'Sumph is insubordinate or riotous, there is never any +question of informal correction or summary justice. News of the +incident wends its way upward, by a series of properly regulated +channels, to the officer in command. Presently, by the same route, an +order comes back, and in a twinkling the offender finds himself taken +under arrest and marched off to the guard-room by two of his own +immediate associates. (One of them may be his own rear-rank man.) But +no officer or non-commissioned officer ever lays a finger on him. The +penalty for striking a superior officer is so severe that the law +decrees, very wisely, that a soldier must on no account ever be +arrested by any save men of his own rank. If Private M'Sumph, while +being removed in custody, strikes Private Tosh upon the nose and kicks +Private Cosh upon the shin, to the effusion of blood, no great harm is +done--except to the lacerated Cosh and Tosh; but if he had smitten an +intruding officer in the eye, his punishment would have been dire and +grim. So, though we may call military law cumbrous and grandmotherly, +there is sound sense and real mercy at the root of it. + + * * * * * + +But there is one Law of the Medes and Persians which is sensibly +relaxed these days. We, the newly joined, have always been given to +understand that whatever else you do, you must never, never betray any +interest in your profession--in short, talk shop--at Mess. But in our +Mess no one ever talks anything else. At luncheon, we relate droll +anecdotes concerning our infant platoons; at tea, we explain, to any +one who will listen, exactly how we placed our sentry line in last +night's operations; at dinner, we brag about our Company musketry +returns, and quote untruthful extracts from our butt registers. At +breakfast, every one has a newspaper, which he props before him and +reads, generally aloud. We exchange observations upon the war news. We +criticise von Kluck, and speak kindly of Joffre. We note, daily, that +there is nothing to report on the Allies' right, and wonder regularly +how the Russians are really getting on in the Eastern theatre. + +Then, after observing that the only sportsman in the combined forces +of the German Empire is--or was--the captain of the _Emden_, we come +to the casualty lists--and there is silence. + +Englishmen are fond of saying, with the satisfied air of men letting +off a really excellent joke, that every one in Scotland knows every +one else. As we study the morning's Roll of Honour, we realise that +never was a more truthful jest uttered. There is not a name in the +list of those who have died for Scotland which is not familiar to us. +If we did not know the man--too often the boy--himself, we knew his +people, or at least where his home was. In England, if you live in +Kent, and you read that the Northumberland Fusiliers have been cut +up or the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry badly knocked about, you +merely sigh that so many more good men should have fallen. Their names +are glorious names, but they are only names. But never a Scottish +regiment comes under fire but the whole of Scotland feels it. Scotland +is small enough to know all her sons by heart. You may live in +Berwickshire, and the man who has died may have come from Skye; but +his name is quite familiar to you. Big England's sorrow is national; +little Scotland's is personal. + +Then we pass on to our letters. Many of us--particularly the senior +officers--have news direct from the trenches--scribbled scraps torn +out of field-message books. We get constant tidings of the Old +Regiment. They marched thirty-five miles on such a day; they captured +a position after being under continuous shell fire for eight hours on +another; they were personally thanked by the Field-Marshal on another. +Oh, we shall have to work hard to get up to that standard! + +"They want more officers," announces the Colonel. "Naturally, after +the time they've been having! But they must go to the Third Battalion +for them: that's the proper place. I will not have them coming here: +I've told them so at Headquarters. The Service Battalions simply +_must_ be led by the officers who have trained them if they are to +have a Chinaman's chance when we go out. I shall threaten to resign if +they try any more of their tricks. That'll frighten 'em! Even dug-outs +like me are rare and valuable objects at present." + +The Company Commanders murmur assent--on the whole sympathetically. +Anxious though they are to get upon business terms with the Kaiser, +they are loath to abandon the unkempt but sturdy companies over which +they have toiled so hard, and which now, though destitute of blossom, +are rich in promise of fruit. But the senior subalterns look up +hopefully. Their lot is hard. Some of them have been in the Service +for ten years, yet they have been left behind. They command no +companies. "Here," their faces say, "we are merely marking time while +others learn. Send _us_!" + + * * * * * + +However, though they have taken no officers yet, signs are not wanting +that they will take some soon. To-day each of us was presented with a +small metal disc. + +Bobby Little examined his curiously. Upon the face thereof was +stamped, in ragged, irregular capitals-- + +[Illustration: LITTLE, R., 2ND LT., +B. & W. HIGHRS. +C. OF E.] + +"What is this for?" he asked. + +Captain Wagstaffe answered. + +"You wear it round your neck," he said. + +Our four friends, once bitten, regarded the humorist suspiciously. + +"Are you rotting us?" asked Waddell cautiously. + +"No, my son," replied Wagstaffe, "I am not." + +"What is it for, then?" + +"It's called an Identity Disc. Every soldier on active service wears +one." + +"Why should the idiots put one's religion on the thing?" inquired +Master Cockerell, scornfully regarding the letters "C. of E." upon his +disc. + +Wagstaffe regarded him curiously. + +"Think it over," he suggested. + + + + +VII + +SHOOTING STRAIGHT + + +"What for is the wee felly gaun' tae show us puctures?" + +Second Lieutenant Bobby Little, assisted by a sergeant and two unhandy +privates, is engaged in propping a large and highly-coloured work of +art, mounted on a rough wooden frame and supported on two unsteady +legs, against the wall of the barrack square. A half-platoon of A +Company, seated upon an adjacent bank, chewing grass and enjoying the +mellow autumn sunshine, regard the swaying masterpiece with frank +curiosity. For the last fortnight they have been engaged in imbibing +the science of musketry. They have learned to hold their rifles +correctly, sitting, kneeling, standing, or lying; to bring their +backsights and foresights into an undeviating straight line with the +base of the bull's-eye; and to press the trigger in the manner laid +down in the Musketry Regulations--without wriggling the body or +"pulling-off." + +They have also learned to adjust their sights, to perform the loading +motions rapidly and correctly, and to obey such simple commands as-- + +"_At them two, weemen_"--officers' wives, probably--"_proceeding from +left tae right across the square, at five hundred yairds_" + +--they are really about fifteen yards away, covered with +confusion--"_five roonds, fire!_" + +But as yet they have discharged no shots from their rifles. It has all +been make-believe, with dummy cartridges, and fictitious ranges, and +snapping triggers. To be quite frank, they are getting just a little +tired of musketry training--forgetting for the moment that a soldier +who cannot use his rifle is merely an expense to his country and a +free gift to the enemy. But the sight of Bobby Little's art gallery +cheers them up. They contemplate the picture with childlike interest. +It resembles nothing so much as one of those pleasing but imaginative +posters by the display of which our Railway Companies seek to attract +the tourist to the less remunerative portions of their systems. + +"What for is the wee felly gaun' tae show us puctures?" + +Thus Private Mucklewame. A pundit in the rear rank answers him. + +"Yon's Gairmany." + +"Gairmany ma auntie!" retorts Mucklewame. "There's no chumney-stalks +in Gairmany." + +"Maybe no; but there's wundmulls. See the wundmull there--on yon wee +knowe!" + +"There a pit-held!" exclaims another voice. This homely spectacle is +received with an affectionate sigh. Until two months ago more than +half the platoon had never been out of sight of at least half a dozen. + +"See the kirk, in ablow the brae!" says some one else, in a pleased +voice. "It has a nock in the steeple." + +"I hear they Gairmans send signals wi' their kirk-nocks," remarks +Private M'Micking, who, as one of the Battalion signallers--or +"buzzers," as the vernacular has it, in imitation of the buzzing +of the Morse instrument--regards himself as a sort of junior Staff +Officer. "They jist semaphore with the haunds of the nock--" + +"I wonder," remarks the dreamy voice of Private M'Leary, the humorist +of the platoon, "did ever a Gairman buzzer pit the ba' through his ain +goal in a fitba' match?" + +This irrelevant reference to a regrettable incident of the previous +Saturday afternoon is greeted with so much laughter that Bobby Little, +who has at length fixed his picture in position, whips round. + +"Less talking there!" he announces severely, "or I shall have to stand +you all at attention!" + +There is immediate silence--there is nothing the matter with Bobby's +discipline--and the outraged M'Micking has to content himself with +a homicidal glare in the direction of M'Leary, who is now hanging +virtuously upon his officer's lips. + +"This," proceeds Bobby Little, "is what is known as a landscape +target." + +He indicates the picture, which, apparently overcome by so much public +notice, promptly falls flat upon its face. A fatigue party under the +sergeant hurries to its assistance. + +"It is intended," resumes Bobby presently, "to teach you--us--to +become familiar with various kinds of country, and to get into the +habit of picking out conspicuous features of the landscape, and +getting them by heart, and--er--so on. I want you all to study this +picture for three minutes. Then I shall face you about and ask you to +describe it to me." + +After three minutes of puckered brows and hard breathing the squad is +turned to its rear and the examination proceeds. + +"Lance-Corporal Ness, what did you notice in the foreground of the +picture?" + +Lance-Corporal Ness gazes fiercely before him. He has noticed a good +deal, but can remember nothing. Moreover, he has no very clear idea +what a foreground may be. + +"Private Mucklewame?" + +Again silence, while the rotund Mucklewame perspires in the throes of +mental exertion. + +"Private Wemyss?" + +No answer. + +"Private M'Micking!" + +The "buzzer" smiles feebly, but says nothing. + +"Well,"--desperately--"Sergeant Angus! Tell them what you noticed in +the foreground." + +Sergeant Angus _(floruit_ A.D. 1895) springs smartly to attention, and +replies, with the instant obedience of the old soldier-- + +"The sky, sirr." + +"Not in the foreground, as a rule," replies Bobby Little gently. +"About turn again, all of you, and we'll have another try." + +In his next attempt Bobby abandons individual catechism. + +"Now," he begins, "what conspicuous objects do we notice on this +target? In the foreground I can see a low knoll. To the left I see a +windmill. In the distance is a tall chimney. Half-right is a church. +How would that church be marked on a map?" + +No reply. + +"Well," explains Bobby, anxious to parade a piece of knowledge which +he only acquired himself a day or two ago, "churches are denoted in +maps by a cross, mounted on a square or circle, according as the +church has a square tower or a steeple. What has this church got?" + +"A nock!" bellow the platoon, with stunning enthusiasm. (All but +Private M'Micking, that is.) + +"A clock, sir," translates the sergeant, _sotto voce_. + +"A clock? All right: but what I wanted was a steeple. Then, farther +away, we can see a mine, a winding brook, and a house, with a wall in +front of it. Who can see them?" + +To judge by the collective expression of the audience, no one does. +Bobby ploughs on. + +"Upon the skyline we notice--Squad, '_shun!_" + +Captain Wagstaffe has strolled up. He is second in command of A +Company. Bobby explains to him modestly what he has been trying to do. + +"Yes, I heard you," says Wagstaffe. "You take a breather, while I +carry on for a bit. Squad, stand easy, and tell me what you can see on +that target. Lance-Corporal Ness, show me a pit-head." + +Lance-Corporal Ness steps briskly forward and lays a grubby forefinger +on Bobby's "mine." + +"Private Mucklewame, show me a burn." + +The brook is at once identified. + +"Private M'Leary, shut your eyes and tell me what there is just to the +right of the windmill." + +"A wee knowe, sirr," replies M'Leary at once. Bobby recognises his +"low knoll"--also the fact that it is no use endeavouring to instruct +the unlettered until you have learned their language. + +"Very good!" says Captain Wagstaffe. "Now we will go on to what is +known as Description and Recognition of Targets. Supposing I had sent +one of you forward into that landscape as a scout.--By the way, what +is a scout?" + +Dead silence, as usual. + +"Come along! Tell me, somebody! Private Mucklewame?" + +"They gang oot in a procession on Setter-day efternoons, sirr, in +short breeks," replies Mucklewame promptly. + +"A procession is the very last thing a scout goes out in!" raps +Wagstaffe. (It is plain to Mucklewame that the Captain has never been +in Wishaw, but he does not argue the point.) "Private M'Micking, what +is a scout?" + +"A spy, sirr," replies the omniscient one. + +"Well, that's better; but there's a big difference between the two. +What is it?" + +This is a poser. Several men know the difference, but feel quite +incapable of explaining it. The question runs down the front rank. +Finally it is held up and disposed of by one Mearns (from Aberdeen). + +"A spy, sirr, gets mair money than a scout." + +"Does he?" asks Captain Wagstaffe, smiling. "Well, I am not in a +position to say. But if he does, he earns it! Why?" + +"Because if he gets catched he gets shot," volunteers a rear-rank man. + +"Right. Why is he shot?" + +This conundrum is too deep for the squad. The Captain has to answer it +himself. + +"Because he is not in uniform, and cannot therefore be treated as an +ordinary prisoner of war. So never go scouting in your nightshirt, +Mucklewame!" + +The respectable Mucklewame blushes deeply at this outrageous +suggestion, but Wagstaffe proceeds-- + +"Now, supposing I sent you out scouting, and you discovered that over +there--somewhere in the middle of this field"--he lays a finger on the +field in question--"there was a fold in the ground where a machine-gun +section was concealed: what would you do when you got back?" + +"I would tell you, sirr," replied Private M'Micking politely. + +"Tell me what?" + +"That they was there, sirr." + +"Where?" + +"In yon place." + +"How would you indicate the position of the place?" + +"I would pint it oot with ma finger, sirr." + +"Invisible objects half a mile away are not easily pointed out with +the finger," Captain Wagstaffe mentions. "Lance-Corporal Ness, how +would you describe it?" + +"I would tak' you there, sirr." + +"Thanks! But I doubt if either of us would come back! Private Wemyss?" + +"I would say, sirr, that the place was west of the mansion-hoose." + +"There's a good deal of land west of that mansion-house, you know," +expostulates the Captain gently; "but we are getting on. Thompson?" + +"I would say, sir," replies Thompson, puckering his brow, "that it was +in ablow they trees." + +"It would be hard to indicate the exact trees you meant. Trees are too +common. You try, Corporal King." + +But Corporal King, who earned his stripes by reason of physical rather +than intellectual attributes, can only contribute a lame reference +to "a bit hedge by yon dyke, where there's a kin' o' hole in the +tairget." Wagstaffe breaks in-- + +"Now, everybody, take some conspicuous and unmistakable object about +the middle of that landscape--something which no one can mistake. The +mansion-house will do--the near end. Now then--_mansion-house, near +end_! Got that?" + +There is a general chorus of assent. + +"Very well. I want you to imagine that the base of the mansion-house +is the centre of a great clock-face. Where would twelve o'clock be?" + +The platoon are plainly tickled by this new round-game. They reply-- + +"Straught up!" + +"Right. Where is nine o'clock?" + +"Over tae the left." + +"Very good. And so on with all the other hours. Now, supposing I were +to say, _End of mansion-house_--_six o'clock_--_white gate_--you would +carry your eye straight _downward_, through the garden, until it +encountered the gate. I would thus have enabled you to recognise a +very small object in a wide landscape in the quickest possible time. +See the idea?" + +"Yes, sirr." + +"All right. Now for our fold in the ground. _End of +mansion-house_--_eight o'clock_--got that?" + +There is an interested murmur of assent. + +"That gives you the direction from the house. Now for the distance! +_End of mansion-house_--_eight o 'clock_--_two finger-breadths_--what +does that give you, Lance-Corporal Ness?" + +"The corrner of a field, sirr." + +"Right. This is _our_ field. We have picked it correctly out of about +twenty fields, you see. _Corner of field. In the middle of the field, +a fold in the ground. At nine hundred--at the fold in the ground--five +rounds--fire_! You see the idea now?" + +"Yes, sirr." + +"Very good. Let the platoon practise describing targets to one +another, Mr. Little. Don't be too elaborate. Never employ either the +clock or finger method if you can describe your target without. For +instance: _Left of windmill_--_triangular cornfield. At the_ _nearest +corner_--_six hundred_--_rapid fire!_ is all you want. Carry on, Mr. +Little." + +And leaving Bobby and his infant class to practise this new and +amusing pastime, Captain Wagstaffe strolls away across the square to +where the painstaking Waddell is contending with another squad. + +They, too, have a landscape target--a different one. Before it half a +dozen rifles stand, set in rests. Waddell has given the order: _Four +hundred_--_at the road, where it passes under the viaduct_--_fire!_ +and six privates have laid the six rifles upon the point indicated. +Waddell and Captain Wagstaffe walk down the line, peering along the +sights of the rifles. Five are correctly aligned: the sixth points to +the spacious firmament above the viaduct. + +"Hallo!" observes Wagstaffe. + +"This is the man's third try, sir," explains the harassed Waddell. "He +doesn't seem to be able to distinguish anything at all." + +"Eyesight wrong?" + +"So he says, sir." + +"Been a long time finding out, hasn't he?" + +"The sergeant told me, sir," confides Waddell, "that in his opinion +the man is 'working for his ticket.'" + +"Umph!" + +"I did not quite understand the expression, sir," continues the honest +youth, "so I thought I would consult you." + +"It means that he is trying to get his discharge. Bring him along: +I'll soon find out whether he is skrim-shanking or not." + +Private M'Sweir is introduced, and led off to the lair of that +hardened cynic, the Medical Officer. Here he is put through some +simple visual tests. He soon finds himself out of his depth. It +is extremely difficult to feign either myopia, hypermetria, or +astigmatism if you are not acquainted with the necessary symptoms, and +have not decided beforehand which (if any) of these diseases you are +suffering from. In five minutes the afflicted M'Sweir is informed, +to his unutterable indignation, that he has passed a severe ocular +examination with flying colours, and is forthwith marched back to his +squad, with instructions to recognise all targets in future, under +pain of special instruction in the laws of optics during his leisure +hours. Verily, in K (1)--that is the tabloid title of the First +Hundred Thousand--the way of the malingerer is hard. + +Still, the seed does not always fall upon stony ground. On his way to +inspect a third platoon Captain Wagstaffe passes Bobby Little and his +merry men. They are in pairs, indicating targets to one another. + +Says Private Walker (oblivious of Captain Wagstaffe's proximity) to +his friend, Private M'Leary--in an affected parody of his instructor's +staccato utterance-- + +"_At yon three Gairman spies, gaun' up a close for tae despatch some +wireless telegraphy_--_fufty roonds_--_fire_!" + +To which Private M'Leary, not to be outdone, responds-- + +"_Public hoose_--_in the baur_--_back o' seeven o'clock_--_twa +drams_--_fower fingers_--_rapid!"_ + + +II + +From this it is a mere step to-- + +"Butt Pairty, '_shun!_ Forrm fourrs! Right! By your left, quick +_marrch_!" + +--on a bleak and cheerless morning in late October. It is not yet +light; but a depressed party of about twenty-five are falling into +line at the acrid invitation of two sergeants, who have apparently +decided that the pen is mightier than the Lee-Enfield rifle; for each +wears one stuck in his glengarry like an eagle's feather, and carries +a rabbinical-looking inkhorn slung to his bosom. This literary pose is +due to the fact that records are about to be taken of the performances +of the Company on the shooting-range. + +A half-awakened subaltern, who breakfasted at the grisly hour of a +quarter-to-six, takes command, and the dolorous procession disappears +into the gloom. + +Half an hour later the Battalion parades, and sets off, to the sound +of music, in pursuit. (It is perhaps needless to state that although +we are deficient in rifles, possess neither belts, pouches, nor +greatcoats, and are compelled to attach, our scanty accoutrements to +our persons with ingenious contrivances of string, we boast a fully +equipped and highly efficient pipe band, complete with pipers, big +drummer, side drummers, and corybantic drum-major.) + +By eight o'clock, after a muddy tramp of four miles, we are assembled +at the two-hundred-yards firing point upon Number Three Range. The +range itself is little more than a drive cut through, a pine-wood. +It is nearly half a mile long. Across the far end runs a high +sandy embankment, decorated just below the ridge with, a row of +number-boards--one for each target. Of the targets themselves nothing +as yet is to be seen. + +"Now then, let's get a move on!" suggests the Senior Captain briskly. +"Cockerell, ring up the butts, and ask Captain Wagstaffe to put up the +targets." + +The alert Mr. Cockerell hurries to the telephone, which lives in a +small white-painted structure like a gramophone-stand. (It has been +left at the firing-point by the all-providing butt-party.) He turns +the call-handle smartly, takes the receiver out of the box, and +begins.... + +There is no need to describe the performance which ensues. All +telephone-users are familiar with it. It consists entirely of the +word "Hallo!" repeated _crescendo_ and _furioso_ until exhaustion +supervenes. + +Presently Mr. Cockerell reports to the Captain-- + +"Telephone out of order, sir." + +"I never knew a range telephone that wasn't," replies the Captain, +inspecting the instrument. "Still, you might give this one a sporting +chance, anyhow. It isn't a _wireless_ telephone, you know! Corporal +Kemp, connect that telephone for Mr. Cockerell." + +A marble-faced N.C.O. kneels solemnly upon the turf and raises a +small iron trapdoor--hitherto overlooked by the omniscient +Cockerell--revealing a cavity some six inches deep, containing an +electric plug-hole. Into this he thrusts the terminal of the telephone +wire. Cockerell, scarlet in the face, watches him indignantly. + +Telephonic communication between firing-point and butts is now +established. That is to say, whenever Mr. Cockerell rings the bell +some one in the butts courteously rings back. Overtures of a more +intimate nature are greeted either with stony silence or another +fantasia on the bell. + +Meanwhile the captain is superintending firing arrangements. + +"Are the first details ready to begin?" he shouts. + +"Quite ready, sir," runs the reply down the firing line. + +The Captain now comes to the telephone himself. He takes the receiver +from Cockerell with masterful assurance. + +"Hallo, there!" he calls. "I want to speak to Captain Wagstaffe." + +"Honkle yang-yang?" inquires a ghostly voice. + +"Captain Wagstaffe! Hurry up!" + +Presently the bell rings, and the Captain gets to business. + +"That you, Wagstaffe?" he inquires cheerily. "Look here, we're going +to fire Practice Seven, Table B,--snap-shooting. I want you to raise +all the targets for six seconds, just for sighting purposes. Do you +understand?" + +Here the bell rings continuously for ten seconds. Nothing daunted, the +Captain tries again. + +"That you, Wagstaffe? Practice Seven, Table B!" + +"T'chk, t'chk!" replies Captain Wagstaffe. + +"Begin by raising all the targets for six seconds. Then raise them six +times for five seconds each.--no, as you were! Raise them five times +for six seconds each. Got that? I say, are you _there_? What's that?" + +"_Przemysl_" replies the telephone--or something to that effect. +"_Czestochowa! Krsyszkowice! Plock_!" + +The Captain, now on his mettle, continues:-- + +"I want you to signal the results on the rear targets as the front +ones go down. After that we will fire--oh, _curse_ the thing!" + +He hastily removes the receiver, which is emitting sounds suggestive +of the buckling of biscuit-tins, from his ear, and lays it on its +rest. The bell promptly begins to ring again. + +"Mr. Cockerell," he says resignedly, "double up to the butts and ask +Captain Wagstaffe--" + +"I'm here, old son," replies a gentle voice, as Captain Wagstaffe +touches him upon the shoulder. "Been here some time!" + +After mutual asperities, it is decided by the two Captains to dispense +with the aid of the telephone proper, and communicate by bell alone. +Captain Wagstaffe's tall figure strides back across the heather; the +red flag on the butts flutters down; and we get to work. + +Upon a long row of waterproof sheets--some thirty in all--lie the +firers. Beside each is extended the form of a sergeant or officer, +tickling his charge's ear with incoherent counsel, and imploring him, +almost tearfully, not to get excited. + +Suddenly thirty targets spring out of the earth in front of us, only +to disappear again just as we have got over our surprise. They are not +of the usual bull's-eye pattern, but are what is known as "figure" +targets. The lower half is sea-green, the upper, white. In the centre, +half on the green and half on the white, is a curious brown smudge. +It might be anything, from a splash of mud to one of those mysterious +brown-paper patterns which fall out of ladies' papers, but it really +is intended to represent the head and shoulders of a man in khaki +lying on grass and aiming at us. However, the British private, with +his usual genius for misapprehension, has christened this effigy "the +beggar in the boat." + +With equal suddenness the targets swing up again. Crack! An +uncontrolled spirit has loosed off his rifle before it has reached +his shoulder. Blistering reproof follows. Then, after three or four +seconds, comes a perfect salvo all down the line. The conscientious +Mucklewame, slowly raising his foresight as he has been taught to do, +from the base of the target to the centre, has just covered the beggar +in the boat between wind and water, and is lingering lovingly over +the second pull, when the inconsiderate beggar (and his boat) sink +unostentatiously into the abyss, leaving the open-mouthed marksman +with his finger on the trigger and an unfired cartridge still in the +chamber. At the dentist's Time crawls; in snap-shooting contests he +sprints. + +Another set of targets slide up as the first go down, and upon these +the hits are recorded by a forest of black or white discs, waving +vigorously in the air. Here and there a red-and-white flag flaps +derisively. Mucklewame gets one of these. + +The marking-targets go down to half-mast again, and then comes another +tense pause. Then, as the firing-targets reappear, there is another +volley. This time Private Mucklewame leads the field, and decapitates +a dandelion. The third time he has learned wisdom, and the beggar in +the boat gets the bullet where all mocking foes should get it--in the +neck! + +Snap-shooting over, the combatants retire to the five-hundred-yards +firing-point, taking with them that modern hair-shirt, the telephone. + +Presently a fresh set of targets swing up--of the bull's-eye variety +this time--and the markers are busy once more. + + +III + +The interior of the butts is an unexpectedly spacious place. From the +nearest firing-point you would not suspect their existence, except +when the targets are up. Imagine a sort of miniature railway +station--or rather, half a railway station--sunk into the ground, with +a very long platform and a very low roof--eight feet high at the most. +Upon the opposite side of this station, instead of the other platform, +rises the sandy ridge previously mentioned--the stop-butt--crowned +with its row of number-boards. Along the permanent way, in place of +sleepers and metals, runs a long and narrow trough, in which, instead +of railway carriages, some thirty great iron frames are standing side +by side. These frames are double, and hold the targets. They are so +arranged that if one is pushed up the other comes down. The markers +stand along the platform, like railway porters. + +There are two markers to each target. They, stand with their backs to +the firers, comfortably conscious of several feet of earth and a stout +brick wall, between them and low shooters. Number one squats down, +paste-pot in hand, and repairs the bullet-holes in the unemployed +target with patches of black or white paper. Number two, brandishing a +pole to which is attached a disc, black on one side and white on the +other, is acquiring a permanent crick in the neck through gaping +upwards at the target in search of hits. He has to be sharp-eyed, for +the bullet-hole is a small one, and springs into existence without any +other intimation than a spirt of sand on the bank twenty yards +behind. He must be alert, too, and signal the shots as they are made; +otherwise the telephone will begin to interest itself on his behalf. +The bell will ring, and a sarcastic voice will intimate--assuming that +you can hear what it says--that C Company are sending a wreath and +message of condolence as their contribution to the funeral of the +marker at Number Seven target, who appears to have died at his post +within the last ten minutes; coupled with a polite request that his +successor may be appointed as rapidly as possible, as the war is not +likely to last more than three years. To this the butt-officer replies +that C Company had better come a bit closer to the target and try, try +again. + +There are practically no restrictions as to the length to which one +may go in insulting butt-markers. The Geneva Convention is silent upon +the subject, partly because it is almost impossible to say anything +which can really hurt a marker's feelings, and partly because the +butt-officer always has the last word in any unpleasantness which may +arise. That is to say, when defeated over the telephone, he can +always lower his targets, and with his myrmidons feign abstraction or +insensibility until an overheated subaltern arrives at the double from +the five-hundred-yards firing-point, conveying news of surrender. + +Captain Wagstaffe was an admitted master of this game. He was a +difficult subject to handle, for he was accustomed to return an eye +for an eye when repartees were being exchanged; and when overborne +by heavier metal--say, a peripatetic "brass-hat" from Hythe--he was +accustomed to haul up the red butt-flag (which automatically brings +all firing to a standstill), and stroll down the range to refute the +intruder at close quarters. We must add that he was a most efficient +butt-officer. When he was on duty, markers were most assiduous in +their attention to theirs, which is not always the case. + +Thomas Atkins rather enjoys marking. For one thing, he is permitted +to remove as much clothing as he pleases, and to cover himself with +stickiness and grime to his heart's content--always a highly prized +privilege. He is also allowed to smoke, to exchange full-flavoured +persiflage with his neighbours, and to refresh himself from time +to time with mysterious items of provender wrapped in scraps of +newspaper. Given an easy-going butt-officer and some timid subalterns, +he can spend a very agreeable morning. Even when discipline is strict, +marking is preferable to most other fatigues. + +Crack! Crack! Crack! The fusilade has begun. Privates Ogg and Hogg are +in charge of Number Thirteen target. They are beguiling the tedium +of their task by a friendly gamble with the markers on Number +Fourteen--Privates Cosh and Tosh. The rules of the game are simplicity +itself. After each detail has fired, the target with the higher score +receives the sum of one penny from its opponents. At the present +moment, after a long run of adversity, Privates Cosh and Tosh are one +penny to the good. Once again fortune smiles upon them. The first two +shots go right through the bull--eight points straight away. The third +is an inner; the fourth another bull; the fifth just grazes the line +separating inners from outers. Private Tosh, who is scoring, promptly +signals an inner. Meanwhile, target Number Thirteen is also being +liberally marked--but by nothing of a remunerative nature. The +gentleman at the firing-point is taking what is known as "a fine +sight"--so fine, indeed, that each successive bullet either buries +itself in the turf fifty yards short, or ricochets joyously from +off the bank in front, hurling itself sideways through the target, +accompanied by a storm of gravel, and tearing holes therein which even +the biassed Ogg cannot class as clean hits. + +"We hae gotten eighteen that time," announces Mr. Tosh to his rival, +swinging his disc and inwardly blessing his unknown benefactor. (For +obvious reasons the firer is known only to the marker by a number.) +"Hoo's a' wi' you, Jock?" + +"There's a [adjective] body here," replies Ogg, with gloomy sarcasm, +"flingin' bricks through this yin!" He picks up the red-and-white flag +for the fourth time, and unfurls it indignantly to the breeze. + +"Here the officer!" says the warning voice of Hogg. "I doot he'll no +allow your last yin, Peter." + +He is right. The subaltern in charge of targets Thirteen to Sixteen, +after a pained glance at the battered countenance of Number Thirteen, +pauses before Fourteen, and jots down a figure on his butt-register. + +"Fower, fower, fower, three, three, sirr," announces Tosh politely. + +"Three bulls, one inner, and an ahter, sir," proclaims the Cockney +sergeant simultaneously. + +"Now, suppose _I_ try," suggests the subaltern gently. + +He examines the target, promptly disallows Tosh's last inner, and +passes on. + +"Seventeen _only!_" remarks Private Ogg severely. "I thocht sae!" + +Private Cosh speaks--for the first time--removing a paste-brush, and +some patching-paper from his mouth-- + +"Still, it's better nor a wash-oot! And onyway, you're due us tippence +the noo!" + +By way of contrast to the frivolous game of chance in the butts, the +proceedings at the firing-point resolve themselves into a desperately +earnest test of skill. The fortnight's range-practice is drawing to a +close. Each evening registers have been made up, and firing averages +adjusted, with the result that A and D Companies are found to have +entirely outdistanced B and C, and to be running neck and neck for the +championship of the battalion. Up till this morning D's average worked +out at something under fifteen (out of a possible twenty), and A's at +something over fourteen points. Both are quite amazing and incredible +averages for a recruits' course; but then nearly everything about +"K(1)" is amazing and incredible. Up till half an hour ago D had, if +anything, increased their lead: then dire calamity overtook them. + +One Pumpherston, Sergeant-Major and crack shot of the Company, +solemnly blows down the barrel of his rifle and prostrates himself +majestically upon his more than considerable stomach, for the purpose +of firing his five rounds at five hundred yards. His average score +so far has been one under "possible." Three officers and a couple of +stray corporals gather behind him in eulogistic attitudes. + +"How are the Company doing generally, Sergeant-Major?" inquires the +Captain of D Company. + +"Very well, sirr, except for some carelessness," replies the great +man impressively. "That man there"--he indicates a shrinking figure +hurrying rearwards--"has just spoilt his own score and another man's +by putting two shots on the wrong target." + +There is a horrified hum at this, for to fire upon some one else's +target is the gravest crime in musketry. In the first place, it counts +a miss for yourself. In the second, it may do a grievous wrong to your +neighbour; for the law ordains that, in the event of more than five +shots being found upon any target, only the worst five shall count. +Therefore, if your unsolicited contribution takes the form of an +outer, it must be counted, to the exclusion, possibly, of a bull. The +culprit broke into a double. + +Having delivered himself, Sergeant-Major Pumpherston graciously +accepted the charger of cartridges which an obsequious acolyte was +proffering, rammed it into the magazine, adjusted the sights, spread +out his legs to an obtuse angle, and fired his first shot. + +All eyes were turned upon target Number Seven. But there was no +signal. All the other markers were busy flourishing discs or flags; +only Number Seven remained cold and aloof. + +The Captain of D Company laughed satirically. + +"Number Seven gone to have his hair cut!" he observed. + +"Third time this morning, sir," added a sycophantic subaltern. + +The sergeant-major smiled indulgently, + +"I can do without signals, sir," he said "I know where the shot went +all right. I must get the next a _little_ more to the left. That last +one was a bit too near to three o'clock to be a certainty." + +He fired again--with precisely the same result. + +Every one was quite apologetic to the sergeant-major this time. + +"This must be stopped," announced the Captain. "Mr. Simson, ring up +Captain Wagstaffe on the telephone." + +But the sergeant-major would not hear of this. + +"The butt-registers are good enough for me, sir," he said with a +paternal smile. He fired again. Once more the target stared back, +blank and unresponsive. + +This time the audience were too disgusted to speak. They merely +shrugged their shoulders and glanced at one another with sarcastic +smiles. The Captain, who had suffered a heavy reverse at the hands +of Captain Wagstaffe earlier in the morning, began to rehearse the +wording of his address over the telephone. + +The sergeant-major fired his last two shots with impressive +aplomb--only to be absolutely ignored twice more by Number Seven. Then +he rose to his feet and saluted with ostentatious respectfulness. + +"Four bulls and one inner, I _think_, sir. I'm afraid I pulled that +last one off a bit." + + +The Captain is already at the telephone. For the moment this most +feminine of instruments is found to be in an accommodating frame of +mind. Captain Wagstaffe's voice is quickly heard. + +"That you, Wagstaffe?" inquires the Captain. "I'm so sorry to bother +you, but could you make inquiries and ascertain when the marker on +Number Seven is likely to come out of the chloroform?" + +"He has been sitting up and taking nourishment for some hours," +replies the voice of Wagstaffe. "What message can I deliver to him?" + +"None in particular, except that he has not signalled a single one of +Sergeant-Major Pumpherston's shots!" replies the Captain of D, with +crushing simplicity. + +"Half a mo'!" replies Wagstaffe.... Then, presently-- + +"Hallo! Are you there, Whitson?" + +"Yes. We are still here," Captain Whitson assures him frigidly. + +"Right. Well, I have examined Number Seven target, and there are no +shots on it of any kind whatever. But there are ten shots on Number +Eight, if that's any help. Buck up with the next lot, will you? We are +getting rather bored here. So long!" + + +There was nothing in it now. D Company had finished. The last two +representatives of A were firing, and subalterns with note-books were +performing prodigies of arithmetic. Bobby Little calculated that if +these two scored eighteen points each they would pull the Company's +total average up to fifteen precisely, beating D by a decimal. + +The two slender threads upon which the success of this enterprise hung +were named Lindsay and Budge. Lindsay was a phlegmatic youth with +watery eyes. Nothing disturbed him, which was fortunate, for the +commotion which surrounded him was considerable. A stout sergeant +lay beside him on a waterproof sheet, whispering excited counsels of +perfection, while Bobby Little danced in the rear, beseeching him to +fire upon the proper target. + +"Now, Lindsay," said Captain Whitson, in a trembling voice, "you are +going to get into a good comfortable position, take your time, and +score five bulls." + +The amazing part of it all was that Lindsay very nearly did score five +bulls. He actually got four, and would have had a fifth had not the +stout sergeant, in excess of solicitude, tenderly wiped his watery eye +for him with a grubby handkerchief just as he took the first pull for +his third shot. + +Altogether he scored nineteen; and the gallery, full of +congratulations, moved on to inspect the performance of Private Budge, +an extremely nervous subject: who, thanks to the fact that public +attention had been concentrated so far upon Lindsay, and that his +ministering sergeant was a matter-of-fact individual of few words, had +put on two bulls--eight points. He now required to score only nine +points in three shots. + +Suddenly the hapless youth became aware of the breathless group in his +rear. He promptly pulled his trigger, and just nicked the outside edge +of the target--two points. + +"I doot I'm gettin' a thing nairvous," he muttered apologetically to +the sergeant. + +"Havers! Shut your held and give the bull a bash!" responded that +admirable person. + +The twitching Budge, bracing himself, scored an inner--three points. + +"A bull, and we do it!" murmured Bobby Little. Fortunately Budge did +not hear. + +"Ye're no daen badly," admitted the sergeant grudgingly. + +Budge, a little piqued, determined to do better. He raised his +foresight slowly; took the first pull; touched "six o'clock" on the +distant bull--luckily the light was perfect--and took the second pull +for the last time. + +Next moment a white disc rose slowly out of the earth and covered the +bull's-eye. + +So Bobby Little was able next morning to congratulate his disciples +upon being "the best-shooting platoon in the best-shooting Company in +the best-shooting Battalion in the Brigade." + +Not less than fifty other subalterns within a radius of five miles +were saying the same thing to their platoons. It is right to foster a +spirit of emulation in young troops. + + + + +VIII + +BILLETS + +_Scene, a village street, deserted. Rain falls_. (It has been falling +for about three weeks.) _A tucket sounds. Enter, reluctantly, +soldiery. They grouse. There appear severally, in doorways, children. +They stare. And at chamber-windows, serving-maids. They make eyes. The +soldiery make friendly signs_. + + +Such is the stage setting for our daily morning parade. We have been +here for some weeks now, and the populace is getting used to us. But +when we first burst upon this peaceful township I think we may say, +without undue egoism, that we created a profound sensation. In this +sleepy corner of Hampshire His Majesty's uniform, enclosing a casual +soldier or sailor on furlough, is a common enough sight, but a whole +regiment on the march is the rarest of spectacles. As for this +tatterdemalion northern horde, which swept down the street a few +Sundays ago, with kilts swinging, bonnets cocked, and Pipes skirling, +as if they were actually returning from a triumphant campaign instead +of only rehearsing for one--well, as I say, the inhabitants had never +seen anything like us in the world before. We achieved a _succès fou_. +In fact, we were quite embarrassed by the attention bestowed upon us. +During our first few parades the audience could with difficulty be +kept off the stage. It was impossible to get the children into school, +or the maids to come in and make the beds. Whenever a small boy spied +an officer, he stood in his way and saluted him. Dogs enlisted in +large numbers, sitting down with an air of pleased expectancy in the +supernumerary rank, and waiting for this new and delightful pastime to +take a fresh turn. When we marched out to our training area, later in +the day, infant schools were decanted on to the road under a beaming +vicar, to utter what we took to be patriotic sounds and wave +handkerchiefs. + +Off duty, we fraternised with the inhabitants. The language was a +difficulty, of course; but a great deal can be done by mutual goodwill +and a few gestures. It would have warmed the heart of a philologist to +note the success with which a couple of kilted heroes from the banks +of Loch Lomond would sidle up to two giggling damosels of Hampshire at +the corner of the High Street, by the post office, and invite them +to come for a walk. Though it was obvious that neither party could +understand a single word that the other was saying, they never failed +to arrive at an understanding; and the quartette, having formed +two-deep, would disappear into a gloaming as black as ink, to inhale +the evening air and take sweet counsel together--at a temperature of +about twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit. + +You ought to see us change guard. A similar ceremony takes place, +we believe, outside Buckingham Palace every morning, and draws a +considerable crowd; but you simply cannot compare it with ours. How +often does the guard at Buckingham Palace fix bayonets? Once! and +the thing is over. It is hardly worth while turning out to see. _We_ +sometimes do it as much as seven or eight times before we get it +right, and even then we only stop because the sergeant-in-charge +is threatened with clergyman's sore throat. The morning Private +Mucklewame fixed his bayonet for the first time, two small boys stayed +away from school all day in order to see him unfix it when he came +off guard in the afternoon. Has any one ever done that at Buckingham +Palace? + +However, as I say, they have got used to us now. We fall in for our +diurnal labours in comparative solitude, usually in heavy rain and +without pomp. We are fairly into the collar by this time. We have been +worked desperately hard for more than four months; we are grunting +doggedly away at our job, not because we like it, but because we know +it is the only thing to do. To march, to dig, to extend, to close; to +practise advance-guards and rear-guards, and pickets, in fair weather +or foul, often with empty stomachs--that is our daily and sometimes +our nightly programme. We are growing more and more efficient, and +our powers of endurance are increasing. But, as already stated, we no +longer go about our task like singing birds. + +It is a quarter to nine in the morning. All down the street doors are +opening, and men appear, tugging at their equipment. (Yes, we are +partially equipped now.) Most of B Company live in this street. They +are fortunate, for only two or three are billeted in each little +house, where they are quite domestic pets by this time. Their +billeting includes "subsistence," which means that they are catered +for by an experienced female instead of a male cooking-class still in +the elementary stages of its art. + +"A" are not so fortunate. They are living in barns or hay-lofts, +sleeping on the floor, eating on the floor, existing on the floor +generally. Their food is cooked (by the earnest band of students +aforementioned) in open-air camp-kitchens; and in this weather it is +sometimes difficult to keep the fires alight, and not always possible +to kindle them. + +"D" are a shade better off. They occupy a large empty mansion at the +end of the street. It does not contain a stick of furniture; but there +are fireplaces (with Adam mantelpieces), and the one thing of which +the War Office never seems to stint us is coal. So "D" are warm, +anyhow. Thirty men live in the drawing-room. Its late tenant would +probably be impressed with its new scheme of upholstery. On the floor, +straw palliasses and gravy. On the walls, "cigarette photties"--by the +way, the children down here call them "fag picters." Across the room +run clothes-lines, bearing steaming garments (and tell it not in +Gath!) an occasional hare skin. + +"C" are billeted in a village two miles away, and we see them but +rarely. + +The rain has ceased for a brief space--it always does about parade +time--and we accordingly fall in. The men are carrying picks and +shovels, and make no attempt to look pleased at the circumstance. They +realise that they are in for a morning's hard digging, and very likely +for an evening's field operations as well. When we began, company +training a few weeks ago, entrenching was rather popular. More than +half of us are miners or tillers of the soil, and the pick and shovel +gave us a home-like sensation. Here was a chance, too, of showing +regular soldiers how a job should be properly accomplished. So we dug +with great enthusiasm. + +But A Company have got over that now. They have developed into +sufficiently old soldiers to have acquired the correct military +attitude towards manual labour. Trench-digging is a "fatigue," to +be classed with, coal-carrying, floor-scrubbing, and other civilian +pursuits. The word "fatigue" is a shibboleth with, the British +private. Persuade him that a task is part of his duty as a soldier, +and he will perform it with tolerable cheerfulness; but once allow +him to regard that task as a "fatigue," and he will shirk it whenever +possible, and regard himself as a deeply injured individual when +called upon to undertake it. Our battalion has now reached a +sufficient state of maturity to be constantly on the _qui vive_ for +cunningly disguised fatigues. The other day, when kilts were issued +for the first time, Private Tosh, gloomily surveying his newly +unveiled extremities, was heard to remark with a sigh-- + +"Anither fatigue! Knees tae wash, noo!" + +Presently Captain Blaikie arrives upon the scene; the senior subaltern +reports all present, and we tramp off through the mud to our training +area. + +We are more or less in possession of our proper equipment now. That +is to say, our wearing apparel and the appurtenances thereof are no +longer held in position with string. The men have belts, pouches, and +slings in which to carry their greatcoats. The greatcoats were the +last to materialise. Since their arrival we have lost in decorative +effect what we have gained in martial appearance. For a month or two +each man wore over his uniform during wet weather--in other words, +all day--a garment which the Army Ordnance Department described +as--"Greatcoat, Civilian, one." An Old Testament writer would have +termed it "a coat of many colours." A tailor would have said that it +was a "superb vicuna raglan sack." You and I would have called it, +quite simply, a reach-me-down. Anyhow, the combined effect was unique. +As we plodded patiently along the road in our tarnished finery, with +our eye-arresting checks and imitation velvet collars, caked with mud +and wrinkled with rain, we looked like nothing so much on earth as +a gang of weighers returning from an unsuccessful day at a suburban +race-meeting. + +But now the khaki-mills have ground out another million yards or +so, and we have regulation greatcoats. Water-bottles, haversacks, +mess-tins, and waterproof sheets have been slowly filtering into our +possession; and whenever we "mobilise," which we do as a rule about +once a fortnight--whether owing to invasion scares or as a test of +efficiency we do not know--we fall in on our alarm-posts in something +distinctly resembling 'the full "Christmas-tree" rig. Sam Browne belts +have been wisely discarded by the officers in favour of web-equipment; +and although Bobby Little's shoulders ache with the weight of his +pack, he is comfortably conscious of two things--firstly, that even +when separated from his baggage he can still subsist in fair +comfort on what he carries upon his person; and secondly, that his +"expectation of life," as the insurance offices say, has increased +about a hundred per cent. now that the German sharpshooters will no +longer be able to pick him out from his men. + +Presently we approach the scene of our day's work, Area Number +Fourteen. We are now far advanced in company training. The barrack +square is a thing of the past. Commands are no longer preceded by +cautions and explanations. A note on a whistle, followed by a brusque +word or gesture, is sufficient to set us smartly on the move. + +Suddenly we are called upon to give a test of our quality. A rotund +figure upon horseback appears at a bend in the road. Captain Blaikie +recognises General Freeman. + +(We may note that the General's name is not really Freeman. We are +much harried by generals at present. They roam about the country on +horseback, and ask company commanders what they are doing; and no +company commander has ever yet succeeded in framing an answer which +sounds in the least degree credible. There are three generals; we call +them Freeman, Hardy, and Willis, because we suspect that they +are all--to judge from their fondness for keeping us on the +run--financially interested in the consumption of shoe-leather. +In other respects they differ, and a wise company commander will +carefully bear their idiosyncrasies in mind and act accordingly, if he +wishes to be regarded as an intelligent officer.) + +Freeman is a man of action. He likes to see people running about. When +he appears upon the horizon whole battalions break into a double. + +Hardy is one of the old school: he likes things done decently and in +order. He worships bright buttons, and exact words of command, and a +perfectly wheeling line. He mistrusts unconventional movements and +individual tactics. "No use trying to run," he says, "before you can +walk." When we see him, we dress the company and advance in review +order. + +Willis gives little trouble. He seldom criticises, but when he does +his criticism is always of a valuable nature; and he is particularly +courteous and helpful to young officers. But, like lesser men, he has +his fads. These are two--feet and cookery. He has been known to call a +private out of the ranks on a route-march and request him to take his +boots off for purposes of public display. "A soldier marches on two +things," he announces--"his feet and his stomach." Then he calls up +another man and asks him if he knows how to make a sea-pie. The man +never does know, which is fortunate, for otherwise General Willis +would not be able to tell him. After that he trots happily away, to +ask some one else. + +However, here we are face to face with General Freeman. Immediate +action is called for. Captain Blaikie flings an order over his +shoulder to the subaltern in command of the leading platoon-- + +"Pass back word that this road is under shell fire. Move!" + +--and rides forward to meet the General. + +In ten seconds the road behind him is absolutely clear, and the men +are streaming out to right and left in half-platoons. Waddell's +platoon has the hardest time, for they were passing a quickset hedge +when the order came. However, they hurl themselves blasphemously +through, and double on, scratched and panting. + +"Good morning, sir!" says Captain Blaikie, saluting. + +"Good morning!" says General Freeman. "What was that last movement?" + +"The men are taking 'artillery' formation, sir. I have just passed the +word down that the road is under shell fire." + +"Quite so. But don't you think you ought to keep some of your company +in rear, as a supporting line? I see you have got them all up on one +front." + +By this time A Company is advancing in its original direction, but +split up into eight half-platoons in single file--four on each side of +the road, at intervals of thirty yards. The movement has been quite +smartly carried out. Still, a critic must criticise or go out of +business. However, Captain Blaikie is an old hand. + +"I was assuming that my company formed part of a battalion, sir," he +explained. "There are supposed to be three other companies in rear of +mine." + +"I see. Still, tell two of your sections to fall back and form a +supporting line." + +Captain Blaikie, remembering that generals have little time for study +of such works as the new drill-book, and that when General Freeman +says "section" he probably means "platoon," orders Numbers Two and +Four to fall back. This manoeuvre is safely accomplished. + +"Now, let me see them close on the road." + +Captain Blaikie blows a whistle, and slaps himself on the top of the +head. In three minutes the long-suffering platoons are back on the +road, extracting thorns from their flesh and assuaging the agony of +their abrasions by clandestine massage. + +General Freeman rides away, and the column moves on. Two minutes later +Captain Wagstaffe doubles up from the rear to announce that General +Hardy is only two hundred yards behind. + +"Pass back word to the men," groans Captain Blaikie, "to march at +attention, put their caps straight, and slope their shovels properly. +And send an orderly to that hilltop to look out for General Willis. +Tell him to unlace his boots when he gets there, and on no account to +admit that he knows how to make a sea-pie!" + + + + +IX + +MID-CHANNEL + + +The Great War has been terribly hard on the text-books. + +When we began to dig trenches, many weeks ago, we always selected a +site with a good field of fire. + +"No good putting your trenches," said the text-book, "where you can't +see the enemy." + +This seemed only common-sense; so we dug our trenches in open plains, +or on the forward slope of a hill, where we could command the enemy's +movements up to two thousand yards. + +Another maxim which we were urged to take to heart was--When not +entrenched, always take advantage of _natural_ cover of any kind; such +as farm buildings, plantations, and railway embankments. + +We were also given practice in describing and recognising +inconspicuous targets at long range, in order to be able to harass the +enemy the moment he showed himself. + +Well, recently generals and staff officers have been coming home +from the front and giving us lectures. We regard most lectures as +a "fatigue"--but not these. We have learned more from these +quiet-mannered, tired-looking men in a brief hour than from all the +manuals that ever came out of Gale and Poldens'. We have heard the +history of the War from the inside. We know why our Army retreated +from Mons; we know what prevented the relief of Antwerp. But above +all, we have learned to revise some of our most cherished theories. + +Briefly, the amended version of the law and the prophets comes to +this:-- + +Never, under any circumstances, place your trenches where you can see +the enemy a long way off. If you do, he will inevitably see you too, +and will shell you out of them in no time. You need not be afraid +of being rushed; a field of fire of two hundred yards or so will be +sufficient to wipe him off the face of the earth. + +Never, under any circumstances, take cover in farm buildings, or +plantations, or behind railway embankments, or in any place likely to +be marked on a large-scale map. Their position and range are known to +a yard. Your safest place is the middle of an open plain or ploughed +field. There it will be more difficult for the enemy's range-takers to +gauge your exact distance. + +In musketry, concentrate all your energies on taking care of your +rifle and practising "rapid." You will seldom have to fire over a +greater distance than two hundred yards; and at that range British +rapid fire is the most dreadful medium of destruction yet devised in +warfare. + +All this scraps a good deal of laboriously acquired learning, but +it rings true. So we site our trenches now according to the lessons +taught us by the bitter experience of others. + +Having arrived at our allotted area, we get to work. The firing-trench +proper is outlined on the turf a hundred yards or so down the reverse +slope of a low hill. When it is finished it will be a mere crack in +the ground, with no front cover to speak of; for that would make it +conspicuous. Number One Platoon gets to work on this. To Number Two +is assigned a more subtle task--namely, the construction of a dummy +trench a comfortable distance ahead, dug out to the depth of a few +inches, to delude inquisitive aeroplanes, and rendered easily visible +to the enemy's observing stations by a parapet of newly-turned earth. +Numbers Three and Four concentrate their energies upon the supporting +trench and its approaches. + +The firing-trench is our place of business--our office in the city, so +to speak. The supporting trench is our suburban residence, whither the +weary toiler may betake himself periodically (or, more correctly, in +relays) for purposes of refreshment and repose. The firing-trench, +like most business premises, is severe in design and destitute of +ornament. But the suburban trench lends itself to more imaginative +treatment. An auctioneer's catalogue would describe it as _A +commodious bijou residence, on_ (or of) _chalky soil; three feet wide +and six feet deep; in the style of the best troglodyte period. Thirty +seconds brisk crawl (or per stretcher) from the firing line. Gas laid +on_-- + +But only once, in a field near Aldershot, where Private Mucklewame +first laid bare, and then perforated, the town main with his pick. + +--_With own water supply_--ankle-deep at times--_telephone, and the +usual offices_. + +We may note that the telephone communicates with the +observing-station, lying well forward, in line with the dummy trench. +The most important of the usual offices is the hospital--a cavern +excavated at the back of the trench, and roofed over with hurdles, +earth, and turf. + +It is hardly necessary to add that we do not possess a real +field-telephone. But when you have spent four months in firing dummy +cartridges, performing bayonet exercises without bayonets, taking +hasty cover from non-existent shell fire, capturing positions held +by no enemy, and enacting the part of a "casualty" without having +received a scratch, telephoning without a telephone is a comparatively +simple operation. All you require is a ball of string and no sense of +humour. Second Lieutenant Waddell manages our telephone. + +Meanwhile we possess our souls in patience. We know that the factories +are humming night and day on our behalf; and that if, upon a certain +day in a certain month, the contractors do not deliver our equipment +down to the last water-bottle cork, "K" will want to know the reason +why; and we cannot imagine any contractor being so foolhardy as to +provoke that terrible man into an inquiring attitude of mind. + +Now we are at work. We almost wish that Freeman, Hardy, and Willis +could see us. Our buttons may occasionally lack lustre; we may cherish +unorthodox notions as to the correct method of presenting arms; we +may not always present an unbroken front on the parade-ground--but we +_can_ dig! Even the fact that we do not want to, cannot altogether +eradicate a truly human desire to "show off." "Each man to his art," +we say. We are quite content to excel in ours, the oldest in the +world. We know enough now about the conditions of the present war to +be aware that when we go out on service only three things will really +count--to march; to dig; and to fire, upon occasion, fifteen rounds +a minute. Our rapid fire is already fair; we can march more than a +little; and if men who have been excavating the bowels of the earth +for eight hours a day ever since they were old enough to swing a pick +cannot make short work of a Hampshire chalk down, they are no true +members of their Trades Union or the First Hundred Thousand. + +We have stuck to the phraseology of our old calling. + +"Whaur's ma drawer?" inquires Private Hogg, a thick-set young man with +bandy legs, wiping his countenance with a much-tattooed arm. He +has just completed five strenuous minutes with a pick. "Come away, +Geordie, wi' yon shovel!" + +The shovel is preceded by an adjective. It is the only adjective that +A Company knows. (No, not that one. The second on the list!) + +Mr. George Ogg steps down into the breach, and sets to work. He is a +small man, strongly resembling the Emperor of China in a third-rate +provincial pantomime. His weapon is the spade. In civil life he would +have shovelled the broken coal into a "hutch," and "hurled" it away to +the shaft. That was why Private Hogg referred to him as a "drawer." In +his military capacity he now removes the chalky soil from the trench +with great dexterity, and builds it up into a neat parapet behind, as +a precaution against the back-blast of a "Black Maria." + +There are not enough, picks and shovels to go round--_cela va sans +dire_. However, Private Mucklewame and others, who are not of the +delving persuasion, exhibit no resentment. Digging is not their +department. If you hand them a pick and shovel and invite them to +set to work, they lay the pick upon the ground beside the trench and +proceed to shovel earth over it until they have lost it. At a later +stage in this great war-game they will fight for these picks and +shovels like wild beasts. Shrapnel is a sure solvent of professional +etiquette. + +However, to-day the pickless squad are lined up a short distance away +by the relentless Captain Wagstaffe, and informed-- + +"You are under fire from that wood. Dig yourselves in!" + +Digging oneself in is another highly unpopular fatigue. First of +all you produce your portable entrenching-tool--it looks like a +combination of a modern tack-hammer and a medieval back-scratcher--and +fit it to its haft. Then you lie flat upon your face on the wet grass, +and having scratched up some small lumps of turf, proceed to build +these into a parapet. Into the hole formed by the excavation of the +turf you then put your head, and in this ostrich-like posture await +further instructions. Private Mucklewame is of opinion that it would +be equally effective, and infinitely less fatiguing, simply to lie +down prone and close the eyes. + +After Captain Wagstaffe has criticised the preliminary parapets--most +of them are condemned as not being bullet-proof--the work is +continued. It is not easy, and never comfortable, to dig lying down; +but we must all learn to do it; so we proceed painfully to construct a +shallow trough for our bodies and an annexe for our boots. Gradually +we sink out of sight, and Captain Wagstaffe, standing fifty yards to +our front, is able to assure us that he can now see nothing--except +Private Mucklewame's lower dorsal curve. + +By this time the rain has returned for good, and the short winter day +is drawing to a gloomy close. It is after three, and we have been +working, with one brief interval, for nearly five hours. The signal is +given to take shelter. We huddle together under the leafless trees, +and get wetter. + +Next comes the order to unroll greatcoats. Five minutes later comes +another--to fall in. Tools are counted; there is the usual maddening +wait while search is made for a missing pick. But at last the final +word of command rings out, and the sodden, leaden-footed procession +sets out on its four-mile tramp home. + +We are not in good spirits. One's frame of mind at all times depends +largely upon what the immediate future has to offer; and, frankly, +we have little to inspire us in that direction at present. When we +joined, four long months ago, there loomed largely and splendidly +before our eyes only two alternatives--victory in battle or death with +honour. We might live, or we might die; but life, while it lasted, +would not lack great moments. In our haste we had overlooked the +long dreary waste which lay--which always lies--between dream and +fulfilment. The glorious splash of patriotic fervour which launched us +on our way has subsided; we have reached mid-channel; and the haven +where we would be is still afar off. The brave future of which we +dreamed in our dour and uncommunicative souls seems as remote as ever, +and the present has settled down into a permanency. + +To-day, for instance, we have tramped a certain number of miles; we +have worked for a certain number of hours; and we have got wet through +for the hundredth time. We are now tramping home to a dinner which +will probably not be ready, because, as yesterday, it has been cooked +in the open air under weeping skies. While waiting for it, we shall +clean the same old rifle. When night falls, we shall sleep uneasily +upon a comfortless floor, in an atmosphere of stale food and damp +humanity. In the morning we shall rise up reluctantly, and go forth, +probably in heavy rain, to our labour until the evening--the same +labour and the same evening. We admit that it can't be helped: the +officers and the authorities do their best for us under discouraging +circumstances: but there it is. Out at the front, we hear, men +actually get as much as three days off at a time--three days of hot +baths and abundant food and dry beds. To us, in our present frame of +mind, that seems worth any number of bullets and frost-bites. + +And--bitterest thought of all--New Year's Day, with all its convivial +associations, is only a few weeks away. When it comes, the folk at +home will celebrate it, doubtless with many a kindly toast to the lads +"oot there," and the lads "doon there." But what will that profit us? +In this barbarous country we understand that they take no notice of +the sacred festival at all. There will probably be a route-march, to +keep us out of the public-houses. + +_Et patiti, et patita_. Are we fed up? YES! + +As we swing down the village street, slightly cheered by a faint aroma +of Irish stew--the cooks have got the fires alight after all--the +adjutant rides up, and reins in his horse beside our company +commander. + +Battalion orders of some kind! Probably a full-dress parade, to trace +a missing bayonet! + +Presently he rides away; and Captain Blaikie, instead of halting and +dismissing us in the street as usual, leads us down an alley into the +backyard which serves as our apology for a parade-ground. We form +close column of platoons, stand at ease, and wait resignedly. + +Then Captain Blaikie's voice falls upon our ears. + +"A Company, I have an announcement to make to you. His Majesty the +King--" + +So that is it. Another Royal Review! Well, it will be a break in the +general monotony. + +"--who has noted your hard work, good discipline, and steady progress +with the keenest satisfaction and pride--" + +We are not utterly forgotten, then. + +"--has commanded that every man in the battalion is to have seven +days' full leave of absence." + +"A-a-ah!" We strain our tingling ears. + +"We are to go by companies, a week at a time. 'C' will go first." + +"C" indeed! Who are "C," to--? + +"A Company's leave--_our_ leave--will begin on the twenty-eighth of +December, and extend to the third of January." + +The staccato words sink slowly in, and then thoughts come tumbling. + +"Free--free on New Year's Day! Almichty! Free to gang hame! Free +tae--" + +Then comes an icy chill upon our hearts. How are we to get home? +Scotland is hundreds of miles away. The fare, even on a "soldier's" +ticket-- + +But the Captain has not quite finished. + +"Every man will receive a week's pay in advance; and his fare, home +and back, will be paid by Government. That is all." + +And quite enough too! We rock upon our squelching feet. But the +Captain adds, without any suspicion of his parade-ground manner-- + +"If I may say so, I think that if ever men deserved a good holiday, +you do. Company, slope arms! Dis-_miss_!" + + * * * * * + +We do not cheer: we are not built that way. But as we stream off to +our Irish stew, the dourest of us says in his heart-- + +"God Save the King!" + + + + +X + +DEEDS OF DARKNESS + + +A moonlit, wintry night. Four hundred men are clumping along the +frost-bound road, under the pleasing illusion that because they are +neither whistling nor talking they are making no noise. + +At the head of the column march Captains Mackintosh and Shand, the +respective commanders of C and D Companies. Occasionally Mackintosh, +the senior, interpolates a remark of a casual or professional nature. +To all these his colleague replies in a low and reproachful whisper. +The pair represent two schools of military thought--a fact of which +their respective subalterns are well aware,--and act accordingly. + +"In preparing troops for active service, you must make the conditions +as _real_ as possible from the very outset," postulates Shand. +"Perform all your exercises just as you would in war. When you dig +trenches, let every man work with his weather-eye open and his rifle +handy, in case of sudden attack. If you go out on night operations +don't advertise your position by stopping to give your men a +recitation. No talking--no smoking--no unnecessary delay or exposure! +Just go straight to your point of deployment, and do what you came out +to do." + +To this Mackintosh replies,-- + +"That's all right for trained troops. But ours aren't half-trained +yet; all our work just now is purely educational. It's no use +expecting a gang of rivet-heaters from Clydebank to form an elaborate +outpost line, just because you whispered a few sweet nothings in the +dark to your leading section of fours! You simply _must_ explain every +step you take, at present." + +But Shand shakes his head. + +"It's not soldierly," he sighs. + +Hence the present one-sided--or apparently one-sided--dialogue. To the +men marching immediately behind, it sounds like something between a +soliloquy and a chat over the telephone. + +Presently Captain Mackintosh announces,-- + +"We might send the scouts ahead now I think." + +Shand gives an inaudible assent. The column is halted, and the scouts +called up. A brief command, and they disappear into the darkness, at +the double. C and D Companies give them five minutes start, and move +on. The road at this point runs past a low mossy wall, surmounted by a +venerable yew hedge, clipped at intervals into the semblance of some +heraldic monster. Beyond the hedge, in the middle distance, looms a +square and stately Georgian mansion, whose lights twinkle hospitably. + +"I think, Shand," suggests Mackintosh with more formality, now that +he is approaching the scene of action, "that we might attack at two +different points, each of us with his own company. What is your +opinion?" + +The officer addressed makes no immediate reply. His gaze is fixed upon +the yew hedge, as if searching for gun positions or vulnerable points. +Presently, however, he turns away, and coming close to Captain +Mackintosh, puts his lips to his left ear. Mackintosh prepares his +intellect for the reception of a pearl of strategy. + +But Captain Shand merely announces, in his regulation whisper,-- + +"Dam pretty girl lives in that house, old man!" + + +II + +Private Peter Dunshie, scout, groping painfully and profanely through +a close-growing wood, paused to unwind a clinging tendril from his +bare knees. As he bent down, his face came into sudden contact with +a cold, wet, prickly bramble-bush, which promptly drew a loving but +excoriating finger across his right cheek. + +He started back, with a muffled exclamation. Instantly there arose at +his very feet the sound as of a motor-engine being wound up, and a +flustered and protesting cock-pheasant hoisted itself tumultuously +clear of the undergrowth and sailed away, shrieking, over the trees. + +Finally, a hare, which had sat cowering in the bracken, hare-like, +when it might have loped away, selected this, the one moment when it +ought to have sat still, to bolt frantically between Peter's bandy +legs and speed away down a long moon-dappled avenue. + +Private Dunshie, a prey to nervous shock, said what naturally rose +to his lips. To be frank, he said it several times. He had spent the +greater part of his life selling evening papers in the streets of +Glasgow: and the profession of journalism, though it breeds many +virtues in its votaries, is entirely useless as a preparation for +conditions either of silence or solitude. Private Dunshie had no +experience of either of these things, and consequently feared them +both. He was acutely afraid. What he understood and appreciated was +Argyle Street on a Saturday night. That was life! That was light! That +was civilisation! As for creeping about in this uncanny wood, filled +with noxious animals and adhesive vegetation--well, Dunshie was +heartily sorry that he had ever volunteered for service as a scout. He +had only done so, of course, because the post seemed to offer certain +relaxations from the austerity of company routine--a little more +freedom of movement, a little less trench-digging, and a minimum of +supervision. He would have been thankful for a supervisor now! + +That evening, when the scouts doubled ahead, Lieutenant Simson had +halted them upon the skirts of a dark, dreich plantation, and said-- + +"A and B Companies represent the enemy. They are beyond that crest, +finishing the trenches which were begun the other day. They intend +to hold these against our attack. Our only chance is to take them by +surprise. As they will probably have thrown out a line of outposts, +you scouts will now scatter and endeavour to get through that line, or +at least obtain exact knowledge of its composition. My belief is that +the enemy will content themselves with placing a piquet on each of the +two roads which run through their position; but it is possible that +they will also post sentry-groups in the wood which lies between. +However, that is what you have to find out. Don't go and get captured. +Move!" + +The scouts silently scattered, and each man set out to pierce his +allotted section of the enemy's position. Private Dunshie, who had +hoped for a road, or at least a cart-track, to follow, found himself, +by the worst of luck, assigned to a portion of the thick belt of wood +which stretched between the two roads. Nature had not intended him +for a pioneer: he was essentially a city man. However, he toiled on, +rending the undergrowth, putting up game, falling over tree-roots, and +generally acting as advertising agent for the approaching attack. + +By way of contrast, two hundred yards to his right, picking his way +with cat-like care and rare enjoyment, was Private M'Snape. He was of +the true scout breed. In the dim and distant days before the call of +the blood had swept him into "K(1)," he had been a Boy Scout of no +mean repute. He was clean in person and courteous in manner. He could +be trusted to deliver a message promptly. He could light a fire in a +high wind with two matches, and provide himself with a meal of sorts +where another would have starved. He could distinguish an oak from an +elm, and was sufficiently familiar with the movements of the heavenly +bodies to be able to find his way across country by night. He was +truthful, and amenable to discipline. In short, he was the embodiment +of a system which in times of peace had served as a text for +innumerable well-meaning but muddle-headed politicians of a certain +type, who made a specialty of keeping the nation upon the alert +against the insidious encroachments of--Heaven help us!--Militarism! + +To-night all M'Snape's soul was set on getting through the enemy's +outpost line, and discovering a way of ingress for the host behind +him. He had no map, but he had the Plough and a fitful moon to guide +him, and he held a clear notion of the disposition of the trenches in +his retentive brain. On his left he could hear the distressing sounds +of Dunshie's dolorous progress; but these were growing fainter. The +reason was that Dunshie, like most persons who follow the line of +least resistance, was walking in a circle. In fact, a few minutes +later his circuitous path brought him out upon the long straight road +which ran up over the hill towards the trenches. + +With a sigh of relief Dunshie stepped out upon the good hard macadam, +and proceeded with the merest show of stealth up the gentle gradient. +But he was not yet at ease. The over-arching trees formed a tunnel in +which his footsteps reverberated uncomfortably. The moon had retired +behind a cloud. Dunshie, gregarious and urban, quaked anew. Reflecting +longingly upon his bright and cosy billet, with the "subsistence" +which was doubtless being prepared against his return, he saw no +occasion to reconsider his opinion that in the country no decent body +should over be called up to go out after dark unaccompanied. At that +moment Dunshie would have bartered his soul for the sight of an +electric tram. + +The darkness grew more intense. Something stirred in the wood beside +him, and his skin tingled. An owl hooted suddenly, and he jumped. +Next, the gross darkness was illuminated by a pale and ghostly +radiance, coming up from behind; and something brushed past +him--something which squeaked and panted. His hair rose upon his +scalp. A friendly "Good-night!" uttered in a strong Hampshire accent +into his left ear, accentuated rather than soothed his terrors. He sat +down suddenly upon a bank by the roadside, and feebly mopped his moist +brow. + +The bicycle, having passed him, wobbled on up the hill, shedding a +fitful ray upon alternate sides of the road. Suddenly--raucous and +stunning, but oh, how sweet!--rang out the voice of Dunshie's lifelong +friend, Private Mucklewame. + +"Halt! Wha goes there!" + +The cyclist made no reply, but kept his devious course. Private +Mucklewame, who liked to do things decently and in order, stepped +heavily out of the hedge into the middle of the road, and repeated his +question in a reproving voice. There was no answer. + +This was most irregular. According to the text of the spirited little +dialogue in which Mucklewame had been recently rehearsed by his piquet +commander, the man on the bicycle ought to have said "Friend!" This +cue received, Mucklewame was prepared to continue. Without it he was +gravelled. He tried once more. + +"Halt! Wha goes--" + +"On His Majesty's Service, my lad!" responded a hearty voice; and the +postman, supplementing this information with a friendly good-night, +wobbled up the hill and disappeared from sight. + +The punctilious Mucklewame was still glaring severely after this +unseemly "gagger," when he became aware of footsteps upon the road. +A pedestrian was plodding up the hill in the wake of the postman. He +would stand no nonsense this time. + +"Halt!" he commanded. "Wha goes there?" + +"Hey, Jock," inquired a husky voice, "is that you?" + +This was another most irregular answer. Declining to be drawn into +impromptu irrelevancies, Mucklewame stuck to his text. + +"Advance yin," he continued, "and give the coontersign, if any!" + +Private Dunshie drew nearer. + +"Jock," he inquired wistfully, "hae ye gotten a fag?" + +"Aye," replied Mucklewame, friendship getting the better of +conscience. + +"Wull ye give a body yin?" + +"Aye. But ye canna smoke on ootpost duty," explained Mucklewame +sternly. "Forbye, the officer has no been roond yet," he added. + +"Onyway," urged Dunshie eagerly, "let nae be your prisoner! Let me +bide with the other boys in here ahint the dyke!" + +The hospitable Mucklewame agreed, and Scout Dunshie, overjoyed at the +prospect of human companionship, promptly climbed over the low wall +and attached himself, in the _rôle_ of languishing captive, to Number +Two Sentry-Group of Number Three Piquet. + + +III + +Meanwhile M'Snape had reached the forward edge of the wood, and was +cautiously reconnoitring the open ground in front of him. The moon +had disappeared altogether now, but M'Snape was able to calculate, by +reason of the misdirected exuberance of the vigilant Mucklewame, the +exact position of the sentry-group on the left-hand road. About the +road on his right he was not so certain; so he set out cautiously +towards it, keeping to the edge of the wood, and pausing every few +yards to listen. There must be a sentry-group somewhere here, he +calculated--say midway between the roads. He must walk warily. + +Easier said than done. At this very moment a twig snapped beneath his +foot with a noise like a pistol-shot, and a covey of partridges, lying +out upon the stubble beside him, made an indignant evacuation of their +bedroom. The mishap seemed fatal: M'Snape stood like a stone. But no +alarm followed, and presently all was still again--so still, indeed, +that presently, out on the right, two hundred yards away, M'Snape +heard a man cough and then spit. Another sentry was located! + +Having decided that there was no sentry-group between the two roads, +M'Snape turned his back upon the wood and proceeded cautiously +forward. He was not quite satisfied in his mind about things. He knew +that Captain Wagstaffe was in command of this section of the defence. +He cherished a wholesome respect for that efficient officer, and +doubted very much if he would really leave so much of his front +entirely unguarded. + +Next moment the solution of the puzzle was in his very hand--in the +form of a stout cord stretching from right to left. He was just in +time to avoid tripping over it. It was suspended about six inches +above the ground. + +You cannot follow a clue in two directions at once; so after a little +consideration M'Snape turned and crawled along to his right, being +careful to avoid touching the cord. Presently a black mass loomed +before him, acting apparently as terminus to the cord. Lying flat on +his stomach, in order to get as much as possible of this obstacle +between his eyes and the sky, M'Snape was presently able to descry, +plainly silhouetted against the starry landscape, the profile of one +Bain, a scout of A Company, leaning comfortably against a small bush, +and presumably holding the end of the cord in his hand. + +M'Snape wriggled silently away, and paused to reflect. Then he began +to creep forward once more. + +Having covered fifty yards, he turned to his right again, and +presently found himself exactly between Bain and the trenches. As he +expected, his hand now descended upon another cord, lying loosely on +the ground, and running at right angles to the first. Plainly Bain +was holding one end of this, and some one in the trenches--Captain +Wagstaffe himself, as like as not--was holding the other. If an enemy +stumbled over the trip-cord, Bain would warn the defence by twitching +the alarm-cord. + +Five minutes later M'Snape was back at the rendezvous, describing to +Simson what he had seen. That wise subaltern promptly conducted him to +Captain Mackintosh, who was waiting with his Company for something +to go upon. Shand had departed with his own following to make an +independent attack on the right flank. Seven of the twelve scouts were +there. Of the missing, Dunshie, as we know, was sunning his lonely +soul in the society of his foes; two had lost themselves, and the +remaining two had been captured by a reconnoitring patrol. Of the +seven which strayed not, four had discovered the trip-cord; so it was +evident that that ingenious contrivance extended along the whole line. +Only M'Snape, however, had penetrated farther. The general report was +that the position was closely guarded from end to end. + +"You say you found a cord running back from Bain to the trenches, +M'Snape," asked Captain Mackintosh, "and a sentry holding on to it?" + +"Yess, sirr," replied the scout, standing stiffly to attention in the +dark. + +"If we could creep out of the wood and rush _him_, we might be able to +slip our attack in at that point," said the Captain. "You say there is +cover to within twenty yards of where he is sitting?" + +"Yes, sirr." + +"Still, I'm afraid he'll pull that cord a bit too soon for us." + +"He'll no, sirr," remarked M'Snape confidently. + +"Why not?" asked the Captain. + +M'Snape told him. + +Captain Mackintosh surveyed the small wizened figure before him almost +affectionately. + +"M'Snape," he said, "to-morrow I shall send in your name for +lance-corporal!" + + +IV + +The defenders were ready. The trenches were finished: "A" and "B" had +adjusted their elbow-rests to their liking, and blank ammunition had +been served out. Orders upon the subject of firing were strict. + +"We won't loose off a single shot until we actually _see_ you," +Captain Blaikie had said to Captain Mackintosh. "That will teach your +men to crawl upon their little tummies, and ours to keep their eyes +skinned." + +(Captain Wagstaffe's string alarm had been an afterthought. At least, +it was not mentioned to the commander of the attack.) + +Orders were given that the men were to take things easily for half an +hour or so, as the attack could not possibly be developed within that +time. The officers established themselves in a splinter-proof shelter +at the back of the supporting trench, and partook of provender from +their haversacks. + +"I don't suppose they'll attack much before nine," said the voice of +a stout major named Kemp. "My word, it is dark in here! _And_ dull! +Curse the Kaiser!" + +"I don't know," said Wagstaffe thoughtfully. "War is hell, and all +that, but it has a good deal to recommend it. It wipes out all the +small nuisances of peace-time." + +"Such as--!" + +"Well, Suffragettes, and Futurism, and--and--" + +"Bernard Shaw," suggested another voice. "Hall Caine--" + +"Yes, and the Tango, and party politics, and golf-maniacs. Life and +Death, and the things that really are big, get viewed in their proper +perspective for once in a way." + +"And look how the War has bucked up the nation," said Bobby Little, +all on fire at once. "Look at the way girls have given up fussing over +clothes and things, and taken to nursing." + +"My poor young friend," said the voice of the middle-aged Kemp, "tell +me honestly, would you like to be attended to by some of the young +women who have recently taken up the nursing profession?" + +"Rather!" said Bobby, with thoughtless fervour. + +"I didn't say _one_," Kemp pointed out, amid laughter, "but _some_. +Of course we all know of one. Even I do. It's the rule, not the +exception, that we are dealing with just now." + +Bobby, realising that he had been unfairly surprised in a secret, felt +glad that the darkness covered his blushes. + +"Well, take my tip," continued Kemp, "and avoid amateur ministering +angels, my son. I studied the species in South Africa. For twenty-four +hours they nurse you to death, and after that they leave you to perish +of starvation. Women in war-time are best left at home." + +A youthful paladin in the gloom timidly mentioned the name of Florence +Nightingale. + +"One Nightingale doesn't make a base hospital," replied Kemp. "I +take off my hat--we all do--to women who are willing to undergo the +drudgery and discomfort which hospital training involves. But I'm +not talking about Florence Nightingales. The young person whom I am +referring to is just intelligent enough to understand that the only +possible thing to do this season is to nurse. She qualifies herself +for her new profession by dressing up like one of the chorus of +'The Quaker Girl,' and getting her portrait, thus attired, into the +'Tatler.' Having achieved this, she has graduated. She then proceeds +to invade any hospital that is available, where she flirts with +everything in pyjamas, and freezes you with a look if you ask her to +empty a basin or change your sheets. I know her! I've had some, and I +know her! She is one of the minor horrors of war. In peace-time she +goes out on Alexandra Day, and stands on the steps of men's clubs and +pesters the members to let her put a rose in their button-holes. What +such a girl wants is a good old-fashioned mother who knows how to put +a slipper to its right use!" + +"I don't think," observed Wagstaffe, since Kemp had apparently +concluded his philippic, "that young girls are the only people who +lose their heads. Consider all the poisonous young blighters that one +sees about town just now. Their uplift is enormous, and their manners +in public horrid; and they hardly know enough about their new job to +stand at attention when they hear 'God Save the King.' In fact, they +deserve to be nursed by your little friends, Bobby!" + +"They are all that you say," conceded Kemp. "But after all, they do +have a fairly stiff time of it on duty, and they are going to have a +much stiffer time later on. And they are not going to back out when +the romance of the new uniform wears off, remember. Now these girls +will play the angel-of-mercy game for a week or two, and then jack up +and confine their efforts to getting hold of a wounded officer and +taking him to the theatre. It is _dernier cri_ to take a wounded +officer about with you at present. Wounded officers have quite +superseded Pekinese, I am told." + +"Women certainly are the most extraordinary creatures," mused Ayling, +a platoon commander of "B." "In private life I am a beak at a public +school--" + +"What school?" inquired several voices. Ayling gave the name, found +that there were two of the school's old boys present, and continued-- + +"Just as I was leaving to join this battalion, the Head received +a letter from a boy's mother intimating that she was obliged to +withdraw her son, as he had received a commission in the army for the +duration of the war. She wanted to know if the Head would keep her +son's place open for him until he came back! What do you think of +that?" + +"Sense of proportion wasn't invented when women were made," commented +Kemp. "But we are wandering from the subject, which is: what +advantages are we, personally, deriving from the war? Wagger, what are +you getting out of it?" + +"Half-a-crown a day extra pay as Assistant Adjutant," replied +Wagstaffe laconically. "Ainslie, wake up and tell us what the war +has done for you, since you abandoned the Stock Exchange and took to +foot-slogging." + +"Certainly," replied Ainslie. "A year ago I spent my days trying to +digest my food, and my nights trying to sleep. I was not at all +successful in either enterprise. I can now sit down to a supper of +roast pork and bottled stout, go to bed directly afterwards, sleep all +night, and wake up in the morning without thinking unkind things +of anybody--not even my relations-in-law! Bless the Kaiser, say I! +Borrodaile, what about you? Any complaints?" + +"Thank you," replied Borrodaile's dry voice; "there are no complaints. +In civil life I am what is known as a 'prospective candidate.' For +several years I have been exercising this, the only, method of +advertising permitted to a barrister, by nursing a constituency. That +is, I go down to the country once a week, and there reduce myself to +speechlessness soliciting the votes of the people who put my opponent +in twenty years ago, and will keep him in by a two thousand majority +as long as he cares to stand. I have been at it five years, but so far +the old gentleman has never so much as betrayed any knowledge of my +existence." + +"That must be rather galling," said Wagstaffe. + +"Ah! but listen! Of course party politics have now been merged in the +common cause--see local organs, _passim_--and both sides are working +shoulder to shoulder for the maintenance of our national existence." + +"_Applause!_" murmured Kemp. + +"That is to say," continued Borrodaile with calm relish, "my opponent, +whose strong suit for the last twenty years has been to cry down the +horrors of militarism, and the madness of national service, and the +unwieldy size of the British Empire, is now compelled to spend his +evenings taking the chair at mass meetings for the encouragement of +recruiting. I believe the way in which he eats up his own previous +utterances on the subject is quite superb. On these occasions I always +send him a telegram, containing a kindly pat on the back for him and +a sort of semi-official message for the audience. He has to read this +out on the platform!" + +"What sort of message?" asked a delighted voice. + +"Oh--_Send along some more of our boys. Lord Kitchener says there +are none to touch them. Borrodaile, Bruce and Wallace Highlanders_. +Or--_All success to the meeting, and best thanks to you personally for +carrying on in my absence. Borrodaile, Bruce and Wallace Highlanders_. +I have a lot of quiet fun," said Borrodaile meditatively, "composing +those telegrams. I rather fancy"--he examined the luminous watch on +his wrist--"it's five minutes past eight: I rather fancy the old thing +is reading one now!" + +The prospective candidate leaned back against the damp wall of the +dug-out with a happy sigh. "What have you got out of the war, Ayling?" +he inquired. + +"Change," said Ayling. + +"For better or worse?" + +"If you had spent seven years in a big public school," said Ayling, +"teaching exactly the same thing, at exactly the same hour, to exactly +the same kind of boy, for weeks on end, what sort of change would you +welcome most?" + +"Death," said several voices. + +"Nothing of the kind!" said Ayling warmly. "It's a great life, if you +are cut out for it. But there is no doubt that the regularity of the +hours, and the absolute certainty of the future, make a man a bit +groovy. Now in this life we are living we have to do lots of dull or +unpleasant things, but they are never quite the same things. They +are progressive, and not circular, if you know what I mean; and the +immediate future is absolutely unknown, which is an untold blessing. +What about you, Sketchley?" + +A fat voice replied-- + +"War is good for adipose Special Reservists. I have decreased four +inches round the waist since October. Next?" + +So the talk ran on. Young Lochgair, heir to untold acres in the far +north and master of unlimited pocket-money, admitted frankly that the +sum of eight-and-sixpence per day, which he was now earning by the +sweat of his brow and the expenditure of shoe-leather, was sweeter to +him than honey in the honeycomb. Hattrick, who had recently put up a +plate in Harley Street, said it was good to be earning a living wage +at last. Mr. Waddell, pressed to say a few words of encouragement of +the present campaign, delivered himself of a guarded but illuminating +eulogy of war as a cure for indecision of mind; from which, coupled +with a coy reference to "some one" in distant St. Andrews, the company +were enabled to gather that Mr. Waddell had carried a position with +his new sword which had proved impregnable to civilian assault. + +Only Bobby Little was silent. In all this genial symposium there had +been no word of the spur which was inciting him--and doubtless the +others--along the present weary and monotonous path; and on the whole +he was glad that it should be so. None of us care to talk, even +privately, about the Dream of Honour and the Hope of Glory. The only +difference between Bobby and the others was that while they could +cover up their aspirations with a jest, Bobby must say all that was in +his heart, or keep silent. So he held his peace. + +A tall figure loomed against the starlit sky, and Captain Wagstaffe, +who had been out in the trench, spoke quickly to Major Kemp:-- + +"I think we had better get to our places, sir. Some criminal has cut +my alarm-cord!" + + +V + +Five minutes previously, Private Bain, lulled to a sense of false +security by the stillness of the night, had opened his eyes, which had +been closed for purposes of philosophic reflection, to find himself +surrounded by four ghostly figures in greatcoats. With creditable +presence of mind he jerked his alarm-cord. But, alas! the cord came +with his hand. + +He was now a prisoner, and his place in the scout-line was being used +as a point of deployment for the attacking force. + +"We're extended right along the line now," said Captain Mackintosh +to Simson. "I can't wait any longer for Shand: he has probably lost +himself. The sentries are all behind us. Pass the word along to crawl +forward. Every man to keep as low as he can, and dress by the right. +No one to charge unless he hears my whistle, or is fired on." + +The whispered word--Captain Mackintosh knows when to whisper quite as +well as Captain Shand--runs down the line, and presently we begin to +creep forward, stooping low. Sometimes we halt; sometimes we swing +back a little; but on the whole we progress. Once there is a sudden +exclamation. A highly-strung youth, crouching in a field drain, has +laid his hand upon what looks and feels like a clammy human face, +lying recumbent and staring heavenward. Too late, he recognises a +derelict scarecrow with a turnip head. Again, there is a pause while +the extreme right of the line negotiates an unexpected barbed-wire +fence. Still, we move on, with enormous caution. We are not certain +where the trenches are, but they must be near. At any moment a +crackling volley may leap out upon us. Pulses begin to beat. + +In the trench itself eyes are strained and ears cocked. It is an eerie +sensation to know that men are near you, and creeping nearer, yet +remain inaudible and invisible. It is a very dark night. The moon +appears to have gone to bed for good, and the stars are mostly +covered. Men unconsciously endeavour to fan the darkness away with +their hands, like mist. The broken ground in front, with the black +woods beyond, might be concealing an army corps for all the watchers +in the trenches can tell. Far away to the south a bright finger of +light occasionally stabs the murky heavens. It is the searchlight of +a British cruiser, keeping ceaseless vigil in the English Channel, +fifteen miles away. If she were not there we should not be +making-believe here with such comfortable deliberation. It would be +the real thing. + +Bobby Little, who by this time can almost discern spiked German +helmets in the gloom, stands tingling. On either side of him are +ranged the men of his platoon--some eager, some sleepy, but all +silent. For the first time he notices that in the distant woods ahead +of him there is a small break--a mere gap--through which one or two +stars are twinkling. If only he could contrive to get a line of sight +direct to that patch of sky-- + +He moves a few yards along the trench, and brings his eye to the +ground-level. No good: a bush intervenes, fifteen yards away. He moves +further and tries again. + +Suddenly, for a brief moment, against the dimly illuminated scrap +of horizon, he descries a human form, clad in a kilt, advancing +stealthily.... + +"_Number one Platoon_--_at the enemy in front_--_rapid fire_!" + +He is just in time. There comes an overwrought roar of musketry all +down the line of trenches. Simultaneously, a solid wall of men rises +out of the earth not fifty yards away, and makes for the trenches with +a long-drawn battle yell. + +Make-believe has its thrills as well as the genuine article. + +And so home to bed. M'Snape duly became a lance-corporal, while +Dunshie resigned his post as a scout and returned to duty with the +company. + + + + +XI + +OLYMPUS + + +Under this designation it is convenient to lump the whole heavenly +host which at present orders our goings and shapes our ends. It +includes-- + +(1) The War Office; + +(2) The Treasury; + +(3) The Army Ordnance Office; + +(4) Our Divisional Office; + +--and other more local and immediate homes of mystery. + +The Olympus which controls the destinies of "K(1)" differs in many +respects from the Olympus of antiquity, but its celestial inhabitants +appear to have at least two points in common with the original +body--namely, a childish delight in upsetting one another's +arrangements, and an untimely sense of humour when dealing with +mortals. + +So far as our researches have gone, we have been able to classify +Olympus, roughly, into three departments-- + +(1) Round Game Department (including Dockets, Indents, and all +official correspondence). + +(2) Fairy Godmother Department. + +(3) Practical Joke Department. + +The outstanding feature of the Round Game Department is its craving +for irrelevant information and its passion for detail. "Open your +hearts to us," say the officials of the Department; "unburden your +souls; keep nothing from us--and you will find us most accommodating. +But stand on your dignity; decline to particularise; hold back one +irrelevant detail--and it will go hard with you! Listen, and we +will explain the rules of the game. Think of something you want +immediately--say the command of a brigade, or a couple of washers for +the lock of a machine-gun--and apply to us. The application must be +made in writing, upon the Army Form provided for the purpose, and in +triplicate. _And_--you must put in all the details you can possibly +think of." + +For instance, in the case of the machine-gun washers--by the way, in +applying for them, you must call them _Gun, Machine, Light Vickers, +Washers for lock of, two_. That is the way we always talk at the +Ordnance Office. An Ordnance officer refers to his wife's mother as +_Law, Mother-in-, one_--you should state when the old washers were +lost, and by whom; also why they were lost, and where they are now. +Then write a short history of the machine-gun from which they were +lost, giving date and place of birth, together with, a statement of +the exact number of rounds which it has fired--a machine-gun fires +about five hundred rounds a minute--adding the name and military +record of the pack-animal which usually carries it. When you have +filled up this document you forward it to the proper quarter and await +results. + +The game then proceeds on simple and automatic lines. If your +application is referred back to you not more than five times, and if +you get your washers within three months of the date of application, +you are the winner. If you get something else instead--say an +aeroplane, or a hundred wash-hand basins--it is a draw. But the +chances are that you lose. + +Consider. By the rules of the game, if Olympus can think of a single +detail which has not been thought of by you--for instance, if you omit +to mention that the lost washers were circular in shape and had holes +through the middle--you are _ipso facto_ disqualified, under Rule +One. Rule Two, also, is liable to trip you up. Possibly you may have +written the pack-mule's name in small block capitals, instead of +ordinary italics underlined in red ink, or put the date in Roman +figures instead of Arabic numerals. If you do this, your application +is referred back to you, and you lose a life. And even if you survive +Rules One and Two, Rule Three will probably get you in the end. Under +its provision your application must be framed in such language and +addressed in such a manner that it passes through every department and +sub-department of Olympus before it reaches the right one. The rule +has its origin in the principle which governs the passing of wine at +well-regulated British dinner-tables. That is, if you wish to offer a +glass of port to your neighbour on your right, you hand the decanter +to the neighbour on your left, so that the original object of your +hospitality receives it, probably empty, only after a complete circuit +of the table. In the present instance, the gentleman upon your right +is the President of the Washer Department, situated somewhere in the +Army Ordnance Office, the remaining guests representing the other +centres of Olympian activity. For every department your +application misses, you lose a life, three lost lives amounting to +disqualification. + +When the washers are issued, however, the port-wine rule is abandoned; +and the washers are despatched to you, in defiance of all the laws of +superstition and tradition, "widdershins," or counter-clockwise. +No wonder articles thus jeopardised often fail to reach their +destination! + +Your last fence comes when you receive a document from Olympus +announcing that your washers are now prepared for you, and that if you +will sign and return the enclosed receipt they will be sent off upon +their last journey. You are now in the worst dilemma of all. Olympus +will not disgorge your washers until it has your receipt. On the other +hand, if you send the receipt, Olympus can always win the game by +losing the washers, and saying that _you_ have got them. In the face +of your own receipt you cannot very well deny this. So you lose +your washers, and the game, and are also made liable for the +misappropriation of two washers, for which Olympus holds your receipt. + +Truly, the gods play with loaded dice. + +On the whole, the simplest (and almost universal) plan is to convey a +couple of washers from some one else's gun. + +The game just described is played chiefly by officers; but this is a +democratic age, and the rank and file are now occasionally permitted +to take part. + +For example, boots. Private M'Splae is the possessor, we will say, +of a pair of flat feet, or arched insteps, or other military +incommodities, and his regulation boots do not fit him. More than +that, they hurt him exceedingly, and as he is compelled to wear them +through daily marches of several miles, they gradually wear a hole in +his heel, or a groove in his instep, or a gathering on his great toe. +So he makes the first move in the game, and reports sick--"sair feet." + +The Medical Officer, a terribly efficient individual, +keenly--sometimes too keenly--alert for signs of malingering, takes a +cursory glance at M'Splae's feet, and directs the patient's attention +to the healing properties of soap and water. M'Splae departs, +grumbling, and reappears on sick parade a few days later, palpably +worse. This time, the M.O. being a little less pressed with +work, M'Splae is given a dressing for his feet, coupled with a +recommendation to procure a new pair of boots without delay. If +M'Splae is a novice in regimental diplomacy, he will thereupon address +himself to his platoon sergeant, who will consign him, eloquently, to +a destination where only boots with asbestos soles will be of any use. +If he is an old hand, he will simply cut his next parade, and will +thus, rather ingeniously, obtain access to his company commander, +being brought up before him at orderly-room next morning as a +defaulter. To his captain he explains, with simple dignity, that he +absented himself from parade because he found himself unable to "rise +up" from his bed. He then endeavours, by hurriedly unlacing his boots, +to produce his feet as evidence; but is frustrated, and awarded three +extra fatigues for not formally reporting himself sick to the orderly +sergeant. The real point of issue, namely, the unsuitability of +M'Splae's boots, again escapes attention. + +There the matter rests until, a few days later, M'Splae falls out on +a long regimental route-march, and hobbles home, chaperoned by a not +ungrateful lance-corporal, in a state of semi-collapse. This time the +M.O. reports to the captain that Private M'Splae will be unfit for +further duty until he is provided with a proper pair of boots. Are +there no boots in the quartermaster's store? + +The captain explains that there are plenty of boots, but that under +the rules of the present round game no one has any power to issue +them. (This rule was put in to prevent the game from becoming too +easy, like the spot-barred rule in billiards.) It is a fact well known +to Olympus that no regimental officer can be trusted with boots. Not +even the colonel can gain access to the regimental boot store. For all +Olympus can tell, he might draw a pair of boots and wear them himself, +or dress his children up in them, or bribe the brigadier with them, +instead of issuing them to Private M'Splae. No, Olympus thinks it +wiser not to put temptation in the way of underpaid officers. So the +boots remain locked up, and the taxpayer is protected. + +But to be just, there is always a solution to an Olympian enigma, if +you have the patience to go on looking for it. In this case the proper +proceeding is for all concerned, including the prostrate M'Splae, to +wait patiently for a Board to sit. No date is assigned for this event, +but it is bound to occur sooner or later, like a railway accident or +an eclipse of the moon. So one day, out of a cloudless sky, a Board +materialises, and sits on M'Splae's boots. If M'Splae's company +commander happens to be president of the Board the boots are +condemned, and the portals of the quarter-master's store swing open +for a brief moment to emit a new pair. + +When M'Splae comes out of hospital, the boots, provided no one has +appropriated them during the term, of his indisposition, are his. He +puts them on, to find that they pinch him in the same place as the old +pair. + + * * * * * + +Then there is the Fairy Godmother Department, which supplies us with +unexpected treats. It is the smallest department on Olympus, and, like +most philanthropic institutions, is rather unaccountable in the manner +in which it distributes its favours. It is somewhat hampered in its +efforts, too, by the Practical Joke Department, which appears to +exercise a sort of general right of interference all over Olympus. For +instance, the Fairy Godmother Department decrees that officers from +Indian regiments, who were home on leave when the War broke out and +were commandeered for service with the Expeditionary Force, shall +continue to draw pay on the Indian scale, which is considerably higher +than that which prevails at home. So far, so good. But the Practical +Joke Department hears of this, and scents an opportunity, in the form +of "deductions." It promptly bleeds the beneficiaire of certain sums +per day, for quarters, horse allowance, forage, and the like. It is +credibly reported that one of these warriors, on emerging from a +week's purgatory in a Belgian trench, found that his accommodation +therein had been charged against him, under the head of "lodgings," at +the rate of two shillings and threepence a night! + +But sometimes the Fairy Godmother Department gets a free hand. Like +a benevolent maiden aunt, she unexpectedly drops a twenty-pound note +into your account at Cox's Bank, murmuring something vague about +"additional outfit allowance"; and as Mr. Cox makes a point of backing +her up in her little secret, you receive a delightful surprise next +time you open your pass-book. + +She has the family instinct for detail, too, this Fairy Godmother. +Perhaps the electric light in your bedroom fails, and for three days +you have to sit in the dark or purchase candles. An invisible but +observant little cherub notes this fact; and long afterwards a postal +order for tenpence flutters down upon you from Olympus, marked "light +allowance." Once Bobby Little received a mysterious postal order for +one-and-fivepence. It was in the early days of his novitiate, before +he had ceased to question the workings of Providence. So he made +inquiries, and after prolonged investigation discovered the source of +the windfall. On field service an officer is entitled to a certain +sum per day as "field allowance." In barracks, however, possessing a +bedroom and other indoor comforts, he receives no such gratuity. Now +Bobby had once been compelled to share his room for a few nights +with a newly-joined and homeless subaltern. He was thus temporarily +rendered the owner of only half a bedroom. Or, to put it another way, +only half of him was able to sleep in barracks. Obviously, then, the +other half was on field service, and Bobby was therefore entitled to +half field allowance. Hence the one-and-fivepence. I tell you, little +escapes them on Olympus. So does much, but that is another story. + + * * * * * + +Last of all comes the Practical Joke Department. It covers practically +all of one side of Olympus--the shady side. + +The jokes usually take the form of an order, followed by a +counter-order. For example-- + +In his magisterial days Ayling, of whom we have previously heard, was +detailed by his Headmaster to undertake the organisation of a school +corps to serve as a unit of the Officers' Training Corps--then one of +the spoilt bantlings of the War Office. Being a vigorous and efficient +young man, Ayling devoted four weeks of his summer holiday to a course +of training with a battalion of regulars at Aldershot. During that +period, as the prospective commander of a company, he was granted the +pay and provisional rank of captain, which all will admit was handsome +enough treatment. Three months later, when after superhuman struggles +he had pounded his youthful legionaries into something like +efficiency, his appointment to a commission was duly confirmed, and he +found himself gazetted--Second Lieutenant. In addition to this, he was +required to refund to the Practical Joke Department the difference +between second lieutenant's pay and the captain's pay which he had +received during his month's training at Aldershot! + +But in these strenuous days the Department has no time for baiting +individuals. It has two or three millions of men to sharpen its wit +upon. Its favourite pastime at present is a sort of giant's game of +chess, the fair face of England serving as board, and the various +units of the K. armies as pieces. The object of the players is to get +each piece through as many squares as possible in a given time, it +being clearly understood that no move shall count unless another piece +is evicted in the process. For instance, we, the _x_th Brigade of the +_y_th Division, are suddenly uprooted from billets at A and planted +down in barracks at B, displacing the _p_th Brigade of the _q_th +Division in the operation. We have barely cleaned up after the +_p_th--an Augean task--and officers have just concluded messing, +furnishing, and laundry arrangements with the local _banditti_, when +the Practical Joke Department, with its tongue in its cheek, bids us +prepare to go under canvas at C. Married officers hurriedly despatch +advance parties, composed of their wives, to secure houses or lodgings +in the bleak and inhospitable environs of their new station; while +a rapidly ageing Mess President concludes yet another demoralising +bargain with a ruthless and omnipotent caterer. Then--this is the +cream of the joke--the day before we expect to move, the Practical +Joke Department puts out a playful hand and sweeps us all into some +half-completed huts at D, somewhere at the other end of the Ordnance +map, and leaves us there, with a happy chuckle, to sink or swim in an +Atlantic of mud. + +So far as one is able to follow the scoring of the game, some of +the squares in the chessboard are of higher value than others. For +instance, if you are dumped down into comparatively modern barracks +at Aldershot, which, although they contain no furniture, are at least +weatherproof and within reach of shops, the Practical Joke Department +scores one point. Barracks condemned as unsafe and insanitary before +the war, but now reckoned highly eligible, count three points; +rat-ridden billets count five. But if you can manoeuvre your helpless +pawns into Mudsplosh Camp, you receive ten whole points, with a bonus +of two points thrown in if you can effect the move without previous +notice of any kind. + +We are in Mudsplosh Camp to-day. In transferring us here the +Department secured full points, including bonus. + +Let it not be supposed, however, that we are decrying our present +quarters. Mudsplosh Camp is--or is going to be--a nobly planned and +admirably equipped military centre. At present it consists of some +three hundred wooden huts, in all stages of construction, covering +about twenty acres of high moorland. The huts are heated with stoves, +and will be delightfully warm when we get some coal. They are lit +by--or rather wired for--electric light. Meanwhile a candle-end does +well enough for a room only a hundred feet long. There are numerous +other adjuncts to our comfort--wash-houses, for instance. These will +be invaluable, when the water is laid on. For the present, there is a +capital standpipe not a hundred yards away; and all you have to do, if +you want an invigorating scrub, is to wait your turn for one of the +two tin basins supplied to each fifty men, and then splash to your +heart's content. There is a spacious dining-hall; and as soon as the +roof is on, our successors, or their successors, will make merry +therein. Meanwhile, there are worse places to eat one's dinner than +the floor--the mud outside, for instance. + +The stables are lofty and well ventilated. At least, we are sure +they will be. Pending their completion the horses and mules are very +comfortable, picketed on the edge of the moor.... After all, there are +only sixty of them; and most of them have rugs; and it can't possibly +go on snowing for ever. + +The only other architectural feature of the camp is the steriliser, +which has been working night and day ever since we arrived. No, it +does not sterilise water or milk, or anything of that kind--only +blankets. Those men standing in a _queue_ at its door are carrying +their bedding. (Yes, quite so. When blankets are passed from regiment +to regiment for months on end, in a camp where opportunities for +ablution are not lavish, these little things will happen.) + +You put the blankets in at one end of the steriliser, turn the +necessary handles, and wait. In due course the blankets emerge, +steamed, dried, and thoroughly purged. At least, that is the idea. But +listen to Privates Ogg and Hogg, in one of their celebrated cross-talk +duologues. + +_Ogg (examining his blanket)_. "They're a' there yet. See!" + +_Hogg (an optimist)_. "Aye; but they must have gotten an awfu' +fricht!" + +But then people like Ogg are never satisfied with anything. + +However, _the_ feature of this camp is the mud. That is why it +counts ten points. There was no mud, of course, before the camp was +constructed--only dry turf, and wild yellow gorse, and fragrant +heather. But the Practical Joke Department were not to be discouraged +by the superficial beauties of nature. They knew that if you crowd +a large number of human dwellings close together, and refrain from +constructing any roads or drains as a preliminary, and fill these +buildings with troops in the rainy season, you will soon have as much +mud as ever you require. And they were quite right. The depth varies +from a few inches to about a foot. On the outskirts of the camp, +however, especially by the horse lines or going through a gate, you +may find yourself up to your knees. But, after all, what is mud! Most +of the officers have gum-boots, and the men will probably get used to +it. Life in K(1) is largely composed of getting used to things. + +In the more exclusive and fashionable districts--round about +the Orderly-room, and the Canteen, and the Guard-room--elevated +"duck-walks" are laid down, along which we delicately pick our way. +It would warm the heart of a democrat to observe the ready--nay, +hasty--courtesy with which an officer, on meeting a private carrying +two overflowing buckets of kitchen refuse, steps down into the mud to +let his humble brother-in-arms pass. Where there are no duck-walks, we +employ planks laid across the mud. In comparatively dry weather these +planks lie some two or three inches below the mud, and much innocent +amusement may be derived from trying to locate them. In wet weather, +however, the planks float to the surface, and then of course +everything is plain sailing. When it snows, we feel for the planks +with our feet. If we find them we perform an involuntary and +unpremeditated ski-ing act: if we fail, we wade to our quarters +through a sort of neapolitan ice--snow on the top, mud underneath. + +Our parade-ground is a mud-flat in front of the huts. Here we take our +stand each morning, sinking steadily deeper until the order is given +to move off. Then the battalion extricates itself with one tremendous +squelch, and we proceed to the labours of the day. + +Seriously, though--supposing the commanding officer were to be delayed +one morning at orderly-room, and were to ride on to the parade-ground +twenty minutes late, what would he find? Nothing! Nothing but a great +_parterre_ of glengarries, perched upon the mud in long parallel rows, +each glengarry flanked on the left-hand side by the muzzle of a rifle +at the slope. (That detached patch over there on the left front, +surrounded by air-bubbles, is the band. That cavity like the crater +of an extinct volcano, in Number one Platoon of A Company, was once +Private Mucklewame.) + +And yet people talk about the sinking of the _Birkenhead!_ + + * * * * * + +This morning some one in the Department has scored another ten points. +Word has just been received that we are to move again to-morrow--to a +precisely similar set of huts about a hundred yards away! + +They are mad wags on Olympus. + + + + +XII + +AND SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE + + +"_Firing parrty, revairse arrms_!" + +Thus the platoon sergeant--a little anxiously; for we are new to this +feat, and only rehearsed it for a few minutes this morning. + +It is a sunny afternoon in late February. The winter of our discontent +is past. (At least, we hope so.) Comfortless months of training are +safely behind us, and lo! we have grown from a fortuitous concourse of +atoms to a cohesive unit of fighting men. Spring is coming; spring is +coming; our blood runs quicker; active service is within measurable +distance; and the future beckons to us with both hands to step down +at last into the arena, and try our fortune amid the uncertain but +illimitable chances of the greatest game in the World. + +To all of us, that is, save one. + +The road running up the hill from the little mortuary is lined on +either side by members of our company, specklessly turned out and +standing to attention. At the foot of the slope a gun-carriage is +waiting, drawn by two great dray horses and controlled by a private of +the Royal Artillery, who looks incongruously perky and cockney amid +that silent, kilted assemblage. The firing party form a short lane +from the gun-carriage to the door of the mortuary. In response to the +sergeant's command, each man turns over his rifle, and setting the +muzzle carefully upon his right boot--after all, it argues no extra +respect to the dead to get your barrel filled with mud--rests his +hands upon the butt-plate and bows his head, as laid down in the +King's Regulations. + +The bearers move slowly down the path from the mortuary, and place the +coffin upon the gun-carriage. Upon the lid lie a very dingy glengarry, +a stained leather belt, and a bayonet. They are humble trophies, but +we pay them as much reverence as we would to the _bâton_ and cocked +hat of a field-marshal, for they are the insignia of a man who has +given his life for his country. + +On the hill-top above us, where the great military hospital rears its +clock-tower foursquare to the sky, a line of convalescents, in natty +blue uniforms with white facings and red ties, lean over the railings +deeply interested. Some of them are bandaged, others are in slings, +and all are more or less maimed. They follow the obsequies below +with critical approval. They have been present at enough hurried and +promiscuous interments of late--more than one of them has only just +escaped being the central figure at one of these functions--that they +are capable of appreciating a properly conducted funeral at its true +value. + +"They're putting away a bloomin' Jock," remarks a gentleman with an +empty sleeve. + +"And very nice, too!" responds another on crutches, as the firing +party present arms with creditable precision. "Not 'arf a bad bit of +eye-wash at all for a bandy-legged lot of coal-shovellers." + +"That lot's out of K(1)," explains a well-informed invalid with his +head in bandages. "Pretty 'ot stuff they're gettin'. _Très moutarde!_ +Now we're off." + +The signal is passed up the road to the band, who are waiting at the +head of the procession, and the pipes break into a lament. Corporals +step forward and lay four wreaths upon the coffin--one from each +company. Not a man in the battalion has failed to contribute his penny +to those wreaths; and pennies are not too common with us, especially +on a Thursday, which comes just before payday. The British private is +commonly reputed to spend all, or most of, his pocket-money upon beer. +But I can tell you this, that if you give him his choice between +buying himself a pint of beer and subscribing to a wreath, he will +most decidedly go thirsty. + +The serio-comic charioteer gives his reins a twitch, the horses wake +up, and the gun-carriage begins to move slowly along the lane of +mourners. As the dead private passes on his way the walls of the +lane melt, and his comrades fall into their usual fours behind the +gun-carriage. + +So we pass up the hill towards the military cemetery, with the pipes +wailing their hearts out, and the muffled drums marking the time of +our regulation slow step. Each foot seems to hang in the air before +the drums bid us put it down. + +In the very rear of the procession you may see the company commander +and three subalterns. They give no orders, and exact no attention. To +employ a colloquialism, this is not their funeral. + +Just behind the gun-carriage stalks a solitary figure in civilian +clothes--the unmistakable "blacks" of an Elder of the Kirk. At +first sight, you have a feeling that some one has strayed into the +procession who has no right there. But no one has a better. The sturdy +old man behind the coffin is named Adam Carmichael, and he is here, +having travelled south from Dumbarton by the night train, to attend +the funeral of his only son. + + +II + +Peter Carmichael was one of the first to enlist in the regiment. There +was another Carmichael in the same company, so Peter at roll-call +was usually addressed by the sergeant as "Twenty-seven fufty-fower +Carmichael," 2754 being his regimental number. The army does not +encourage Christian names. When his attestation paper was filled up, +he gave his age as nineteen; his address, vaguely, as Renfrewshire; +and his trade, not without an air, as a "holder-on." To the mystified +Bobby Little he entered upon a lengthy explanation of the term in a +language composed almost entirely of vowels, from which that +officer gathered, dimly, that holding-on had something to do with +shipbuilding. + +Upon the barrack square his platoon commander's attention was again +drawn to Peter, owing to the passionate enthusiasm with which he +performed the simplest evolutions, such as forming fours and sloping +arms--military exercises which do not intrigue the average private to +any great extent. Unfortunately, desire frequently outran performance. +Peter was undersized, unmuscular, and extraordinarily clumsy. For a +long time Bobby Little thought that Peter, like one or two of +his comrades, was left-handed, so made allowances. Ultimately he +discovered that his indulgence was misplaced: Peter was equally +incompetent with either hand. He took longer in learning to fix +bayonets or present arms than any other man in the platoon. To be +fair, Nature had done little to help him. He was thirty-three inches +round the chest, five feet four in height, and weighed possibly nine +stone. His complexion was pasty, and, as Captain Wagstaffe remarked, +you could hang your hat on any bone in his body. His eyesight was not +all that the Regulations require, and on the musketry-range he +was "put back," to his deep distress, "for further instruction." +Altogether, if you had not known the doctor who passed him, you would +have said it was a mystery how he passed the doctor. + +But he possessed the one essential attribute of the soldier. He had a +big heart. He was keen. He allowed nothing to come between him and +his beloved duties. ("He was aye daft for to go sogerin'," his father +explained to Captain Blaikie; "but his mother would never let him +away. He was ower wee, and ower young.") His rifle, buttons, and boots +were always without blemish. Further, he was of the opinion that a +merry heart goes all the way. He never sulked when the platoon were +kept on parade five minutes after the breakfast bugle had sounded. +He made no bones about obeying orders and saluting officers--acts +of abasement which grated sorely at times upon his colleagues, who +reverenced no one except themselves and their Union. He appeared to +revel in muddy route-marches, and invariably provoked and led the +choruses. The men called him "Wee Pe'er," and ultimately adopted him +as a sort of company mascot. Whereat Pe'er's heart glowed; for when +your associates attach a diminutive to your Christian name, you +possess something which millionaires would gladly give half their +fortune to purchase. + +And certainly he required all the social success he could win, for +professionally Peter found life a rigorous affair. Sometimes, as he +staggered into barracks after a long day, carrying a rifle made of +lead and wearing a pair of boots weighing a hundredweight apiece, he +dropped dead asleep on his bedding before he could eat his dinner. But +he always hotly denied the imputation that he was "sick." + +Time passed. The regiment was shaking down. Seven of Peter's +particular cronies were raised to the rank of lance-corporal--but not +Peter. He was "off the square" now--that is to say, he was done +with recruit drill for ever. He possessed a sound knowledge of +advance-guard and outpost work; his conduct-sheet was a blank page. +But he was not promoted. He was "ower wee for a stripe," he told +himself. For the present he must expect to be passed over. His chance +would come later, when he had filled out a little and got rid of his +cough. + +The winter dragged on: the weather was appalling: the grousers gave +tongue with no uncertain voice, each streaming field-day. But Wee +Pe'er enjoyed it all. He did not care if it snowed ink. He was a +"sojer." + +One day, to his great delight, he was "warned for guard"--a +particularly unpopular branch of a soldier's duties, for it means +sitting in the guard-room for twenty-four hours at a stretch, fully +dressed and accoutred, with intervals of sentry-go, usually in heavy +rain, by way of exercise. When Peter's turn for sentry-go came on he +splashed up and down his muddy beat--the battalion was in billets now, +and the usual sentry's verandah was lacking--as proud as a peacock, +saluting officers according to their rank, challenging stray civilians +with great severity, and turning out the guard on the slightest +provocation. He was at his post, soaked right through his greatcoat, +when the orderly officer made his night round. Peter summoned his +colleagues; the usual inspection of the guard took place; and the +sleepy men were then dismissed to their fireside. Peter remained; +the officer hesitated. He was supposed to examine the sentry in his +knowledge of his duties. It was a profitless task as a rule. The +tongue-tied youth merely gaped like a stranded fish, until the +sergeant mercifully intervened, in some such words as these-- + +"This man, sirr, is liable to get over-excited when addressed by an +officer." + +Then, soothingly-- + +"Now, Jimmy, tell the officer what would ye dae in case of fire?" + +"Present airrms!" announces the desperate James. Or else, almost +tearfully, "I canna mind. I had it all fine just noo, but it's awa' +oot o' ma heid!" + +Therefore it was with no great sense of anticipation that the orderly +officer said to Private Carmichael,-- + +"Now, sentry, can you repeat any of your duties?" + +Peter saluted, took a full breath, closed both eyes, and replied +rapidly,-- + +"For tae tak' chairge of all Government property within sicht of +this guairdhoose tae turrn out the guaird for all arrmed pairties +approaching also the commanding officer once a day tae salute all +officers tae challenge all pairsons approaching this post tae--" + +His recital was interrupted by a fit of coughing. + +"Thank you," said the officer hastily; "that will do. Good night!" + +Peter, not sure whether it would be correct to say "good night" too, +saluted again, and returned to his cough. + +"I say," said the officer, turning back, "you have a shocking cold." + +"Och, never heed it, sirr," gasped Peter politely. + +"Call the sergeant," said the officer. + +The fat sergeant came out of the guardhouse again, buttoning his +tunic. + +"Sirr?" + +"Take this man off sentry-duty and roast him at the guard-room fire." + +"I will, sirr," replied the sergeant; and added paternally, "this man +has no right for to be here at all. He should have reported sick +when warned for guard; but he would not. He is very attentive to his +duties, sirr." + +"Good boy!" said the officer to Peter. "I wish we had more like you." + +Wee Pe'er blushed, his teeth momentarily ceased chattering, his heart +swelled. Appearances to the contrary, he felt warm all through. The +sergeant laid a fatherly hand upon his shoulder. + +"Go you your ways intil the guard-room, boy," he commanded, "and send +oot Dunshie. He'll no hurt. Get close in ahint the stove, or you'll be +for Cambridge!" + +(The last phrase carries no academic significance. It simply means +that you are likely to become an inmate of the great Cambridge +Hospital at Aldershot.) + +Peter, feeling thoroughly disgraced, cast an appealing look at the +officer. + +"In you go!" said that martinet. + +Peter silently obeyed. It was the only time in his life that he ever +felt mutinous. + +A month later Brigade Training set in with customary severity. The +life of company officers became a burden. They spent hours in thick +woods with their followers, taking cover, ostensibly from the enemy, +in reality from brigade-majors and staff officers. A subaltern never +tied his platoon in a knot but a general came trotting round the +corner. The wet weather had ceased, and a biting east wind reigned in +its stead. + +On one occasion an elaborate night operation was arranged. Four +battalions were to assemble at a given point five miles from camp, and +then advance in column across country by the light of the stars to +a position indicated on the map, where they were to deploy and dig +themselves in! It sounded simple enough in operation orders; but when +you try to move four thousand troops--even well-trained troops--across +three miles of broken country on a pitch-dark night, there is always +a possibility that some one will get mislaid. On this particular +occasion a whole battalion lost itself without any delay or difficulty +whatsoever. The other three were compelled to wait for two hours and +a half, stamping their feet and blowing on their fingers, while +overheated staff officers scoured the country for the truants. They +were discovered at last waiting virtuously at the wrong rendezvous, +three-quarters of a mile away. The brazen-hatted strategist who drew +up the operation orders had given the point of assembly for the +brigade as: ... _the field_ S.W. _of_ WELLINGTON WOOD _and due_ E. +_of_ HANGMAN'S COPSE, _immediately below the first_ O _in_ GHOSTLY +BOTTOM,--but omitted to underline the O indicated. The result was that +three battalion commanders assembled at the O in "ghostly," while the +fourth, ignoring the adjective in favour of the noun, took up his +station at the first O in "bottom." + +The operations had been somewhat optimistically timed to end at 11 +P.M., but by the time that the four battalions had effected a most +unloverly tryst, it was close on ten, and beginning to rain. The +consequence was that the men got home to bed, soaked to the skin, and +asking the Powers Above rhetorical questions, at three o'clock in the +morning. + +Next day Brigade Orders announced that the movement would be continued +at nightfall, by the occupation of the hastily-dug trenches, followed +by a night attack upon the hill in front. The captured position would +then be retrenched. + +When the tidings went round, fourteen of the more quick-witted spirits +of "A" Company hurriedly paraded before the Medical Officer and +announced that they were "sick in the stomach." Seven more discovered +abrasions upon their feet, and proffered their sores for inspection, +after the manner of Oriental mendicants. One skrimshanker, despairing +of producing any bodily ailment, rather ingeniously assaulted a +comrade-in-arms, and was led away, deeply grateful, to the guard-room. +Wee Peter, who in the course of last night's operations had stumbled +into an old trench half-filled with ice-cold water, and whose +temperature to-day, had he known it, was a hundred and two, paraded +with his company at the appointed time. The company, he reflected, +would get a bad name if too many men reported sick at once. + +Next day he was absent from parade. He was "for Cambridge" at last. + +Before he died, he sent for the officer who had befriended him, and +supplemented, or rather corrected, some of the information contained +in his attestation paper. + +He lived in Dumbarton, not Renfrewshire. He was just sixteen. He was +not--this confession cost him a great effort--a full-blown "holder-on" +at all; only an apprentice. His father was "weel kent" in the town +of Dumbarton, being a chief engineer, employed by a great firm of +shipbuilders to extend new machinery on trial trips. + +Needless to say, he made a great fight. But though his heart was +big enough, his body was too frail. As they say on the sea, he was +over-engined for his beam. + +And so, three days later, the simple soul of Twenty-seven fifty-four +Carmichael, "A" Company, was transferred, on promotion, to another +company--the great Company of Happy Warriors who walk the Elysian +Fields. + + +III + +"_Firing parrty, one round blank_--_load_!" + +There is a rattle of bolts, and a dozen barrels are pointed +heavenwards. The company stands rigid, except the buglers, who are +beginning to finger their instruments. + +"_Fire!_" + +There is a crackling volley, and the pipes break into a brief, sobbing +wail. Wayfarers upon the road below look up curiously. One or two +young females with perambulators come hurrying across the grass, +exhorting apathetic babies to sit up and admire the pretty funeral. + +Twice more the rifles ring out. The pipes cease their wailing, and +there is an expectant silence. + +The drum-major crooks his little finger, and eight bugles come to the +"ready." Then "Last Post," the requiem of every soldier of the King, +swells out, sweet and true. + +The echoes lose themselves among the dripping pines. The chaplain +closes his book, takes off his spectacles, and departs. + +Old Carmichael permits himself one brief look into his son's grave, +resumes his crape-bound tall hat, and turns heavily away. He finds +Captain Blaikie's hand waiting for him. He grips it, and says-- + +"Weel, the laddie has had a grand sojer's funeral. His mother will be +pleased to hear that." + +He passes on, and shakes hands with the platoon sergeant and one or +two of Peter's cronies. He declines an invitation to the Sergeants' +Mess. + +"I hae a trial-trup the morn," he explains. "I must be steppin'. God +keep ye all, brave lads!" + +The old gentleman sets off down the station road. The company falls +in, and we march back to barracks, leaving Wee Pe'er--the first name +on our Roll of Honour--alone in his glory beneath the Hampshire +pines. + + + + +XIII + +CONCERT PITCH + + +We have only two topics of conversation now--the date of our +departure, and our destination. Both are wrapped in mystery so +profound that our range of speculation is practically unlimited. + +Conjecture rages most fiercely in the Officers' Mess, which is in +touch with sources of unreliable information not accessible to the +rank and file. The humblest subaltern appears to be possessed of a +friend at court, or a cousin in the Foreign Office, or an aunt in the +Intelligence Department, from whom he can derive fresh and entirely +different information each week-end leave. + +Master Cockerell, for instance, has it straight from the Horse Guards +that we are going out next week--as a single unit, to be brigaded with +two seasoned regiments in Flanders. He has a considerable following. + +Then comes Waddell, who has been informed by the Assistant sub-Editor +of an evening journal widely read in his native Dundee, that The First +Hundred Thousand are to sit here, eating the bread of impatience, +until The First Half Million are ready. Thereupon we shall break +through our foeman's line at a point hitherto unassailed and known +only to the scribe of Dundee, and proceed to roll up the German Empire +as if it were a carpet, into some obscure corner of the continent of +Europe. + +Bobby Little, not the least of whose gifts is a soaring imagination, +has mapped out a sort of strategical Cook's Tour for us, beginning +with the sack of Constantinople, and ending, after a glorified +route-march up the Danube and down the Rhine, which shall include a +pitched battle once a week and a successful siege once a month, with a +"circus" entry into Potsdam. + +Captain Wagstaffe offers no opinion, but darkly recommends us to order +pith helmets. However, we are rather suspicious of Captain Wagstaffe +these days. He suffers from an over-developed sense of humour. + +The rank and file keep closer to earth in their prognostications. In +fact, some of them cleave to the dust. With them it is a case of hope +deferred. Quite half of them enlisted under the firm belief that +they would forthwith be furnished with a rifle and ammunition and +despatched to a vague place called "the front," there to take +pot-shots at the Kaiser. That was in early August. It is now early +April, and they are still here, performing monotonous evolutions and +chafing under the bonds of discipline. Small wonder that they have +begun to doubt, these simple souls, if they are ever going out at all. +Private M'Slattery put the general opinion in a nutshell. + +"This regiment," he announced, "is no' for the front at all. We're +jist tae bide here, for tae be inspeckit by Chinese Ministers and +other heathen bodies!" + +This withering summary of the situation was evoked by the fact that +we had once been called out, and kept on parade for two hours in +a north-east wind, for the edification of a bevy of spectacled +dignitaries from the Far East. For the Scottish, artisan the word +"minister," however, has only one significance; so it is probable that +M'Slattery's strictures were occasioned by sectarian, rather than +racial, prejudice. + +Still, whatever our ultimate destination and fate may be, the fact +remains that we are now as fit for active service as seven months' +relentless schooling, under make-believe conditions, can render us. We +shall have to begin all over again, we know, when we find ourselves up +against the real thing, but we have at least been thoroughly grounded +in the rudiments of our profession. We can endure hail, rain, snow, +and vapour; we can march and dig with the best; we have mastered the +first principles of musketry; we can advance in an extended line +without losing touch or bunching; and we have ceased to regard an +order as an insult, or obedience as a degradation. We eat when we can +and what we get, and we sleep wherever we happen to find ourselves +lying. That is something. But there are certain military +accomplishments which can only be taught us by the enemy. Taking +cover, for instance. When the thin, intermittent crackle of blank +ammunition shall have been replaced by the whistle of real bullets, we +shall get over our predilection for sitting up and taking notice. The +conversation of our neighbour, or the deplorable antics of B Company +on the neighbouring skyline, will interest us not at all. We shall get +down, and stay down. + +We shall also be relieved of the necessity of respecting the property +of those exalted persons who surround their estates with barbed wire, +and put up notices, even now, warning off troops. At present we either +crawl painfully through that wire, tearing our kilts and lacerating +our legs, or go round another way. "Oot there," such unwholesome +deference will be a thing of the past. Would that the wire-setters +were going out with us. We would give them the place of honour in the +forefront of battle! + +We have fired a second musketry course, and are now undergoing +Divisional Training, with the result that we take our walks abroad +several thousand strong, greatly to the derangement of local traffic. + +Considered all round, Divisional Training is the pleasantest form of +soldiering that we have yet encountered. We parade bright and early, +at full battalion strength, accompanied by our scouts, signallers, +machine-guns, and transport, and march off at the appointed minute to +the starting-point. Here we slip into our place in an already moving +column, with three thousand troops in front of us and another two +thousand behind, and tramp to our point of deployment. We feel +pleasantly thrilled. We are no longer a battalion out on a +route-march: we are members of a White Army, or a Brown Army, +hastening to frustrate the designs of a Blue Army, or a Pink +Army, which has landed (according to the General Idea issued from +Headquarters) at Portsmouth, and is reported to have slept at Great +Snoreham, only ten miles away, last night. + +Meanwhile our Headquarters Staff is engaged in the not always easy +task of "getting into touch" with the enemy--_anglicè_, finding him. +It is extraordinary how elusive a force of several thousand troops +can be, especially when you are picking your way across a defective +half-inch map, and the commanders of the opposing forces cherish +dissimilar views as to where the point of encounter is supposed to be. +However, contact is at length established; and if it is not time to go +home, we have a battle. + +Various things may now happen to you. You may find yourself detailed +for the Firing-line. In that case your battalion will take open order; +and you will advance, principally upon your stomach, over hill and +dale until you encounter the enemy, doing likewise. Both sides then +proceed to discharge blank ammunition into one another's faces at +a range, if possible, of about five yards, until the "cease fire" +sounds. + +Or you may find yourself in Support. In that case you are held back +until the battle has progressed a stage or two, when you advance with +fixed bayonets to prod your own firing line into a further display of +valour and agility. + +Or you may be detailed as Reserve. Membership of Brigade Reserve +should be avoided. You are liable to be called upon at any moment +to forsake the sheltered wood or lee of a barn under which you are +huddling, and double madly up a hill or along a side road, tripping +heavily over ingenious entanglements composed of the telephone wires +of your own signallers, to enfilade some unwary detachment of the +enemy or repel a flank attack. On the other hand, if you are ordered +to act as Divisional Reserve, you may select the softest spot on the +hillside behind which you are sheltering, get out your haversack +ration, and prepare to spend an extremely peaceful (or extremely dull) +day. Mimic warfare enjoys one enormous advantage over the genuine +article: battles--provided you are not out for the night--_must +always_ end in time for the men to get back to their dinners at five +o'clock. Under this inexorable law it follows that, by the time the +General has got into touch with the enemy and brought his firing line, +supports, and local reserves into action, it is time to go home. So +about three o'clock the bugles sound, and the combatants, hot and +grimy, fall back into close order at the point of deployment, where +they are presently joined by the Divisional Reserve, blue-faced and +watery-eyed with cold. This done, principals and understudies, casting +envious glances at one another, form one long column of route and set +out for home, in charge of the subalterns. The senior officers trot +off to the "pow-wow," there, with the utmost humility and deference, +to extol their own tactical dispositions, belittle the achievements of +the enemy, and impugn the veracity of one another. + +Thus the day's work ends. Our divisional column, with its trim, +sturdy, infantry battalions, its jingling cavalry and artillery, its +real live staff, and its imposing transport train, sets us thinking, +by sheer force of contrast, of that dim and distant time seven months +ago, when we wrestled perspiringly all through long and hot September +days, on a dusty barrack square, with squad upon squad of dazed and +refractory barbarians, who only ceased shuffling their feet in order +to expectorate. And these are the self-same men! Never was there a +more complete vindication of the policy of pegging away. + + +II + +So much for the effect of its training upon the regiment as a whole. +But when you come to individuals, certain of whom we have encountered +and studied in this rambling narrative, you find it impossible to +generalise. Your one unshakable conclusion is that it takes all sorts +to make a type. + +There are happy, careless souls like McLeary and Hogg. There are +conscientious but slow-moving worthies like Mucklewame and Budge. +There are drunken wasters like--well, we need name no names. We have +got rid of most of these, thank heaven! There are simple-minded +enthusiasts of the breed of Wee Pe'er, for whom the sheer joy of +"sojering" still invests dull routine and hard work with a glamour of +their own. There are the old hands, versed in every labour-saving +(and duty-shirking) device. There are the feckless and muddle-headed, +making heavy weather of the simplest tasks. There is another class, +which divides its time between rising to the position of sergeant and +being reduced to the ranks, for causes which need not be specified. +There is yet another, which knows its drill-book backwards, and can +grasp the details of a tactical scheme as quickly as a seasoned +officer, but remains in the ruck because it has not sufficient force +of character to handle so much as a sentry-group. There are men, +again, with initiative but no endurance, and others with endurance but +no initiative. Lastly, there are men, and a great many of them, who +appear to be quite incapable of coherent thought, yet can handle +machinery or any mechanical device to a marvel. Yes, we are a motley +organisation. + +But the great sifting and sorting machine into which we have been cast +is shaking us all out into our appointed places. The efficient and +authoritative rise to non-commissioned rank. The quick-witted and +well-educated find employment on the Orderly Room staff, or among the +scouts and signallers. The handy are absorbed into the transport, or +become machine-gunners. The sedentary take post as cooks, or tailors, +or officers' servants. The waster hews wood and draws water and +empties swill-tubs. The great, mediocre, undistinguished majority +merely go to stiffen the rank and file, and right nobly they do it. +Each has his niche. + +To take a few examples, we may begin with a typical member of the +undistinguished majority. Such an one is that esteemed citizen of +Wishaw, John Mucklewame. He is a rank-and-file man by training and +instinct, but he forms a rare backbone for K(1). There are others, of +more parts--Killick, for instance. Not long ago he was living softly, +and driving a Rolls-Royce for a Duke. He is now a machine-gun +sergeant, and a very good one. There is Dobie. He is a good mechanic, +but short-legged and shorter-winded. He makes an excellent armourer. + +Then there is Private Mellish. In his company roll he is described +as "an actor." But his orbit in the theatrical firmament has never +carried him outside his native Dunoon, where he follows the blameless +but monotonous calling of a cinematograph operator. On enlistment he +invited the attention of his platoon, from the start by referring +to his rear-rank man as "this young gentleman"; and despite all the +dissuading influences of barrack-room society, his manners never fell +below this standard. In a company where practically every man is +addressed either as "Jock" or "Jimmy," he created a profound and +lasting sensation one day, by saying in a winning voice to Private +Ogg,-- + +"Do not stand on ceremony with me, Mr. Ogg. Call me Cyril!" + +For such an exotic there could only be one destination, and in due +course Cyril became an officer's servant. He now polishes the buttons +and washes the hose-tops of Captain Wagstaffe; and his elegant +extracts amuse that student of human nature exceedingly. + +Then comes a dour, silent, earnest specimen, whose name, incredible +as it may appear, is M'Ostrich. He keeps himself to himself. He never +smiles. He is not an old soldier, yet he performed like a veteran the +very first day he appeared on parade. He carries out all orders with +solemn thoroughness. He does not drink; he does not swear. His +nearest approach to animation comes at church, where he sings the +hymns--especially _O God, our help in ages past!_--as if he were +author and composer combined. His harsh, rasping accent is certainly +not that of a Highlander, nor does it smack altogether of the +Clydeside. As a matter of fact he is not a Scotsman at all, though +five out of six of us would put him down as such. Altogether he is a +man of mystery; but the regiment could do with many more such. + +Once, and only once, did he give us a peep behind the scenes. Private +Burke, of D Company, a cheery soul, who possesses the entirely +Hibernian faculty of being able to combine a most fanatical and +seditious brand of Nationalism with a genuine and ardent enthusiasm +for the British Empire, one day made a contemptuous and ribald +reference to the Ulster Volunteers and their leader. M'Ostrich, who +was sitting on his bedding at the other side of the hut, promptly rose +to his feet, crossed the floor in three strides, and silently felled +the humorist to the earth. Plainly, if M'Ostrich comes safe through +the war, he is prepared for another and grimmer campaign. + +Lastly, that jack-of-all trades and master of none, Private Dunshie. +As already recorded, Dunshie's original calling had been that of a +street news-vendor. Like all literary men, he was a Bohemian at heart. +Routine wearied him; discipline galled him; the sight of work made +him feel faint. After a month or two in the ranks he seized the first +opportunity of escaping from the toils of his company, by volunteering +for service as a Scout. A single experience of night operations in +a dark wood, previously described, decided him to seek some milder +employment. Observing that the regimental cooks appeared to be +absolved, by virtue of their office, not only from all regimental +parades, but from all obligations on the subject of correct attire and +personal cleanliness, he volunteered for service in the kitchen. Here +for a space--clad in shirt, trousers, and canvas shoes, unutterably +greasy and waxing fat--he prospered exceedingly. But one sad day he +was detected by the cook-sergeant, having just finished cleaning a +flue, in the act of washing his hands in ten gallons of B Company's +soup. Once more our versatile hero found himself turned adrift with +brutal and agonising suddenness, and bidden to exercise his talents +elsewhere. + +After a fortnight's uneventful dreariness with his platoon, Dunshie +joined the machine-gunners, because he had heard rumours that these +were conveyed to and from their labours in limbered waggons. But he +had been misinformed. It was the guns that were carried; the gunners +invariably walked, sometimes carrying the guns and the appurtenances +thereof. His very first day Dunshie was compelled to double across +half a mile of boggy heathland carrying two large stones, meant to +represent ammunition-boxes, from an imaginary waggon to a dummy gun. +It is true that as soon as he was out of sight of the corporal he +deposited the stones upon the ground, and ultimately proffered two +others, picked up on nearing his destination, to the sergeant in +charge of the proceedings; but even thus the work struck him as +unreasonably exacting, and he resigned, by the simple process of +cutting his next parade and being ignominiously returned to his +company. + +After an unsuccessful application for employment as a "buzzer," or +signaller, Dunshie made trial of the regimental transport, where there +was a shortage of drivers. He had strong hopes that in this way he +would attain to permanent carriage exercise. But he was quickly +undeceived. Instead of being offered a seat upon the box of a G.S. +waggon, he was bidden to walk behind the same, applying the brake when +necessary, for fourteen miles. The next day he spent cleaning stables, +under a particularly officious corporal. On the third, he was +instructed in the art of grooming a mule. On the fourth, he was left +to perform this feat unaided, and the mule, acting under extreme +provocation, kicked him in the stomach. On the fifth day he was +returned to his company. + +But Mecca was at hand. That very morning Dunshie's company commander +received the following ukase from headquarters:-- + +_Officers commanding Companies will render to the Orderly Room without +fail, by 9 A.M. to-morrow, the name of one man qualified to act as +chiropodist to the Company_. + +Major Kemp scratched his nose in a dazed fashion, and looked over his +spectacles at his Quartermaster-Sergeant. + +"What in thunder will they ask for next?" he growled. "Have we got any +tame chiropodists in the company, Rae?" + +Quartermaster-Sergeant Rae turned over the Company roll. + +"There is no--no--no man of that profession here, sirr," he reported, +after scanning the document. "But," he added optimistically, "there is +a machine-fitter and a glass-blower. Will I warn one of them?" + +"I think we had better call for a volunteer first," said Major Kemp +tactfully. + +Accordingly, that afternoon upon parade, Platoon commanders were +bidden to hold a witch hunt, and smell out a chiropodist. But the +enterprise terminated almost immediately; for Private Dunshie, +caressing his injured abdomen in Number Three Platoon, heard the +invitation, and quickly stepped forward. + +"So you are a chiropodist as well as everything else, Dunshie!" said +Ayling incredulously. + +"That's right, sirr," assented Dunshie politely. + +"Are you a professional?" + +"No exactly that, sirr," was the modest reply. + +"You just make a hobby of it?" + +"Just that, sirr." + +"Have you had much experience?" + +"No that much." + +"But you feel capable of taking on the job?" + +"I do, sirr." + +"You seem quite eager about it." + +"Yes, sirr," said Dunshie, with gusto. + +A sudden thought occurred to Ayling. + +"Do you know what a chiropodist is?" he asked. + +"No, sirr," replied Dunshie, with unabated aplomb. + + * * * * * + +To do him justice, the revelation of the nature of his prospective +labours made no difference whatever to Dunshie's willingness to +undertake them. Now, upon Saturday mornings, when men stand stiffly +at attention beside their beds to have their feet inspected, you may +behold, sweeping majestically in the wake of the Medical Officer as he +makes his rounds, the swelling figure of Private Dunshie, carrying the +implements of his gruesome trade. He has found his vocation at last, +and his bearing in consequence is something between that of a Court +Physician and a Staff Officer. + + +III + +So much for the rank and file. Of the officers we need only say that +the old hands have been a godsend to our young regiment; while the +juniors, to quote their own Colonel, have learned as much in six +months as the average subaltern learns in three years; and whereas +in the old days a young officer could always depend on his platoon +sergeant to give him the right word of command or instruct him in +company routine, the positions are now in many cases reversed. But +that by the way. The outstanding feature of the relationship +between officers and men during all this long, laborious, sometimes +heart-breaking winter has been this--that, despite the rawness of +our material and the novelty of our surroundings, in the face of +difficulties which are now happily growing dim in our memory, the +various ranks have never quite given up trying, never altogether +lost faith, never entirely forgotten the Cause which has brought us +together. And the result--the joint result--of it all is a real live +regiment, with a _morale_ and soul of its own. + +But so far everything has been purely suppositious. We have no +knowledge as to what our real strength or weakness may be. We have run +our trial trips over a landlocked stretch of smooth water. To-morrow, +when we steam out to face the tempest which is shaking the foundations +of the world, we shall see what we shall see. Some of us, who at +present are exalted for our smartness and efficiency, will indubitably +be found wanting--wanting in stamina of body or soul--while others, +hitherto undistinguished, will come to their own. Only War itself can +discover the qualities which count in War. But we silently pray, in +our dour and inarticulate hearts, that the supreme British virtue--the +virtue of holding on, and holding on, and holding on, until our end is +accomplished--may not be found wanting in a single one of us. + +To take a last survey of the regiment which we have created--one +little drop in the incredible wave which has rolled with gathering +strength from, end to end of this island of ours during the past +six months, and now hangs ready to crash upon the gates of our +enemies--what manner of man has it produced? What is he like, this +impromptu Thomas Atkins? + +Well, when he joined, his outstanding feature was a sort of surly +independence, the surliness being largely based upon the fear of losing +the independence. He has got over that now. He is no longer morbidly +sensitive about his rights as a free and independent citizen and the +backbone of the British electorate. He has bigger things to think of. He +no longer regards sergeants as upstart slave-drivers--frequently he is a +sergeant himself--nor officers as grinding capitalists. He is undergoing +the experience of the rivets in Mr. Kipling's story of "The Ship that +Found Herself." He is adjusting his perspectives. He is beginning to +merge himself in the Regiment. + +He no longer gets drunk from habit. When he does so now, it is because +there were no potatoes at dinner, or because there has been a leak +in the roof of his hut for a week and no one is attending to it, or +because his wife is not receiving her separation allowance. Being an +inarticulate person, he finds getting drunk the simplest and most +effective expedient for acquainting the powers that be with the fact +that he has a grievance. Formerly, the morning list of "drunks" merely +reflected the nearness or remoteness of payday. Now, it is a most +reliable and invaluable barometer of the regimental atmosphere. + +He has developed--quite spontaneously, for he has had few +opportunities for imitation--many of the characteristics of the +regular soldier. He is quick to discover himself aggrieved, but is +readily appeased if he feels that his officer is really doing his best +for him, and that both of them are the victims of a higher power. On +the other hand, he is often amazingly cheerful under uncomfortable and +depressing surroundings. He is growing quite fastidious, too, about +his personal appearance when off duty. (You should see our quiffs +on Saturdays!) He is quite incapable of keeping possession of his +clothing, his boots, his rifle, his health, or anything that is +his, without constant supervision and nurse-maiding. And that he is +developing a strong bent towards the sentimental is evinced by the +choruses that he sings in the gloaming and his taste in picture +post-cards. + +So far he may follow the professional model, but in other respects he +is quite _sui generis_. No sergeant in a Highland regiment of the line +would ever refer to a Cockney private, with all humility, as "a young +English gentleman"; neither would an ordinary soldier salute an +officer quite correctly with one hand while employing the other to +light his pipe. In "K(1)" we do these things and many others, which, +give us a _cachet_ of our own of which we are very rightly and +properly proud. + +So we pin our faith to the man who has been at once our despair and +our joy since the month of August. He has character; he has grit; +and now that he is getting discipline as well, he is going to be an +everlasting credit to the cause which roused his manhood and the land +which gave him birth. + + * * * * * + +That is the tale of The First Hundred Thousand--Part One. Whether Part +Two will be forthcoming, and how much of it there will be, depends +upon two things--the course of history, and the present historian's +eye for cover. + + + + +BOOK TWO + +LIVE ROUNDS + + + + +XIV + +THE BACK OF THE FRONT + + +I + +The last few days have afforded us an excellent opportunity of +studying the habits of that ubiquitous attendant of our movements, the +Staff Officer. + +He is not always a real Staff Officer--the kind that wears a red +hatband. Sometimes he is an obvious "dug-out," with a pronounced +_embonpoint_ or a game leg. Sometimes he is a mere stripling, with a +rapidly increasing size in hats. Sometimes he is an ordinary human +being. But whoever he is, and whatever his age or rank, one thing is +certain. He has no mean: he is either very good or very bad. When he +is good he is very good indeed, and when he is bad he is horrid. He is +either Jekyll or Hyde. + +Thrice blessed, then, is that unit which, upon its journey to the +seat of war, encounters only the good of the species. To transfer a +thousand men, with secrecy and despatch, from camp to train, from +train to ship, from ship to train, and from train to a spot near the +battle line, is a task which calls for the finest organisation and the +most skilful administration. Let it be said at once that our path to +our present address has been almost universally lined with Jekylls. +The few Hydes whom we have encountered are by this time merely a +subject for amusing anecdote. + +As for the organisation of our journey--well, it was formulated upon +Olympus, and was marked by those Olympian touches of which mention has +been previously made. For instance, immense pains were taken, by means +of printed rules and official memoranda, to acquaint us with the +procedure to be followed at each point of entrainment or embarkation. +Consequently we set out upon our complicated pilgrimage primed with +explicit instructions and ready for any emergency. We filled up forms +with countless details of our equipment and personnel, which we knew +would delight the heart of the Round Game Department. We divided our +followers, as directed, into Loading Parties, and Ration Parties, and +Hold Parties, and many other interesting subdivisions, as required by +the rules of the game. But we had reckoned without the Practical Joke +Department. The Round Game Department having furnished us with one set +of rules, the Practical Joke Department prepared another, entirely +different, and issued them to the officers who superintended such +things as entrainment and embarkation. At least, that is the most +charitable explanation of the course of action adopted by the few Mr. +Hydes whom we encountered. + +Two of these humorists linger in the memory. The first was of the type +which is admiringly referred to in commercial circles as a hustler. +His hustling took the form of beginning to shout incomprehensible +orders almost before the train had drawn up at the platform. After +that he passed from party to party, each of which was working +strenuously under its own sergeant, and commanded them (not the +sergeant) to do something else, somewhere else--a course of action +naturally calculated to promote unity and celerity of action all +round. A perspiring sergeant who ventured to point out that his party +were working under the direct orders of their Company Commander, was +promptly placed under arrest, and his flock enjoyed a welcome and +protracted breathing-space until an officer of sufficient standing +to cope with Mr. Hyde--unfortunately he was Major Hyde--could be +discovered and informed. + +The second required more tactful handling. As our train-load drew +up at the platform, the officer in charge--it was Captain Blaikie, +supported by Bobby Little--stepped out, saluted the somewhat rotund +Colonel Hyde whom he saw before him, and proffered a sheaf of papers. + +"Good-morning, sir," he said. "Here is my train statement. Shall I +carry on with the unloading? I have all my parties detailed." + +The great man waved away the papers magnificently. (To be just, even +the Jekylls used to wave away our papers.) + +"Take those things away," he commanded, in a voice which made it plain +that we had encountered another hustler. "Burn them, if you like! Now +listen to me. Tell off an officer and seventy men at once." + +"I have all the necessary parties detailed already, sir." + +"Will you listen to me?" roared the Colonel. He turned to where +Captain Blaikie's detachment were drawn up on the platform, "Take the +first seventy men of that lot, and tell them to stand over there, +under an officer." + +Captain Blaikie gave the necessary order. + +"Now," continued Colonel Hyde, "tell them to get the horses out and +on board that steamer at once. The rest of your party are to go by +another steamer. See?" + +"Yes, sir, perfectly. But--" + +"Do you understand my order?" thundered the Colonel, with increasing +choler. + +"I do, sir," replied Blaikie politely, "but--" + +"Then, for heaven's sake, carry on!" + +Blaikie saluted. + +"Very good, sir," he answered. "Mr. Little, come with me." + +He turned upon his heel and disappeared rapidly round a corner, +followed by the mystified Bobby. + +Once out of the sight of the Colonel, Captain Blaikie halted, leaned +against a convenient pillar, and lit a cigarette. + +"And what do you think of that?" he inquired. + +Bobby told him. + +"Quite so," agreed Blaikie. "But what you say helps nobody, though +doubtless soothing to the feelings. Now listen, Bobby, and I will +give you your first lesson in the Tactical Handling of Brass Hats. +Of course we might do as that dear old gentleman suggests, and send +seventy horses and mules on a sea voyage in charge of a party of +cooks, signallers, and machine-gunners, and let the grooms and drivers +go with the bicycles and machine-guns and field kitchens. But I don't +think we will. Nobody would enjoy the experiment much--except perhaps +the mules. No: we will follow the golden rule, which is: When given an +impossible job by a Brass Hat, salute smartly, turn about, and go and +wait round a corner for five minutes. Then come back and do the job in +a proper manner. Our five minutes are up: the coast should be clear. +Come along, Bobby, and help me to exchange those two parties." + +But we encountered surprisingly few Hydes. Nearly all were +Jekylls--Jekylls of the most competent and courteous type. True, +they were inclined to treat our laboriously completed returns with +frivolity. + +"Never mind those things, old man," they would say. "Just tell me who +you are, and how many. That's right: now I know all about you. Got +your working parties fixed up? Good! They ought to have everything +cleared in a couple of hours. I'll see that a ration of hot tea is +served out for them. Your train starts at a quarter past seven this +evening--remember to call it nineteen-fifteen, by the way, in this +country--and you ought to be at the station an hour before the time. +I'll send you a guide. What a fine-looking lot these chaps of yours +are! Best lot I've seen here for a very long time. Working like +niggers, too! Now come along with me for ten minutes and I'll show you +where to get a bite of breakfast. Expect you can do with a bit!" + +That is Brass-Hat Jekyll--officer and gentleman; and, to the eternal +credit of the British Army, be it said that he abounds in this +well-conducted campaign. As an instance of his efficiency, let the +case of our own regiment be quoted. The main body travelled here by +one route, the transport, horses, and other details by another. The +main body duly landed, and were conveyed to the rendezvous--a distant +railway junction in Northern France. There they sat down to await +the arrival of the train containing the other party; which had left +England many hours before them, had landed at a different port, and +had not been seen or heard of since. + +They had to wait exactly ten minutes! + +"Some Staff--what?" as the Adjutant observed, as the train lumbered +into view. + + +II + +Most of us, in our travels abroad, have observed the closed trucks +which are employed upon French railways, and which bear the legend-- + + _Hommes_.... 40 + _Chevaux_.... 8 + +Doubtless we have wondered, idly enough, what it must feel like to be +one of the forty hommes. Well, now we know. + +When we landed, we were packed into a train composed of fifty such +trucks, and were drawn by a mighty engine for a day and a night across +the pleasant land of France. Every six hours or so we were indulged +with a _Halte Répas_. That is to say, the train drew up in a siding, +where an officer with R.T.O. upon his arm made us welcome, and +informed us that hot water was available for taking tea. Everybody had +two days' rations in his haversack, so a large-scale picnic followed. +From the horse-trucks emerged stolid individuals with canvas +buckets--you require to be fairly stolid to pass the night in a closed +box, moving at twenty miles an hour, in company with eight riotous +and insecurely tethered mules--to draw water from the hydrant which +supplied the locomotives. The infant population gathered round, and +besought us for "souvenirs," the most popular taking the form of +"biskeet" or "bully-boeuf." Both were given freely: with but little +persuasion our open-handed warriors would have fain squandered their +sacred "emergency ration" upon these rapacious infants. + +After refreshment we proceeded to inspect the station. The centre of +attraction was the French soldier on guard over the water-tank. Behold +this same sentry confronted by Private Mucklewame, anxious to comply +with Divisional Orders and "lose no opportunity of cultivating the +friendliest relations with those of our Allies whom you may chance to +encounter." So Mucklewame and the sentry (who is evidently burdened +with similar instructions) regard one another with shy smiles, after +the fashion of two children who have been introduced by their nurses +at a party. + +Presently the sentry, by a happy inspiration, proffers his bayonet +for inspection, as it were a new doll. Mucklewame bows solemnly, and +fingers the blade. Then he produces his own bayonet, and the two +weapons are compared--still in constrained silence. Then Mucklewame +nods approvingly. + +"Verra goody!" he remarks, profoundly convinced that he is speaking +the French language. + +"Olrigh! Tipperaree!" replies the sentry, not to be outdone in +international courtesy. + +Unfortunately, the further cementing of the Entente Cordiale is +frustrated by the blast of a whistle. We hurl ourselves into our +trucks; the R.T.O. waves his hand in benediction; and the regiment +proceeds upon its way, packed like herrings, but "all jubilant with +song." + + +III + +We have been "oot here" for a week now, and although we have had no +personal encounter with the foe, our time has not been wasted. We are +filling up gaps in our education, and we are tolerably busy. Some +things, of course, we have not had to learn. We are fairly well +inured, for instance, to hard work and irregular meals. What we have +chiefly to acquire at present is the art of adaptability. When we are +able to settle down into strange billets in half an hour, and pack +up, ready for departure, within the same period, we shall have made a +great stride in efficiency, and added enormously to our own personal +comfort. + +Even now we are making progress. Observe the platoon who are marching +into this farmyard. They are dead tired, and the sight of the +straw-filled barn is too much for some of them. They throw themselves +down anywhere, and are asleep in a moment. When they wake up--or more +likely, are wakened up--in an hour or two, they will be sorry. They +will be stiff and sore, and their feet will be a torment. Others, more +sensible, crowd round the pump, or dabble their abraded extremities in +one of the countless ditches with which this country is intersected. +Others again, of the more enterprising kind, repair to the house-door, +and inquire politely for "the wife." (They have long given up +inquiring for "the master." There is no master on this farm, or indeed +on any farm throughout the length and breadth of this great-hearted +land. Father and sons are all away, restoring the Bosche to his proper +place in the animal kingdom. We have seen no young or middle-aged man +out of uniform since we entered this district, save an occasional +imbecile or cripple.) + +Presently "the wife" comes to the door, with a smile. She can afford +to smile now, for not so long ago her guests were Uhlans. Then begins +an elaborate pantomime. Private Tosh says "Bonjourr!" in husky +tones--last week he would have said "Hey, Bella!"--and proceeds to +wash his hands in invisible soap and water. As a reward for his +ingenuity he receives a basin of water: sometimes the water is even +warm. Meanwhile Private Cosh, the linguist of the platoon, proffers +twopence, and says: "Doolay--ye unnerstand?" He gets a drink of milk, +which is a far, far better thing than the appalling green scum-covered +water with which his less adaptable brethren are wont to refresh +themselves from wayside ditches. Thomas Atkins, however mature, is +quite incorrigible in this respect. + +Yes, we are getting on. And when every man in the platoon, instead +of merely some, can find a place to sleep, draw his blanket from the +waggon, clean his rifle and himself, and get to his dinner within the +half-hour already specified, we shall be able justly to call ourselves +seasoned. + +We have covered some distance this week, and we have learned one thing +at least, and that is, not to be uppish about our sleeping quarters. +We have slept in chateaux, convents, farm-houses, and under the open +sky. The chateaux are usually empty. An aged retainer, the sole +inhabitant, explains that M. le Comte is at Paris; M. Armand at Arras; +and M. Guy in Alsace,--all doing their bit. M. Victor is in hospital, +with Madame and Mademoiselle in constant attendance. + +So we settle down in the chateaux, and unroll our sleeping-bags upon +its dusty parquet. Occasionally we find a bed available. Then two +officers take the mattress, upon the floor, and two more take what is +left of the bed. French chateaux do not appear to differ much as a +class. They are distinguished by great elegance of design, infinite +variety in furniture, and entire absence of drains. The same rule +applies to convents, except that there is no furniture. + +Given fine weather, by far the most luxurious form of lodging is in +the open air. Here one may slumber at ease, fanned by the wings +of cockchafers and soothed by an unseen choir of frogs. There are +drawbacks, of course. Mr. Waddell one evening spread his ground-sheet +and bedding in the grassy meadow, beside a murmuring stream. It was +an idyllic resting-place for a person of romantic or contemplative +disposition. Unfortunately it is almost impossible nowadays to keep +one's favourite haunts select. This was evidently the opinion of the +large water-rat which Waddell found sitting upon his air-pillow when +he returned from supper. Although French, the animal exhibited no +disposition to fraternise, but withdrew in the most pointed fashion, +taking an Abernethy biscuit with him. + +Accommodation in farms is best described by the word "promiscuous." +There are twelve officers and two hundred men billeted here. The farm +is exactly the same as any other French farm. It consists of a +hollow square of buildings--dwelling-house, barns, pigstyes, and +stables--with a commodious manure-heap, occupying the whole yard +except a narrow strip round the edge, in the middle, the happy +hunting-ground of innumerable cocks and hens and an occasional +pig. The men sleep in the barns. The senior officers sleep in a +stone-floored boudoir of their own. The juniors sleep where they can, +and experience little difficulty in accomplishing the feat. A hard +day's marching and a truss of straw--these two combined form an +irresistible inducement to slumber. + +Only a few miles away big guns thunder until the building shakes. +To-morrow a select party of officers is to pay a visit to the +trenches. Thereafter our whole flock is to go, in its official +capacity. The War is with us at last. Early this morning a Zeppelin +rose into view on the skyline. Shell fire pursued it, and it sank +again--rumour says in the British lines. Rumour is our only war +correspondent at present. It is far easier to follow the course of +events from home, where newspapers are more plentiful than here. + +But the grim realities of war are coming home to us. Outside this farm +stands a tall tree. Not many months ago a party of Uhlans arrived +here, bringing with them a wounded British prisoner. They crucified +him to that self-same tree, and stood round him till he died. He was a +long time dying. + +Some of us had not heard of Uhlans before. These have now noted the +name, for future reference--and action. + + + + +XV + +IN THE TRENCHES--AN OFF-DAY + + +This town is under constant shell fire. It goes on day after day: +it has been going on for months. Sometimes a single shell comes: +sometimes half a dozen. Sometimes whole batteries get to work. The +effect is terrible. You who live at home in ease have no conception of +what it is like to live in a town which is under intermittent shell +fire. + +I say this advisedly. You have no conception whatsoever. + +We get no rest. There is a distant boom, followed by a crash overhead. +Cries are heard--the cries of women and children. They are running +frantically--running to observe the explosion, and if possible pick +up a piece of the shell as a souvenir. Sometimes there are not enough +souvenirs to go round, and then the clamour increases. + +We get no rest, I say--only frightfulness. British officers, walking +peaceably along the pavement, are frequently hustled and knocked aside +by these persons. Only the other day, a full colonel was compelled to +turn up a side-street, to avoid disturbing a ring of excited children +who were dancing round a beautiful new hole in the ground in the +middle of a narrow lane. + +If you enter into a café or estaminet, a total stranger sidles to your +table, and, having sat down beside you, produces from the recesses +of his person a fragment of shrapnel. This he lays before you, and +explains that if he had been standing at the spot where the shell +burst, it would have killed him. You express polite regret, and pass +on elsewhere, seeking peace and finding none. The whole thing is a +public scandal. + +Seriously, though, it is astonishing what contempt familiarity can +breed, even in the case of high-explosive shells. This little town +lies close behind the trenches. All day long the big guns boom. By +night the rifles and machine-guns take up the tale. One is frequently +aroused from slumber, especially towards dawn, by a perfect tornado +of firing. The machine-guns make a noise like a giant tearing calico. +Periodically, too, as already stated, we are subjected to an hour's +intimidation in the shape of bombardment. Shrapnel bursts over our +heads; shells explode in the streets, especially in open spaces, or +where two important streets cross. (With modern artillery you can +shell a town quite methodically by map and compass.) + +Brother Bosche's motto appears to be: "It is a fine morning. There is +nothing in the trenches doing. We abundant ammunition have. Let us a +little frightfulness into the town pump!" So he pumps. + +But nobody seems to mind. Of course there is a casualty now and then. +Occasionally a hole is blown in a road, or the side of a house is +knocked in. Yet the general attitude of the population is one of +rather interested expectancy. There is always the cellar to retire to +if things get really serious. The gratings are sandbagged to that end. +At other times--well, there is always the pleasing possibility of +witnessing the sudden removal of your neighbour's landmark. + +Officers breakfasting in their billets look up from their porridge, +and say,-- + +"That's a dud! _That's_ a better one! Stick to it, Bill!" + +It really is most discouraging, to a sensitive and conscientious Hun. + +The same unconcern reigns in the trenches. Let us imagine that we are +members of a distinguished party from Headquarters, about to make a +tour of inspection. + +We leave the town, and after a short walk along the inevitable +poplar-lined road turn into a field. The country all round us is +flat--flat as Cheshire; and, like Cheshire, has a pond in every field. +But in the hazy distance stands a low ridge. + +"Better keep close to the hedge," suggests the officer in charge. +"There are eighty guns on that ridge. It's a misty morning; but +they've got all the ranges about here to a yard; so they _might_--" + +We keep close to the hedge. + +Presently we find ourselves entering upon a wide but sticky path +cut in the clay. At the entrance stands a neat notice-board, which +announces, somewhat unexpectedly:-- + +OLD KENT ROAD + +The field is flat, but the path runs downhill. Consequently we soon +find ourselves tramping along below the ground-level, with a +stout parapet of clay on either side of us. Overhead there is +nothing--nothing but the blue sky, with the larks singing, quite +regardless of the War. + +"Communication trench," explains the guide. + +We tramp along this sunken lane for the best part of a mile. It winds +a good deal. Every hundred yards or so comes a great promontory of +sandbags, necessitating four right-angle turns. Once we pass under the +shadow of trees, and apple-blossom flutters down upon our upturned +faces. We are walking through an orchard. Despite the efforts of ten +million armed men, brown old Mother Earth has made it plain that +seedtime and harvest shall still prevail. + +Now we are crossing a stream, which cuts the trench at right angles. +The stream is spanned by a structure of planks--labelled, it is hardly +necessary to say, LONDON BRIDGE. The side-street, so to speak, by +which the stream runs away, is called JOCK'S JOY. We ask why? + +"It's the place where the Highlanders wash their knees," is the +explanation. + +Presently we arrive at PICCADILLY CIRCUS, a muddy excavation in the +earth, from which several passages branch. These thoroughfares are +not all labelled with strict regard for London geography. We note THE +HAYMARKET, also PICCADILLY; but ARTILLERY LANE seems out of place, +somehow. On the site, too, of the Criterion, we observe a subterranean +cavern containing three recumbent figures, snoring lustily. This bears +the sign CYCLISTS' REST. + +We, however, take the turning marked SHAFTESBURY AVENUE, and +after passing (quite wrongly, don't you think?) through TRAFALGAR +SQUARE--six feet by eight--find ourselves in the actual firing trench. + +It is an unexpectedly spacious place. We, who have spent the winter +constructing slits in the ground two feet wide, feel quite lost in +this roomy thoroughfare. For a thoroughfare it is, with little toy +houses on either side. They are hewn out of the solid earth, lined +with planks, painted, furnished, and decorated. These are, so to +speak, permanent trenches, which have been occupied for more than six +months. + +Observe this eligible residence on your left. It has a little door, +nearly six feet high, and a real glass window, with a little curtain. +Inside, there is a bunk, six feet long, together with an ingenious +folding washhand-stand, of the nautical variety, and a flap-table. +The walls, which are painted pale green, are decorated with elegant +extracts from the "Sketch" and "La Vie Parisienne." Outside, the name +of the villa is painted up. It is in Welsh--that notorious railway +station in Anglesey which runs to thirty-three syllables or so--and +extends from one end of the façade to the other. A small placard +announces that Hawkers, Organs, and Street-cries are prohibited. + +"This is my shanty," explains a machine-gun officer standing by. "It +was built by a Welsh Fusilier, who has since moved on. He was here all +winter, and made everything himself, including the washhand-stand. +Some carpenter--what? of course I am not here continuously. We have +six days in the trenches and six out; so I take turns with a man in +the Midland Mudcrushers, who take turns with us. Come in and have some +tea." + +It is only ten o'clock in the morning, but tea--strong and sweet, with +condensed milk--is instantly forthcoming. Refreshed by this, and a +slice of cake, we proceed upon our excursion. + +The trench is full of men, mostly asleep; for the night cometh, when +no man may sleep. They lie in low-roofed rectangular caves, like the +interior of great cucumber-frames, lined with planks and supported by +props. The cave is really a homogeneous affair, for it is constructed +in the R.E. workshops and then brought bodily to the trenches and +fitted into its appointed excavation. Each cave holds three men. They +lie side by side, like three dogs in a triple kennel, with their heads +outward and easily accessible to the individual who performs the +functions of "knocker-up." + +Others are cooking, others are cleaning their rifles. The proceedings +are superintended by a contemplative tabby cat, coiled up in a niche, +like a feline flower in a crannied wall. + +"She used ter sit on top of the parapet," explains a friendly +lance-corporal; "but became a casualty, owin' to a sniper mistakin' +'er for a Guardsman's bearskin. Show the officer your back, +Christabel!" + +We inspect the healed scar, and pass on. Next moment we round a +traverse--and walk straight into the arms of Privates Ogg and Hogg! + +No need now to remain with the distinguished party from Headquarters. +For the next half-mile of trench you will find yourselves among +friends. "K(1)" and Brother Bosche are face to face at last, and here +you behold our own particular band of warriors taking their first +spell in the trenches. + +Let us open the door of this spacious dug-out--the image of an +up-river bungalow, decorated with window-boxes and labelled Potsdam +View--and join the party of four which sits round the table. + +"How did your fellows get on last night, Wagstaffe?" inquires Major +Kemp. + +"Very well, on the whole. It was a really happy thought on the part of +the authorities--almost human, in fact--to put us in alongside the old +regiment." + +"Or what's left of them." + +Wagstaffe nods gravely. + +"Yes. There are some changes in the Mess since I last dined there," he +says. "Anyhow, the old hands took our boys to their bosoms at once, +and showed them the ropes." + +"The men did not altogether fancy look-out work in the dark, sir," +says Bobby Little to Major Kemp. + +"Neither should I, very much," said Kemp. "To take one's stand on a +ledge fixed at a height which brings one's head and shoulders well +above the parapet, and stand there for an hour on end, knowing that +a machine-gun may start a spell of rapid traversing fire at any +moment--well, it takes a bit of doing, you know, until you are used to +it. How did you persuade 'em, Bobby?" + +"Oh, I just climbed up on the top of the parapet and sat there for a +bit," says Bobby Little modestly. "They were all right after that." + +"Had you any excitement, Ayling?" asks Kemp. "I hear rumours that you +had two casualties." + +"Yes," says Ayling. "Four of us went out patrolling in front of the +trench--" + +"Who?" + +"Myself, two men, and old Sergeant Carfrae." + +"Carfrae?" Wagstaffe laughs. "That old fire-eater? I remember him at +Paardeberg. You were lucky to get back alive. Proceed, my son!" + +"We went out," continues Ayling, "and patrolled." + +"How?" + +"Well, there you rather have me. I have always been a bit foggy as to +what a patrol really does--what risks it takes, and so on. However, +Carfrae had no doubts on the subject whatever. His idea was to trot +over to the German trenches and look inside." + +"Quite so!" agreed Wagstaffe, and Kemp chuckled. + +"Well, we were standing by the barbed wire entanglement, arguing the +point, when suddenly some infernal imbecile in our own trenches--" + +"Cockerell, for a dollar!" murmurs Wagstaffe. "Don't say he fired at +you!" + +"No, he did worse. He let off a fireball." + +"Whew! And there you stood in the limelight!" + +"Exactly." + +"What did you do?" + +"I had sufficient presence of mind to do what Carfrae did. I threw +myself on my face, and shouted to the two men to do the same." + +"Did they?" + +"No. They started to run back towards the trenches. Half a dozen +German rifles opened on them at once." + +"Were they badly hit?" + +"Nothing to speak of, considering. The shots mostly went high. Preston +got his elbow smashed, and Burke had a bullet through his cap and +another in the region of the waistband. Then they tumbled into the +trench like rabbits. Carfrae and I crawled after them." + +At this moment the doorway of the dugout is darkened by a massive +figure, and Major Kemp's colour-sergeant announces-- + +"There's a parrty of Gairmans gotten oot o' their trenches, sirr. Will +we open fire?" + +"Go and have a look at 'em, like a good chap, Wagger," says the Major. +"I want to finish this letter." + +Wagstaffe and Bobby Little make their way along the trench until they +come to a low opening marked MAXIM VILLA. They crawl inside, and find +themselves in a semicircular recess, chiefly occupied by an earthen +platform, upon which a machine-gun is mounted. The recess is roofed +over, heavily protected with sandbags, and lined with iron plates; +for a machine-gun emplacement is the object of frequent and pressing +attention from high-explosive shells. There are loopholes to right +and left, but not in front. These deadly weapons prefer diagonal or +enfilade fire. It is not worth while to fire them frontally. + +Wagstaffe draws back a strip of sacking which covers one loophole, +and peers out. There, a hundred and fifty yards away, across a sunlit +field, he beholds some twenty grey figures, engaged in the most +pastoral of pursuits, in front of the German trenches. + +"They are cutting the grass," he says. "Let 'em, by all means! If they +don't, we must. We don't want their bomb-throwers crawling over here +through a hay-field. Let us encourage them by every means in our +power. It might almost be worth our while to send them a message. Walk +along the trench, Bobby, and see that no excitable person looses off +at them." + +Bobby obeys; and peace still broods over the sleepy trench. The only +sound which breaks the summer stillness is the everlasting crack, +crack! of the snipers' rifles. On an off-day like this the sniper is +a very necessary person. He serves to remind us that we are at war. +Concealed in his own particular eyrie, with his eyes for ever laid +along his telescopic sight, he keeps ceaseless vigil over the ragged +outline of the enemy's trenches. Wherever a head, or anything +resembling a head, shows itself, he fires. Were it not for his +enthusiasm, both sides would be sitting in their shirt-sleeves upon +their respective parapets, regarding one another with frank curiosity; +and that would never do. So the day wears on. + +Suddenly, from far in our rear, comes a boom, then another. Wagstaffe +sighs resignedly. + +"Why can't they let well alone?" he complains. "What's the trouble +now?" + +"I expect it's our Divisional Artillery having a little target +practice," says Captain Blaikie. He peers into a neighbouring +trench-periscope. "Yes, they are shelling that farm behind the German +second-line trench. Making good shooting too, for beginners," as a +column of dust and smoke rises from behind the enemy's lines. "But +brother Bosche will be very peevish about it. We don't usually fire at +this time of the afternoon. Yes, there is the haymaking party going +home. There will be a beastly noise for the next half-hour. Pass the +word along for every man to get into his dug-out." + +The warning comes none too soon. In five minutes the incensed Hun is +retaliating for the disturbance of his afternoon siesta. A hail +of bullets passes over our trench. Shrapnel bursts overhead. +High-explosive shells rain upon and around the parapet. One drops into +the trench, and explodes, with surprisingly little effect. (Bobby +Little found the head afterwards, and sent it home as a memento of his +first encounter with reality.) + +Our trench makes no reply. There is no need. This outburst heralds no +grand assault. It is a mere display of "frightfulness," calculated to +cow the impressionable Briton. We sit close, and make tea. Only the +look-out men, crouching behind their periscopes and loopholes, keep +their posts. The wind is the wrong way for gas, and in any case we all +have respirators. Private M'Leary, the humorist of "A" Company, puts +his on, and pretends to drink his tea through it. + +Altogether, the British soldier appears sadly unappreciative either of +"frightfulness" or practical chemistry. He is a hopeless case. + +The firing ceases as suddenly as it began. Silence reigns again, +broken only by a solitary shot from a trench-mortar--a sort of +explosive postscript to a half hour's Hymn of Hate. + +"And that's that!" observes Captain Blaikie cheerfully, emerging from +Potsdam View. "The Hun is a harmless little creature, but noisy when +roused. Now, what about getting home? It will be dark in half an hour +or so. Platoon commanders, warn your men!" + +It should be noted that upon this occasion we are not doing our full +spell of duty--that is, six days. We have merely come in for a spell +of instruction, of twenty-four hours' duration, under the chaperonage +of our elder and more seasoned brethren. + +Bobby Little, having given the necessary orders to his sergeant, +proceeded to Trafalgar Square, there to await the mustering of his +platoon. + +But the first arrival took the form of a slow-moving procession--a +corporal, followed by two men carrying a stretcher. On the stretcher +lay something covered with a ground-sheet. At one end projected a pair +of regulation boots, very still and rigid. + +Bobby caught his breath. He was just nineteen, and this was his first +encounter with sudden death. + +"Who is it?" he asked unsteadily. + +The corporal saluted. + +"Private M'Leary, sirr. That last shot from the trench-mortar got him. +It came in kin' o' sideways. He was sittin' at the end of his dug-oot, +gettin' his tea. Stretcher party, advance!" + +The procession moved off again, and disappeared round the curve of +Shaftesbury Avenue. The off-day was over. + + + + +XVI + +"DIRTY WORK AT THE CROSS-ROADS TO-NIGHT" + + +Last week we abandoned the rural billets in which we had been +remodelling some of our methods (on the experiences gained by our +first visit to the trenches), and paraded at full strength for a march +which we knew would bring us right into the heart of things. No more +trial trips; no more chaperoning! This time, we decided, we were "for +it." + +During our three weeks of active service we have learned two +things--the art of shaking down quickly into our habitation of the +moment, as already noted; and the art of reducing our personal effects +to a portable minimum. + +To the private soldier the latter problem presents no difficulties. +Everything is arranged for him. His outfit is provided by the +Government, and he carries it himself. It consists of a rifle, +bayonet, and a hundred and twenty rounds of ammunition. On one side of +him hangs his water-bottle, containing a quart of water, on the other, +a haversack, occupied by his "iron ration"--an emergency meal of the +tinned variety, which must never on any account be opened except by +order of the C.O.--and such private effects as his smoking outfit and +an entirely mythical item of refreshment officially known as "the +unexpended portion of the day's ration." On his back he carries a +"pack," containing his greatcoat, waterproof sheet, and such changes +of raiment as a paternal Government allows him. He also has to find +room therein for a towel, housewife, and a modest allowance of +cutlery. (He frequently wears the spoon in his stocking, as a +skean-dhu.) Round his neck he wears his identity disc. In his +breast-pocket he carries a respirator, to be donned in the event of +his encountering the twin misfortunes of an east wind and a gaseous +Hun. He also carries a bottle of liquid for damping the respirator. In +the flap of his jacket is sewn a field dressing. + +Slung behind him is an entrenching tool. + +Any other space upon his person is at his own disposal, and he may +carry what he likes, except "unsoldierly trinkets"--whatever these may +be. However, if the passion for self-adornment proves too strong, he +may wear "the French National Colours"--a compliment to our gallant +ally which is slightly discounted by the fact that her national +colours are the same as our own. + +However, once he has attached this outfit to his suffering person, +and has said what he thinks about its weight, the private has no more +baggage worries. Except for his blanket, which is carried on a waggon, +he is his own arsenal, wardrobe, and pantry. + +Not so the officer. He suffers from _embarras de choix_. He is the +victim of his female relatives, who are themselves the victims of +those enterprising tradesmen who have adopted the most obvious method +of getting rid of otherwise unsaleable goods by labelling everything +_For Active Service_--a really happy thought when you are trying +to sell a pipe of port or a manicure set. Have you seen Our Active +Service Trouser-Press? + +By the end of April Bobby Little had accumulated, with a view to +facilitating the destruction of the foe-- + + An automatic Mauser pistol, with two thousand rounds of + ammunition. + + A regulation Service revolver. + + A camp bed. + + A camp table. + + A camp chair. + + A pneumatic mattress. + + [This ingenious contrivance was meant to be blown up, like an + air-cushion, and Bobby's servant expended most of the day and much + valuable breath in performing the feat. Ultimately, in a misguided + attempt to save his lungs from rupture, he employed a bicycle + pump, and burst the bed.] + + A sleeping (or "flea") bag. + + A portable bath. + + A portable washhand-stand. + + A dressing-case, heavily ballasted with cut-glass bottles. + + A primus stove. + + A despatch case. + + The "Service" Kipling (about forty volumes.) + + Innumerable socks and shirts. + + A box of soap. + + Fifty boxes of matches. + + A small medicine chest. + + About a dozen first-aid outfits. + + A case of pipes, and cigarettes innumerable. + + [Bobby's aunts regarded cigars as not quite ascetic enough for + active service. Besides, they might make him sick.] + + About a cubic foot of chocolate (various). + + Numerous compressed foods and concentrated drinks. + + An "active service" cooking outfit. + + An electric lamp, with several refills. + + A pair of binoculars. + + A telescope. + + A prismatic compass. + + A sparklet siphon. + + A luminous watch. + + A pair of insulated wire-cutters. + +"There's only one thing you've forgotten," remarked Captain Wagstaffe, +when introduced to this unique collection of curios. + +"What is that?" inquired Bobby, always eager to learn. + +"A pantechnicon! Do you known how much personal baggage an officer is +allowed, in addition to what he carries himself?" + +"Thirty-five pounds." + +"Correct." + +"It sounds a lot," said Bobby. + +"It looks precious little!" was Wagstaffe's reply. + +"I suppose they won't be particular to a pound or so," said Bobby +optimistically. + +"Listen," commanded Wagstaffe. "When we go abroad, your Wolseley +valise, containing this"--he swept his hand round the crowded +hut--"this military museum, will be handed to the Quartermaster. He +is a man of singularly rigid mind, with an exasperating habit of +interpreting rules and regulations quite literally. If you persist in +this scheme of asking him to pass half a ton of assorted lumber as a +package weighing thirty-five pounds, he will cast you forth and remain +your enemy for life. And personally," concluded Wagstaffe, "I would +rather keep on the right side of my Regimental Quartermaster than of +the Commander-in-Chief himself. Now, send all this stuff home--you can +use it on manoeuvres in peace-time--and I will give you a little list +which will not break the baggage-waggon's back." + +The methodical Bobby produced a notebook. + +"You will require to wash occasionally. Take a canvas bucket, some +carbolic soap, and a good big towel. Also your toothbrush, and--excuse +the question, but do you shave?" + +"Twice a week," admitted the blushing Bobby. + +"Happy man! Well, take a safety-razor. That will do for cleanliness. +Now for clothing. Lots of socks, but only one change of other things, +unless you care to take a third shirt in your greatcoat pocket. Two +good pairs of boots, and a pair of slacks. Then, as regards sleeping. +Your flea-bag and your three Government blankets, with your valise +underneath, will keep you (and your little bedfellows) as warm as +toast. You may get separated from your valise, though, so take a +ground-sheet in your pack. Then you will be ready to dine and sleep +simply anywhere, at a moment's notice. As regards comforts generally, +take a 'Tommy's cooker,' if you can find room for it, and scrap all +the rest of your cuisine except your canteen. Take a few meat lozenges +and some chocolate in one of your ammunition-pouches, in case you ever +have to go without your breakfast. Rotten work, marching or fighting +on a hollow tummy!" + +"What about revolvers?" inquired Bobby, displaying his arsenal, a +little nervously. + +"If the Germans catch you with that Mauser, they will hang you. Take +the Webley. Then you can always draw Service ammunition." Wagstaffe +ran his eye over the rest of Bobby's outfit. "Smokes? Take your pipe +and a tinder-box: you will get baccy and cigarettes to burn out there. +Keep that electric torch; and your binoculars, of course. Also that +small map-case: it's a good one. Also wire-cutters. You can write +letters in your field-message-book. Your compass is all right. Add +a pair of canvas shoes--they're a godsend after a long day,--an +air-pillow, some candle-ends, a tin of vaseline, and a ball of string, +and I think you will do. If you find you still have a pound or so in +hand, add a few books--something to fall back on, in case supplies +fail. Personally, I'm taking 'Vanity Fair' and 'Pickwick.' But then, +I'm old-fashioned." + + * * * * * + +Bobby took Wagstaffe's advice, with the result that that genial +obstructionist, the Quartermaster, smiled quite benignly upon him when +he presented his valise; while his brother officers, sternly bidden +to revise their equipment, were compelled at the last moment to +discriminate frantically between the claims of necessity and +luxury--often disastrously. + +However, we had all found our feet, and developed into seasoned +vagabonds when we set out for the trenches last week. A few days +previously we had been inspected by Sir John French himself. + +"And that," explained Major Kemp to his subalterns, "usually means +dirty work at the cross-roads at no very distant period!" + + * * * * * + +Major Kemp was right--quite literally right. + +Our march took us back to Armentières, whose sufferings under +intermittent shell fire have already been described. We marched by +night, and arrived at breakfast-time. The same evening two companies +and a section of machine-gunners were bidden to equip themselves with +picks and shovels and parade at dusk. An hour later we found ourselves +proceeding cautiously along a murky road close behind the trenches. + +The big guns were silent, but the snipers were busy on both sides. +A German searchlight was combing out the heavens above: a constant +succession of star-shells illumined the earth beneath. + +"What are we going to do to-night, sir?" inquired Bobby Little, +heroically resisting an inclination to duck, as a Mauser bullet spat +viciously over his head. + +"I believe we are going to dig a redoubt behind the trenches," replied +Captain Blaikie. "I expect to meet an R.E. officer somewhere about +here, and he will tell us the worst. That was a fairly close one, +Bobby! Pass the word down quietly that the men are to keep in to +each side of the road, and walk as low as they can. Ah, there is our +sportsman, I fancy. Good evening!" + +A subaltern of that wonderful corps, the Royal Engineers, loomed out +of the darkness, removed a cigarette from his mouth, and saluted +politely. + +"Good evening, sir," he said to Blaikie. "Will you follow me, please? +I have marked out each man's digging position with white tape, so +they ought to find no difficulty in getting to work. Brought your +machine-gun officer?" + +The machine-gun officer, Ayling, was called up. + +"We are digging a sort of square fort," explained the Engineer, "to +hold a battalion. That will mean four guns to mount. I don't know much +about machine-guns myself; so perhaps you"--to Ayling--"will walk +round with me outside the position, and you can select your own +emplacements." + +"I shall be charmed," replied Ayling, and Blaikie chuckled. + +"I'll just get your infantry to work first," continued the phlegmatic +youth. "This way, sir!" + +The road at this point ran through a hollow square of trees, and it +was explained to the working-party that the trees, roughly, followed +the outlines of the redoubt. + +"The trenches are about half-finished," added the Engineer. "We had a +party from the Seaforths working here last night. Your men have only +to carry on where they left off. It's chiefly a matter of filling +sandbags and placing them on the parapet." He pointed to a blurred +heap in a corner of the wood. "There are fifty thousand there. Leave +what you don't want!" + +"Where do we get the earth to fill the sandbags?" asked Blaikie. "The +trenches, or the middle of the redoubt?" + +"Oh, pretty well anywhere," replied the Engineer. "Only, warn your men +to be careful not to dig too deep!" + +And with this dark saying he lounged off to take Ayling for his +promised walk. + +"I'll take you along the road a bit, first," he said, "and then we +will turn off into the field where the corner of the redoubt is, and +you can look at things from the outside." + +Ayling thanked him, and stepped somewhat higher than usual, as a +bullet struck the ground at his feet. + +"Extraordinary how few casualties one gets," continued the Sapper +chattily. "Their snipers go potting away all night, but they don't +often get anybody. By the way, they have a machine-gun trained on +this road, but they only loose it off every second night. Methodical +beggars!" + +"Did they loose it off last night?" + +"No. To-night's the night. Have you finished here!" + +"Yes, thanks!" + +"Right-o! We'll go to the next corner. You'll get a first-class field +of fire there, I should say." + +The second position was duly inspected, the only incident of interest +being the bursting of a star-shell directly overhead. + +"Better lie down for a minute," suggested the Engineer. + +Ayling, who had been struggling with a strong inclination to do so for +some time, promptly complied. + +"Just like the Crystal Palace on a benefit night!" observed his guide +admiringly, as the landscape was lit up with a white glare. "Now you +can see your position beautifully. You can fire obliquely in this +direction, and then do a first-class enfilade if the trenches get +rushed." + +"I see," said Ayling, surveying the position with real interest. +He was beginning to enjoy selecting gun-emplacements which really +mattered. It was a change from nine months of "eye-wash." + +When the German star-shell had spent itself they crossed the road, to +the rear of the redoubt, and marked the other two emplacements--in +comparative safety now. + +"The only trouble about this place," said Ayling, as he surveyed the +last position, "is that my fire will be masked by that house with the +clump of trees beside it." + +The Engineer produced a small note-book, and wrote in it by the light +of a convenient star-shell. + +"Right-o!" he said. "I'll have the whole caboodle pushed over for you +by to-morrow night. Anything else?" + +Ayling began to enjoy himself. After you have spent nine months in an +unprofitable attempt to combine practical machine-gun tactics with a +scrupulous respect for private property, the realisation that you may +now gratify your destructive instincts to the full comes as a welcome +and luxurious shock. + +"Thanks," he said. "You might flatten out that haystack, too." + + * * * * * + +They found the others hard at work when they returned. Captain Blaikie +was directing operations from the centre of the redoubt. + +"I say," he said, as the Engineer sat down beside him, "I'm afraid +we're doing a good deal of body-snatching. This place is absolutely +full of little wooden crosses." + +"Germans," replied the Engineer laconically. + +"How long have they been--here?" + +"Since October." + +"So I should imagine," said Blaikie, with feeling. + +"The crosses aren't much guide, either," continued the Engineer. "The +deceased are simply all over the place. The best plan is to dig until +you come to a blanket. (There are usually two or three to a blanket.) +Then tell off a man to flatten down clay over the place at once, and +try somewhere else. It is a rotten job, though, however you look at +it." + +"Have you been here long?" inquired Bobby Little, who had come across +the road for a change of air. + +"Long enough! But I'm not on duty continuously. I am Box. Cox takes +over to-morrow." He rose to his feet and looked at his watch. + +"You ought to move off by half-past one, sir," he said to Blaikie. "It +begins to get light after that, and the Bosches have three shells for +that cross-road over there down in their time-table at two-fifteen. +They're a hide-bound lot, but punctual!" + +"Thanks," said Blaikie. "I shall not neglect your advice. It is +half-past eleven now. Come along, Bobby, and we'll see how old Ayling +is getting on." + + * * * * * + +Steadily, hour by hour, in absolute silence, the work went on. There +was no talking, but (under extenuating circumstances) smoking was +permitted. Periodically, as the star-shells burst into brilliance +overhead, the workers sank down behind a parapet, or, if there was +no time, stood rigid--the one thing to avoid upon these occasions +is movement of any kind--and gave the snipers a chance. It was not +pleasant, but it was duty; and the word duty has become a mighty force +in "K(1)" these days. No one was hit, which was remarkable, when you +consider what an artist a German sniper is. Possibly the light of the +star-shells was deceptive, or possibly there is some truth in the +general rumour that the Saxons, who hold this part of the line, are +well-disposed towards us, and conduct their offensive operations with +a tactful blend of constant firing and bad shooting, which, while it +satisfies the Prussians, causes no serious inconvenience to Thomas +Atkins. + +At a quarter-past one a subdued order ran round the trenches; the men +fell in on the sheltered side of the plantation; picks and shovels +were checked; rifles and equipment were resumed; and the party stole +silently away to the cross-road, where the three shells were timed +to arrive at two-fifteen. When they did so, with true Teutonic +punctuality, an hour later, our friends were well on their way home to +billets and bed--with the dawn breaking behind them, the larks getting +to work overhead, and all the infected air of the German graveyard +swept out of their lungs by the dew of the morning. + +As for that imperturbable philosopher, Box, he sat down with a +cigarette, and waited for Cox. + + + + +XVII + +THE NEW WARFARE + + +The trench system has one thing to recommend it. It tidies things up a +bit. + +For the first few months after the war broke out confusion reigned +supreme. Belgium and the north of France were one huge jumbled +battlefield, rather like a public park on a Saturday afternoon--one of +those parks where promiscuous football is permitted. Friend and +foe were inextricably mingled, and the direction of the goal was +uncertain. If you rode into a village, you might find it occupied by +a Highland regiment or a squadron of Uhlans. If you dimly discerned +troops marching side by side with you in the dawning, it was by no +means certain that they would prove to be your friends. On the other +hand, it was never safe to assume that a battalion which you saw +hastily entrenching itself against your approach was German. It +might belong to your own brigade. There was no front and no rear, so +direction counted for nothing. The country swarmed with troops which +had been left "in the air," owing to their own too rapid advance, +or the equally rapid retirement of their supporters; with scattered +details trying to rejoin their units; or with despatch riders hunting +for a peripatetic Divisional Headquarters. Snipers shot both sides +impartially. It was all most upsetting. + +Well, as already indicated, the trench system has put all that right. +The trenches now run continuously--a long, irregular, but perfectly +definite line of cleavage--from the North Sea to the Vosges. Everybody +has been carefully sorted out--human beings on one side, Germans on +the other. ("Like the Zoo," observes Captain Wagstaffe.) Nothing could +be more suitable. _You're there, and I'm here, so what do we care?_ in +fact. + +The result is an agreeable blend of war and peace. This week, for +instance, our battalion has been undergoing a sort of rest-cure a few +miles from the hottest part of the firing line. (We had a fairly heavy +spell of work last week.) In the morning we wash our clothes, and +perform a few mild martial exercises. In the afternoon we sleep, in +all degrees of _déshabille_, under the trees in an orchard. In the +evening we play football, or bathe in the canal, or lie on our backs +on the grass, watching our aeroplanes buzzing home to roost, attended +by German shrapnel. We could not have done this in the autumn. Now, +thanks to our trenches, a few miles away, we are as safe here as in +the wilds of Argyllshire or West Kensington. + +But there are drawbacks to everything. The fact is, a trench is that +most uninteresting of human devices, a compromise. It is neither +satisfactory as a domicile nor efficient as a weapon of offence. The +most luxuriant dug-out; the most artistic window-box--these, in spite +of all biassed assertions to the contrary, compare unfavourably with a +flat in Knightsbridge. On the other hand, the knowledge that you are +keeping yourself tolerably immune from the assaults of your enemy is +heavily discounted by the fact that the enemy is equally immune from +yours. In other words, you "get no forrarder" with a trench; and the +one thing which we are all anxious to do out here is to bring this war +to a speedy and gory conclusion, and get home to hot baths and regular +meals. + +So a few days ago we were not at all surprised to be informed, +officially, that trench life is to be definitely abandoned, and +Hun-hustling to begin in earnest. + +(To be just, this decision was made months ago: the difficulty was to +put it into execution. The winter weather was dreadful. The enemy +were many and we were few. In Germany, the devil's forge at Essen +was roaring night and day: in Great Britain Trades Union bosses were +carefully adjusting the respective claims of patriotism and personal +dignity before taking their coats off. So we cannot lay our want of +progress to the charge of that dogged band of Greathearts which has +been holding on, and holding on, and holding on--while the people at +home were making up for lost time--ever since the barbarian was hurled +back from the Marne to the Aisne and confined behind his earthen +barrier. We shall win this war one day, and most of the credit will +go, as usual, to those who are in at the finish. But--when we assign +the glory and the praise, let us not forget those who stood up to the +first rush. The new armies which are pouring across the Channel this +month will bring us victory in the end. Let us bare our heads, +then, in all reverence, to the memory of those battered, decimated, +indomitable legions which saved us from utter extinction at the +beginning.) + +The situation appears to be that if we get through--and no one seems +to doubt that we shall: the difficulty lies in staying there when you +have got through--we shall be committed at once to an endless campaign +of village-fighting. This country is as flat as Cambridgeshire. +Every yard of it is under cultivation. The landscape is dotted with +farm-steadings. There is a group of cottages or an _estaminet_ at +every cross-roads. When our great invading line sweeps forward, +each one of these buildings will be held by the enemy, and must be +captured, house by house, room by room, and used as a base for another +rush. + +And how is this to be done? + +Well, it will be no military secret by the time these lines appear. It +is no secret now. The answer to the conundrum is--Bombs! + +To-day, out here, bombs are absolutely _dernier cri_. We talk of +nothing else. We speak about rifles and bayonets as if they were so +many bows and arrows. It is true that the modern Lee-Enfield and +Mauser claim to be the most precise and deadly weapons of destruction +ever devised. But they were intended for proper, gentlemanly warfare, +with the opposing sides set out in straight lines, a convenient +distance apart. In the hand-to-hand butchery which calls itself war +to-day, the rifle is rapidly becoming _démodé_. For long ranges you +require machine-guns; for short, bombs and hand-grenades. Can you +empty a cottage by firing a single rifle-shot in at the door? Can you +exterminate twenty Germans in a fortified back-parlour by a single +thrust with a bayonet? Never! But you can do both these things with a +jam-tin stuffed with dynamite and scrap-iron. + +So the bomb has come to its own, and has brought with it certain +changes--tactical, organic, and domestic. To take the last first, +the bomb-officer, hitherto a despised underling, popularly (but +maliciously) reputed to have been appointed to his present post +through inability to handle a platoon, has suddenly attained a +position of dazzling eminence. From being a mere super, he has become +a star. In fact, he threatens to dispute the pre-eminence of that +other regimental parvenu, the Machine-Gun Officer. He is now the +confidant of Colonels, and consorts upon terms of easy familiarity +with Brigade Majors. He holds himself coldly aloof from the rest of +us, brooding over the greatness of his responsibilities; and when he +speaks, it is to refer darkly to "detonators," and "primers," +and "time-fuses." And we, who once addressed him derisively as +"Anarchist," crowd round him and hang upon his lips. + +The reason is that in future it is to be a case of--"For every man, +a bomb or two"; and it is incumbent upon us, if we desire to prevent +these infernal machines from exploding while yet in our custody, to +attain the necessary details as to their construction and tender spots +by the humiliating process of conciliating the Bomb Officer. + +So far as we have mastered the mysteries of the craft, there appear to +be four types of bomb in store for us--or rather, for Brother Bosche. +They are:-- + +(1) The hair-brush. + +(2) The cricket-ball. + +(3) The policeman's truncheon. + +(4) The jam-tin. + +The hair-brush is very like the ordinary hair-brush, except that +the bristles are replaced by a solid block of high-explosive. The +policeman's truncheon has gay streamers of tape tied to its tail, to +ensure that it falls to the ground nose downwards. Both these bombs +explode on impact, and it is unadvisable to knock them against +anything--say the back of the trench--when throwing them. The +cricket-ball works by a time-fuse. Its manipulation is simplicity +itself. The removal of a certain pin releases a spring which lights an +internal fuse, timed to explode the bomb in five seconds. You take the +bomb in your right hand, remove the pin, and cast the thing madly from +you. The jam-tin variety appeals more particularly to the sportsman, +as the element of chance enters largely into its successful use. It is +timed to explode about ten seconds after the lighting of the fuse. It +is therefore unwise to throw it too soon, as there will be ample time +for your opponent to pick it up and throw it back. On the other hand, +it is unwise to hold on too long, as the fuse is uncertain in its +action, and is given to short cuts. + +Such is the tactical revolution promised by the advent of the bomb +and other new engines of war. As for its effect upon regimental and +company organisation, listen to the plaintive voice of Major Kemp:-- + +"I was once--only a few months ago--commander of a company of two +hundred and fifty disciplined soldiers. I still nominally command +that company, but they have developed into a heterogeneous mob of +specialists. If I detail one of my subalterns to do a job of work, he +reminds me that he is a bomb-expert, or a professor of sandbagging, +or director of the knuckle-duster section, or Lord High Thrower of +Stink-pots, and as such has no time to play about with such a +common thing as a platoon. As for the men, they simply laugh in the +sergeant-major's face. They are 'experts,' if you please, and are +struck off all fatigues and company duty! It was bad enough when +Ayling pinched fourteen of my best men for his filthy machine-guns; +now, the company has practically degenerated into an academy of +variety artists. The only occasion upon which I ever see them all +together is payday!" + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile, the word has just gone forth, quietly and without fuss, +that we are to uproot ourselves from our present billets, and be ready +to move at 5 A.M. to-morrow morning. + +Is this the Big Push at last? + + +II + +We have been waiting for the best part of two days and nights +listening to the thunder of the big guns, but as yet we have received +no invitation to "butt in." + +"Plenty of time yet," explains Captain Blaikie to his subalterns, in +reply to Bobby Little's expressions of impatience. "It's this way. We +start by 'isolating' a section of the enemy's line, and pound it with +artillery for about forty-eight hours. Then the guns knock off, and +the people in front rush the German first-line trenches. After that +they push on to their second and third lines; and if they can capture +and _hold them_--well, that's where the fun comes in. We go for all we +are worth through the gaps the others have made, and carry on the big +push, and keep the Bosches on the run until they drop in their tracks! +That's the situation. If we are called up to-night or to-morrow, it +will mean that things are going well. If not, it means that the attack +has failed--or, very likely, has succeeded, but it has been found +impossible to secure the position--and a lot of good chaps have been +scuppered, all for nothing." + + +III + +Next morning has arrived, and with it the news that our services +will not be required. The attack, it appears, was duly launched, and +succeeded beyond all expectations. The German line was broken, and +report says that four Divisions poured through the gap. They captured +the second-line trenches, then the third, and penetrated far into the +enemy's rear. + +Then--from their front and flanks, artillery and machine-guns opened +fire upon them. They were terribly exposed; possibly they had been +lured into a trap. At any rate, the process of "isolation" had not +been carried far enough. One thing, and only one thing, could have +saved them from destruction and their enterprise from disaster--the +support of big guns, and big guns, and more big guns. These could have +silenced the hostile tornado of shrapnel and bullets, and the position +could have been made good. + +But--apparently the supply of big-gun ammunition is not quite so +copious as it might be. We have only been at war ten months, and +people at home are still a little dazed with the novelty of their +situation. Out here, we are reasonable men, and we realise that it +requires some time to devise a system for supplying munitions which +shall hurt the feelings of no pacifist, which shall interfere with no +man's holiday or glass of beer, which shall insult no honest toiler +by compelling him to work side by side with those who are not of his +industrial tabernacle, and which shall imperil no statesman's seat in +Parliament. Things will be all right presently. + +Meanwhile, the attacking party fell back whence they came--but no +longer four full Divisions. + + + + +XVIII + +THE FRONT OF THE FRONT + + +We took over these trenches a few days ago; and as the Germans are +barely two hundred yards away, this chapter seems to justify its +title. + +For reasons foreshadowed last month, we find that we are committed to +an indefinite period of trench life, like every one else. + +Certainly we are starting at the bottom of the ladder. These trenches +are badly sited, badly constructed, difficult of access from the rear, +and swarming with large, fat, unpleasant flies, of the bluebottle +variety. They go to sleep, chiefly upon the ceiling of one's dug-out, +during the short hours of darkness, but for twenty hours out of +twenty-four they are very busy indeed. They divide their attentions +between stray carrion--there is a good deal hereabout--and our +rations. If you sit still for five minutes they also settle upon +_you_, like pins in a pin-cushion. Then, when face, hands, and knees +can endure no more, and the inevitable convulsive wriggle occurs, +they rise in a vociferous swarm, only to settle again when the victim +becomes quiescent. To these, high-explosives are a welcome relief. + +The trenches themselves are no garden city, like those at Armentières. +They were sited and dug in the dark, not many weeks ago, to secure two +hundred yards of French territory recovered from the Bosche by bomb +and bayonet. (The captured trench lies behind us now, and serves as +our second line.) They are muddy--you come to water at three feet--and +at one end, owing to their concave formation, are open to enfilade. +The parapet in many places is too low. If you make it higher with +sandbags you offer the enemy a comfortable target: if you deepen +the trench you turn it into a running stream. Therefore long-legged +subalterns crawl painfully past these danger-spots on all-fours, +envying Little Tich. + +Then there is Zacchaeus. We call him by this name because he lives up +a tree. There is a row of pollarded willows standing parallel to our +front, a hundred and fifty yards away. Up, or in, one of these lives +Zacchaeus. We have never seen him, but we know he is there; because if +you look over the top of the parapet he shoots you through the head. +We do not even know which of the trees he lives in. There are nine +of them, and every morning we comb them out, one by one, with a +machine-gun. But all in vain. Zacchaeus merely crawls away into the +standing corn behind his trees, and waits till we have finished. Then +he comes back and tries to shoot the machine-gun officer. He has not +succeeded yet, but he sticks to his task with gentle persistence. He +is evidently of a persevering rather than vindictive disposition. + +Then there is Unter den Linden. This celebrated thoroughfare is an old +communication-trench. It runs, half-ruined, from the old German trench +in our rear, right through our own front line, to the present German +trenches. It constitutes such a bogey as the Channel Tunnel scheme +once was: each side sits jealously at its own end, anticipating +hostile enterprises from the other. It is also the residence of +"Minnie." But we will return to Minnie later. + +The artillery of both sides, too, contributes its mite. There is +a dull roar far in the rear of the German trenches, followed by a +whirring squeak overhead. Then comes an earth-shaking crash a mile +behind us. We whip round, and there, in the failing evening light, +against the sunset, there springs up the silhouette of a mighty tree +in full foliage. Presently the silhouette disperses, drifts away, +and-- + +"The coals is hame, right enough!" comments Private Tosh. + +Instantly our guns reply, and we become the humble spectators of an +artillery duel. Of course, if the enemy gets tired of "searching" +the countryside for our guns and takes to "searching" our trenches +instead, we lose all interest in the proceedings, and retire to our +dug-outs, hoping that no direct hits will come our way. + +But guns are notoriously erratic in their time-tables, and fickle in +their attentions. It is upon Zacchaeus and Unter den Linden--including +Minnie--that we mainly rely for excitement. + +As already recorded, we took over these trenches a few days ago, in +the small hours of the morning. In the ordinary course of events, +relieving parties are usually able to march up under cover of darkness +to the reserve trench, half a mile in rear of the firing line, and +so proceed to their appointed place. But on this occasion the German +artillery happened to be "distributing coal" among the billets behind. +This made it necessary to approach our new home by tortuous ways, and +to take to subterranean courses at a very early stage of the journey. +For more than two hours we toiled along a trench just wide enough to +permit a man to wear his equipment, sometimes bent double to avoid the +bullets of snipers, sometimes knee-deep in glutinous mud. + +Ayling, leading a machine-gun section who were burdened with their +weapons and seven thousand rounds of ammunition, mopped his steaming +brow and inquired of his guide how much farther there was to go. + +"Abart two miles, sir," replied the youth with gloomy satisfaction. +He was a private of the Cockney regiment whom we were relieving; and +after the manner of his kind, would infinitely have preferred to +conduct us down half a mile of a shell-swept road, leading straight to +the heart of things, than waste time upon an uninteresting but safe +_détour_. + +At this Ayling's Number One, who was carrying a machine-gun tripod +weighing forty-eight pounds, said something--something distressingly +audible--and groaned deeply. + +"If we'd come the way I wanted," continued the guide, much pleased +with the effect of his words upon his audience, "we'd a' been there be +now. But the Adjutant, 'e says to me--" + +"If we had come the way you wanted," interrupted Ayling brutally, "we +should probably have been in Kingdom Come by now. Hurry up!" Ayling, +in common with the rest of those present, was not in the best of +tempers, and the loquacity of the guide had been jarring upon him for +some time. + +The Cockney private, with the air of a deeply-wronged man, sulkily led +on, followed by the dolorous procession. Another ten minutes' laboured +progress brought them to a place where several ways met. + +"This is the beginning of the reserve trenches, sir," announced the +guide. "If we'd come the way I--" + +"Lead on!" said Ayling, and his perspiring followers murmured +threatening applause. + +The guide, now in his own territory, selected the muddiest opening and +plunged down it. For two hundred yards or so he continued serenely +upon his way, with the air of one exhibiting the metropolis to a party +of country cousins. He passed numerous turnings. Then, once or +twice, he paused irresolutely; then moved on. Finally he halted, and +proceeded to climb out of the trench. + +"What are you doing?" demanded Ayling suspiciously. + +"We got to cut across the open 'ere, sir," said the youth glibly. +"Trench don't go no farther. Keep as low as you can." + +With resigned grunts the weary pilgrims hoisted themselves and their +numerous burdens out of their slimy thoroughfare, and followed their +conductor through the long grass in single file, feeling painfully +conspicuous against the whitening sky. Presently they discovered, and +descended into, another trench--all but the man with the tripod, who +descended into it before he discovered it--and proceeded upon their +dolorous way. Once more the guide, who had been refreshingly but +ominously silent for some time, paused irresolutely. + +"Look here, my man," said Ayling, "do you, or do you not, know where +you are?" + +The paragon replied hesitatingly:-- + +"Well, sir, if we'd come by the way I--" + +Ayling took a deep breath, and though conscious of the presence of +formidable competitors, was about to make the best of an officer's +vocabulary, when a kilted figure loomed out of the darkness. + +"Hallo! Who are you?" inquired Ayling. + +"This iss the Camerons' trenches, sirr," replied a polite West +Highland voice. "What trenches wass you seeking?" + +Ayling told him. + +"They are behind you, sirr." + +"I was just goin' to say, sir," chanted the guide, making one last +effort to redeem his prestige, "as 'ow--" + +"Party," commanded Ayling, "about turn!" + +Having received details of the route from the friendly Cameron, he +scrambled out of the trench and crawled along to what was now the head +of the procession. A plaintive voice followed him. + +"Beg pardon, sir, where shall _I_ go now?" + +Ayling answered the question explicitly, and moved off, feeling much +better. The late conductor of the party trailed disconsolately in the +rear. + +"I should like to know wot I'm 'ere for," he murmured indignantly. + +He got his answer, like a lightning-flash. + +"For tae carry _this_," said the man with the tripod, turning round. +"Here, caatch!" + + +II + +The day's work in trenches begins about nine o'clock the night +before. Darkness having fallen, various parties steal out into the +no-man's-land beyond the parapet. There are numerous things to be +done. The barbed wire has been broken up by shrapnel, and must be +repaired. The whole position in front of the wire must be patrolled, +to prevent the enemy from creeping forward in the dark. The corn has +grown to an uncomfortable height in places, so a fatigue party is told +off to cut it--surely the strangest species of harvesting that the +annals of agriculture can record. On the left front the muffled +clinking of picks and shovels announces that a "sap" is in course of +construction: those incorrigible night-birds, the Royal Engineers, are +making it for the machine-gunners, who in the fulness of time will +convey their voluble weapon to its forward extremity, and "loose off +a belt or two" in the direction of a rather dangerous hollow midway +between the trenches, from which of late mysterious sounds of digging +and guttural talking have been detected by the officer who lies in +the listening-post, in front of our barbed-wire entanglement, drawing +secrets from the bowels of the earth by means of a microphone. + +Behind the firing trench even greater activity prevails. Damage +done to the parapet by shell fire is being repaired. Positions and +emplacements are being constantly improved, communication trenches +widened or made more secure. Down these trenches fatigue parties are +filing, to draw rations and water and ammunition from the limbered +waggons which are waiting in the shadow of a wood, perhaps a mile +back. It is at this hour, too, that the wounded, who have been lying +pathetically cheerful and patient in the dressing-station in the +reserve trench, are smuggled to the Field Ambulance--probably to find +themselves safe in a London hospital within twenty-four hours. Lastly, +under the kindly cloak of night, we bury our dead. + +Meanwhile, within various stifling dug-outs, in the firing trench or +support-trench, overheated company commanders are dictating reports +or filling in returns. (Even now the Round Game Department is not +entirely shaken off.) There is the casualty return, and a report on +the doings of the enemy, and another report of one's own doings, and a +report on the direction of the wind, and so on. Then there are various +indents to fill up--scrawled on a wobbly writing-block with a blunt +indelible pencil by the light of a guttering candle--for ammunition, +and sandbags, and revetting material. + +All this literature has to be sent to Battalion Headquarters by +one A.M., either by orderly or telephone. There it is collated and +condensed, and forwarded to the Brigade, which submits it to the +same process and sends it on, to be served up piping hot and easily +digestible at the breakfast-table of the Division, five miles away, at +eight o'clock. + +You must not imagine, however, that all this night-work is +performed in gross darkness. On the contrary. There is abundance of +illumination; and by a pretty thought, each side illuminates the +other. We perform our nocturnal tasks, in front of and behind the +firing trench, amid a perfect hail of star-shells and magnesium +lights, topped up at times by a searchlight--all supplied by our +obliging friend the Hun. We, on our part, do our best to return these +graceful compliments. + +The curious and uncanny part of it all is that there is no firing. +During these brief hours there exists an informal truce, founded on +the principle of live and let live. It would be an easy business to +wipe out that working-party, over there by the barbed wire, with a +machine-gun. It would be child's play to shell the road behind the +enemy's trenches, crowded as it must be with ration-waggons and +water-carts, into a blood-stained wilderness. But so long as each side +confines itself to purely defensive and recuperative work, there is +little or no interference. That slave of duty, Zacchaeus, keeps on +pegging away; and occasionally, if a hostile patrol shows itself too +boldly, there is a little exuberance from a machine-gun; but on the +whole there is silence. After all, if you prevent your enemy from +drawing his rations, his remedy is simple: he will prevent you from +drawing yours. Then both parties will have to fight on empty stomachs, +and neither of them, tactically, will be a penny the better. So, +unless some elaborate scheme of attack is brewing, the early hours +of the night are comparatively peaceful. But what is that sudden +disturbance in the front-line trench? A British rifle rings out, then +another, and another, until there is an agitated fusilade from end +to end of the section. Instantly the sleepless host across the way +replies, and for three minutes or so a hurricane rages. The working +parties out in front lie flat on their faces, cursing patiently. +Suddenly the storm dies away, and perfect silence reigns once more. +It was a false alarm. Some watchman, deceived by the whispers of the +night breeze, or merely a prey to nerves, has discerned a phantom army +approaching through the gloom, and has opened fire thereon. This often +occurs when troops are new to trench-work. + +It is during these hours, too, that regiments relieve one another in +the trenches. The outgoing regiment cannot leave its post until the +incoming regiment has "taken over." Consequently you have, for a brief +space, two thousand troops packed into a trench calculated to hold one +thousand. Then it is that strong men swear themselves faint, and the +Rugby football player has reason to be thankful for his previous +training in the art of "getting through the scrum." However perfect +your organisation may be, congestion is bound to occur here and there; +and it is no little consolation to us to feel, as we surge and sway +in the darkness, that over there in the German lines a Saxon and +a Prussian private, irretrievably jammed together in a narrow +communication trench, are consigning one another to perdition in just +the same husky whisper as that employed by Private Mucklewame and his +"opposite number" in the regiment which has come to relieve him. + +These "reliefs" take place every four or five nights. There was a +time, not so long ago, when a regiment was relieved, not when it was +weary, but when another regiment could be found to replace it. Our own +first battalion once remained in the trenches, unrelieved and only +securing its supplies with difficulty, for five weeks and three days. +During all that time they were subject to most pressing attentions on +the part of the Bosches, but they never lost a yard of trench. They +received word from Headquarters that to detach another regiment +for their relief would seriously weaken other and most important +dispositions. The Commander-in-Chief would therefore be greatly +obliged if they could hold on. So they held on. + +At last they came out, and staggered back to billets. Their old +quarters, naturally, had long been appropriated by other troops, and +the officers had some difficulty in recovering their kits. + +"I don't mind being kept in trenches for several weeks," remarked +their commander to the staff officer who received him when he +reported, "and I can put up with losing my sleeping-bag; but I do +object to having my last box of cigars looted by the blackguards who +took over our billets!" + +The staff officer expressed sympathy, and the subject dropped. But +not many days later, while the battalion were still resting, their +commander was roused in the middle of the night from the profound +slumber which only the experience of many nights of anxious vigil can +induce, by the ominous message:-- + +"An orderly to see you, from General Headquarters, sir!" + +The colonel rolled stoically out of bed, and commanded that the +orderly should be brought before him. + +The man entered, carrying, not a despatch, but a package, which he +proffered with a salute. + +"With the Commander-in-Chief's compliments, sir!" he announced. + +The package was a box of cigars! + +But that was before the days of "K(1)." + +But the night is wearing on. It is half-past one--time to knock off +work. Tired men, returning from ration-drawing or sap-digging, throw +themselves down and fall dead asleep in a moment. Only the sentries, +with their elbows on the parapet, maintain their sleepless watch. From +behind the enemy's lines comes a deep boom--then another. The big guns +are waking up again, and have decided to commence their day's work by +speeding our empty ration-waggons upon their homeward way. Let them! +So long as they refrain from practising direct hits on our front-line +parapet, and disturbing our brief and hardly-earned repose, they may +fire where they please. The ration train is well able to look after +itself. + +"A whiff o' shrapnel will dae nae harrm to thae strawberry-jam +pinchers!" observes Private Tosh bitterly, rolling into his dug-out. +By this opprobrious term he designates that distinguished body of men, +the Army Service Corps. A prolonged diet of plum-and-apple jam has +implanted in the breasts of the men in the trenches certain dark +and unworthy suspicions concerning the entire altruism of those +responsible for the distribution of the Army's rations. + + * * * * * + +It is close on daybreak, and the customary whispered order runs down +the stertorous trench:-- + +"Stand to arms!" + +Straightway the parapets are lined with armed men; the waterproof +sheets which have been protecting the machine-guns from the dews of +night are cast off; and we stand straining our eyes into the whitening +darkness. + +This is the favourite hour for attack. At any moment the guns may open +fire upon our parapet, or a solid wall of grey-clad figures rise from +that strip of corn-land less than a hundred yards away, and descend +upon us. Well, we are ready for them. Just by way of signalising the +fact, there goes out a ragged volley of rifle fire, and a machine-gun +rips off half a dozen bursts into the standing corn. But apparently +there is nothing doing this morning. The day grows brighter, but there +is no movement upon the part of Brother Bosche. + +But--what is that light haze hanging over the enemy's trenches? It is +slight, almost impalpable, but it appears to be drifting towards us. +Can it be--? + +Next moment every man is hurriedly pulling his gas helmet over his +head, while Lieutenant Waddell beats a frenzied tocsin upon the +instrument provided for the purpose--to wit, an empty eighteen-pounder +shell, which, suspended from a bayonet stuck into the parados (or back +wall) of the trench, makes a most efficient alarm-gong. The sound is +repeated all along the trench, and in two minutes every man is in his +place, cowled like a member of the Holy Inquisition, glaring through +an eye-piece of mica, and firing madly into the approaching wall of +vapour. + +But the wall approaches very slowly--in fact, it almost stands +still--and finally, as the rising sun disentangles itself from a pink +horizon and climbs into the sky, it begins to disappear. In half +an hour nothing is left, and we take off our helmets, sniffing the +morning air dubiously. But all we smell is the old mixture--corpses +and chloride of lime. + +The incident, however, was duly recorded by Major Kemp in his report +of the day's events, as follows:-- + +4.7 A.M.--_Gas alarm, false. Due either to morning mist, or the fact +that enemy found breeze insufficient, and discontinued their attempt._ + +"Still, I'm not sure," he continued, slapping his bald head with a +bandana handkerchief, "that a whiff of chlorine or bromine wouldn't do +these trenches a considerable amount of good. It would tone down some +of the deceased a bit, and wipe out these infernal flies. Waddell, if +I give you a shilling, will you take it over to the German trenches +and ask them to drop it into the meter?" + +"I do not think, sir," replied the literal Waddell, "that an English +shilling would fit a German meter. Probably a mark would be required, +and I have only a franc. Besides, sir, do you think that--" + +"Surgical operation at seven-thirty, sharp!" intimated the major to +the medical officer, who entered the dug-out at that moment. "For +our friend here"--indicating the bewildered Waddell. "Sydney Smith's +prescription! Now, what about breakfast?" + + * * * * * + +About nine o'clock the enemy indulges in what is usually described, +most disrespectfully, as "a little morning hate"--in other words, a +bombardment. Beginning with a _hors d'oeuvre_ of shrapnel along the +reserve trench--much to the discomfort of Headquarters, who are +shaving--he proceeds to "search" a tract of woodland in our immediate +rear, his quarry being a battery of motor machine-guns, which has +wisely decamped some hours previously. Then, after scientifically +"traversing" our second line, which has rashly advertised its position +and range by cooking its breakfast over a smoky fire, he brings the +display to a superfluous conclusion by dropping six "Black Marias" +into the deserted ruins of a village not far behind us. After that +comes silence; and we are able, in our hot, baking trenches, assisted +by clouds of bluebottles, to get on with the day's work. + +This consists almost entirely in digging. As already stated, these are +bad trenches. The parapet is none too strong--at one point it has been +knocked down for three days running--the communication trenches are +few and narrow, and there are not nearly enough dug-outs. Yesterday +three men were wounded; and owing to the impossibility of carrying a +stretcher along certain parts of the trench, they had to be conveyed +to the rear in their ground-sheets--bumped against projections, bent +round sharp corners, and sometimes lifted, perforce, bodily into view +of the enemy. So every man toils with a will, knowing full well that +in a few hours' time he may prove to have been his own benefactor. +Only the sentries remain at the parapets. They no longer expose +themselves, as at night, but take advantage of the laws of optical +reflection, as exemplified by the trench periscope. (This, in spite +of its grand title, is nothing but a tiny mirror clipped on to a +bayonet.) + +At half-past twelve comes dinner--bully-beef, with biscuit and +jam--after which each tired man, coiling himself up in the trench, or +crawling underground, according to the accommodation at his disposal, +drops off into instant and heavy slumber. The hours from two till five +in the afternoon are usually the most uneventful of the twenty-four, +and are therefore devoted to hardly-earned repose. + +But there is to be little peace this afternoon. About half-past three, +Bobby Little, immersed in pleasant dreams--dreams of cool shades and +dainty companionship--is brought suddenly to the surface of things +by-- + +"Whoo-oo-_oo_-oo-UMP!" + +--followed by a heavy thud upon the roof of his dug-out. Earth and +small stones descend in a shower upon him. + +"Dirty dogs!" he comments, looking at his watch. Then he puts his head +out of the dug-out. + +"Lie close, you men!" he cries. "There's more of this coming. Any +casualties?" + +The answer to the question is obscured by another burst of shrapnel, +which explodes a few yards short of the parapet, and showers bullets +and fragments of shell into the trench. A third and a fourth +follow. Then comes a pause. A message is passed down for the +stretcher-bearers. Things are growing serious. Five minutes later +Bobby, having despatched his wounded to the dressing-station, proceeds +with all haste to Captain Blaikie's dug-out. + +"How many, Bobby?" + +"Six wounded. Two of them won't last as far as the rear, I'm afraid, +sir." + +Captain Blaikie looks grave. + +"Better ring up the Gunners, I think. Where are the shells coming +from?" + +"That wood on our left front, I think." + +"That's P 27. Telephone orderly, there?" + +A figure appears in the doorway. + +"Yes, sirr." + +"Ring up Major Cavanagh, and say that H 21 is being shelled from P 27. +Retaliate!" + +"Verra good, sirr." + +The telephone orderly disappears, to return in five minutes. + +"Major Cavanagh's compliments, sirr, and he is coming up himself for +tae observe from the firing trench." + +"Good egg!" observes Captain Blaikie. "Now we shall see some shooting, +Bobby!" + +Presently the Gunner major arrives, accompanied by an orderly, who +pays out wire as he goes. The major adjusts his periscope, while the +orderly thrusts a metal peg into the ground and fits a telephone +receiver to his head. + +"Number one gun!" chants the major, peering into his periscope; +"three-five-one-nothing--lyddite--fourth charge!" + +These mystic observations are repeated into the telephone by the +Cockney orderly, in a confidential undertone. + +"Report when ready!" continues the major. + +"Report when ready!" echoes the orderly. Then--"Number one gun ready, +sir!" + +"Fire!" + +"Fire!" Then, politely--"Number one has fired, sir." + +The major stiffens to his periscope, and Bobby Little, deeply +interested, wonders what has become of the report of the gun. He +forgets that sound does not travel much faster than a thousand feet +a second, and that the guns are a mile and a half back. Presently, +however, there is a distant boom. Almost simultaneously the lyddite +shell passes overhead with a scream. Bobby, having no periscope, +cannot see the actual result of the shot, though he tempts Providence +(and Zacchaeus) by peering over the top of the parapet. + +"Number one, two-nothing minutes more right," commands the major. +"Same range and charge." + +Once more the orderly goes through his ritual, and presently another +shell screams overhead. + +Again the major observes the result. + +"Repeat!" he says. "Nothing-five seconds more right." + +This time he is satisfied. + +"Parallel lines on number one," he commands crisply. "One round +battery fire--twenty seconds!" + +For the last time the order is passed down the wire, and the major +hands his periscope to the ever-grateful Bobby, who has hardly got +his eyes to the glass when the round of battery fire commences. +One--two--three--four--the avenging shells go shrieking on their way, +at intervals of twenty seconds. There are four muffled thuds, and four +great columns of earth and _débris_ spring up before the wood. Answer +comes there none. The offending battery has prudently effaced itself. + +"Cease fire!" says the major, "and register!" Then he turns to Captain +Blaikie. + +"That'll settle them for a bit," he observes. "By the way, had any +more trouble with Minnie?" + +"We had Hades from her yesterday," replies Blaikie, in answer to this +extremely personal question. "She started at a quarter-past five in +the morning, and went on till about ten." + +(Perhaps, at this point, it would be as well to introduce Minnie a +little more formally. She is the most unpleasant of her sex, and her +full name is _Minenwerfer_, or German trench-mortar. She resides, +spasmodically, in Unter den Linden. Her extreme range is about two +hundred yards, so she confines her attentions to front-line trenches. +Her _modus operandi_ is to discharge a large cylindrical bomb into +the air. The bomb, which is about fifteen inches long and some eight +inches in diameter, describes a leisurely parabola, performing +grotesque somersaults on the way, and finally falls with a soft thud +into the trench, or against the parapet. There, after an interval of +ten seconds, Minnie's offspring explodes; and as she contains about +thirty pounds of dynamite, no dug-out or parapet can stand against +her.) + +"Did she do much damage?" inquires the Gunner. + +"Killed two men and buried another. They were in a dug-out." + +The Gunner shakes his head. + +"No good taking cover against Minnie," he says. "The only way is to +come out into the open trench, and dodge her." + +"So we found," replies Blaikie. "But they pulled our legs badly the +first time. They started off with three 'whizz-bangs'"--a whizz-bang +is a particularly offensive form of shell which bursts two or three +times over, like a Chinese cracker--"so we all took cover and lay +low. The consequence was that Minnie was able to send her little +contribution along unobserved. The filthy thing fell short of the +trench, and exploded just as we were all getting up again. It smashed +up three or four yards of parapet, and scuppered the three poor chaps +I mentioned." + +"Have you located her?" + +"Yes. Just behind that stunted willow, on our left front. I fancy +they bring her along there to do her bit, and then trot her back to +billets, out of harm's way. She is their two o'clock turn--two A.M. +and two P.M." + +"Two o 'clock turn--h'm!" says the Gunner major meditatively. "What +about our chipping in with a one-fifty-five turn--half a dozen H E +shells into Minnie's dressing-room--eh? I must think this over." + +"Do!" said Blaikie cordially. "Minnie is Willie's Worst Werfer, and +the sooner she is put out of action the better for all of us. To-day, +for some reason, she failed to appear, but previous to that she has +not failed for five mornings in succession to batter down the same bit +of our parapet." + +"Where's that?" asks the major, getting out a trench-map. + +"P 7--a most unhealthy spot. Minnie pushes it over about two every +morning. The result is that we have to mount guard over the breach all +day. We build everything up again at night, and Minnie sits there as +good as gold, and never dreams of interfering. You can almost hear her +cooing over us. Then, as I say, at two o'clock, just as the working +party comes in and gets under cover, she lets slip one of her +disgusting bombs, and undoes the work of about four hours. It was a +joke at first, but we are getting fed up now. That's the worst of the +Bosche. He starts by being playful; but if not suppressed at once, +he gets rough; and that, of course, spoils all the harmony of the +proceedings. So I cordially commend your idea of the one-fifty-five +turn, sir." + +"I'll see what can be done," says the major. "I think the best plan +would be a couple of hours' solid frightfulness, from every battery we +can switch on. To-morrow afternoon, perhaps, but I'll let you know. +You'll have to clear out of this bit of trench altogether, as we shall +shoot pretty low. So long!" + + +III + +It is six o'clock next evening, and peace reigns over our trench. This +is the hour at which one usually shells aeroplanes--or rather, at +which the Germans shell ours, for their own seldom venture out in +broad daylight. But this evening, although two or three are up in the +blue, buzzing inquisitively over the enemy's lines, their attendant +escort of white shrapnel puffs is entirely lacking. Far away behind +the German lines a house is burning fiercely. + +"The Hun is a bit _piano_ to-night," observes Captain Blaikie, +attacking his tea. + +"The Hun has been rather firmly handled this afternoon," replies +Captain Wagstaffe. "I think he has had an eye-opener. There are no +flies on our Divisional Artillery." + +Bobby Little heaved a contented sigh. For two hours that afternoon he +had sat, half-deafened, while six-inch shells skimmed the parapet in +both directions, a few feet above his head. The Gunner major had been +as good as his word. Punctually at one-fifty-five "Minnie's" two +o'clock turn had been anticipated by a round of high-explosive shells +directed into her suspected place of residence. What the actual result +had been nobody knew, but Minnie had made no attempt to raise her +voice since. Thereafter the German front-line trenches had been +"plastered" from end to end, while the trenches farther back were +attended to with methodical thoroughness. The German guns had replied +vigorously, but directing only a passing fire at the trenches, +had devoted their efforts chiefly to the silencing of the British +artillery. In this enterprise they had been remarkably unsuccessful. + +"Any casualties?" asked Blaikie. + +"None here," replied Wagstaffe. "There may be some back in the support +trenches." + +"We might telephone and inquire." + +"No good at present. The wires are all cut to pieces. The signallers +are repairing them now." + +"_I_ was nearly a casualty," confessed Bobby modestly. + +"How?" + +"That first shell of ours nearly knocked my head off! I was standing +up at the time, and it rather took me by surprise. It just cleared the +parados. In fact, it kicked a lot of gravel into the back of my neck." + +"Most people get it in the neck here, sooner or later," remarked +Captain Blaikie sententiously. "Personally, I don't much mind being +killed, but I do bar being buried alive. That is why I dislike Minnie +so." He rose, and stretched himself. "Heigho! I suppose it's about +time we detailed patrols and working parties for to-night. What a +lovely sky! A truly peaceful atmosphere--what? It gives one a sort of +Sunday-evening feeling, somehow." + +"May I suggest an explanation?" said Wagstaffe. + +"By all means." + +"It _is_ Sunday evening!" + +Captain Blaikie whistled gently, and said-- + +"By Jove, so it is." Then, after a pause: "This time last Sunday--" + +Last Sunday had been an off-day--a day of cloudless summer beauty. +Tired men had slept; tidy men had washed their clothes; restless men +had wandered at ease about the countryside, careless of the guns which +grumbled everlastingly a few miles away. There had been impromptu +Church Parades for each denomination, in the corner of a wood which +was part of the demesne of a shell-torn chateau. + +It is a sadly transformed wood. The open space before the chateau, +once a smooth expanse of tennis-lawn, is now a dusty picketing-ground +for transport mules, destitute of a single blade of grass. The +ornamental lake is full of broken bottles and empty jam-tins. The +pagoda-like summer-house, so inevitable to French chateau gardens, is +a quartermaster's store. Half the trees have been cut down for fuel. +Still, the July sun streams very pleasantly through the remainder, and +the Psalms of David float up from beneath their shade quite as sweetly +as they usually do from the neighbourhood of the precentor's desk in +the kirk at home--perhaps sweeter. + +The wood itself is a _point d'appui_, or fortified post. One has to +take precautions, even two or three miles behind the main firing line. +A series of trenches zigzags in and out among the trees, and barbed +wire is interlaced with the undergrowth. In the farthermost corner +lies an improvised cemetery. Some of the inscriptions on the little +wooden crosses are only three days old. Merely to read a few of these +touches the imagination and stirs the blood. Here you may see the +names of English Tommies and Highland Jocks, side by side with their +Canadian kith and kin. A little apart lie more graves, surmounted by +epitaphs written in strange characters, such as few white men can +read. These are the Indian troops. There they lie, side by side--the +mute wastage of war, but a living testimony, even in their last +sleep, to the breadth and unity of the British Empire. The great, +machine-made Empire of Germany can show no such graves: when her +soldiers die, they sleep alone. + +The Church of England service had come last of all. Late in the +afternoon a youthful and red-faced chaplain had arrived on a bicycle, +to find a party of officers and men lying in the shade of a broad +oak waiting for him. (They were a small party: naturally, the great +majority of the regiment are what the identity-discs call "Pres" or +"R.C.") + +"Sorry to be late, sir," he said to the senior officer, saluting. +"This is my sixth sh--service to-day, and I have come seven miles for +it." + +He mopped his brow cheerfully; and having produced innumerable +hymn-books from a saddle-bag and set his congregation in array, read +them the service, in a particularly pleasing and well-modulated voice. +After that he preached a modest and manly little sermon, containing +references which carried Bobby Little, for one, back across the +Channel to other scenes and other company. After the sermon came a +hymn, sung with great vigour. Tommy loves singing hymns--when he +happens to know and like the tune. + +"I know you chaps like hymns," said the padre, when they had finished. +"Let's have another before you go. What do you want?" + +A most unlikely-looking person suggested "Abide with Me." When it was +over, and the party, standing as rigid as their own rifles, had +sung "God Save the King," the preacher announced, awkwardly--almost +apologetically-- + +"If any of you would like to--er--communicate, I shall be very glad. +May not have another opportunity for some time, you know. I think over +there"--he indicated a quiet corner of the wood, not far from the +little cemetery--"would be a good place." + +He pronounced the benediction, and then, after further recurrence to +his saddle-bag, retired to his improvised sanctuary. Here, with a +ration-box for altar, and strands of barbed wire for choir-stalls, he +made his simple preparations. + +Half a dozen of the men, and all the officers, followed him. That was +just a week ago. + + * * * * * + +Captain Wagstaffe broke the silence at last. + +"It's a rotten business, war," he said pensively--"when you come to +think of it. Hallo, there goes the first star-shell! Come along, +Bobby!" + +Dusk had fallen. From the German trenches a thin luminous thread +stole up into the darkening sky, leaned over, drooped, and burst +into dazzling brilliance over the British parapet. Simultaneously a +desultory rifle fire crackled down the lines. The night's work had +begun. + + + + +XIX + +THE TRIVIAL ROUND + + +We have been occupying trenches, off and on, for a matter of two +months, and have settled down to an unexhilarating but salutary +routine. Each dawn we "stand to arms," and peer morosely over the +parapet, watching the grey grass turn slowly to green, while snipers' +bullets buzz over our heads. Each forenoon we cleanse our dew-rusted +weapons, and build up with sandbags what the persevering Teuton +has thrown down. Each afternoon we creep unostentatiously into +subterranean burrows, while our respective gunners, from a safe +position in the rear, indulge in what they humorously describe as "an +artillery duel." The humour arises from the fact that they fire, not +at one another, but at us. It is as if two big boys, having declared +a vendetta, were to assuage their hatred and satisfy their honour by +going out every afternoon and throwing stones at one another's little +brothers. Each evening we go on sentry duty; or go out with patrols, +or working parties, or ration parties. Our losses in killed and +wounded are not heavy, but they are regular. We would not grudge the +lives thus spent if only we could advance, even a little. But there is +nothing doing. Sometimes a trench is rushed here, or recaptured there, +but the net result is--stalemate. + +The campaign upon which we find ourselves at present embarked offers +few opportunities for brilliancy. One wonders how Napoleon would have +handled it. His favourite device, we remember, was to dash rapidly +about the chessboard, insert himself between two hostile armies, and +defeat them severally. But how can you insert yourself between two +armies when you are faced by only one army--an army stretching from +Ostend to the Alps? + +One of the first elements of successful strategy is surprise. In the +old days, a general of genius could outflank his foe by a forced +march, or lay some ingenious trap or ambush. But how can you outflank +a foe who has no flanks? How can you lay an ambush for the modern +Intelligence Department, with its aeroplane reconnaissance and +telephonic nervous system? Do you mass half a million men at a chosen +point in the enemy's line? Straightway the enemy knows all about it, +and does likewise. Each morning General Headquarters of each side +finds upon its breakfast-table a concise summary of the movements of +all hostile troops, the disposition of railway rolling-stock--yea, +even aeroplane photographs of it all. What could Napoleon himself have +done under the circumstances? One is inclined to suspect that that +volcanic megalomaniac would have perished of spontaneous combustion of +the brain. + +However, trench life has its alleviations. There is The Day's Work, +for instance. Each of us has his own particular "stunt," in which he +takes that personal and rather egotistical pride which only increasing +proficiency can bestow. + +The happiest--or at least, the busiest--people just now are the +"Specialists." If you are engaged in ordinary Company work, your +energies are limited to keeping watch, dodging shells, and improving +trenches. But if you are what is invidiously termed an "employed" man, +life is full of variety. + +Do you observe that young officer sitting on a ration-box at his +dug-out door, with his head tied up in a bandage? That is Second +Lieutenant Lochgair, whom I hope to make better known to you in time. +He is a chieftain of high renown in his own inaccessible but extensive +fastness; but out here, where every man stands on his own legs, and +not his grandfather's, he is known simply as "Othello." This is due to +the fact that Major Kemp once likened him to the earnest young actor +of tradition, who blacked himself all over to ensure proficiency in +the playing of that part. For he is above all things an enthusiast in +his profession. Last night he volunteered to go out and "listen" for a +suspected mine some fifty yards from the German trenches. He set out +as soon as darkness fell, taking with him a biscuit-tin full of water. +A circular from Headquarters--one of those circulars which no one but +Othello would have treated with proper reverence--had suggested this +device. The idea was that, since liquids convey sound better than air, +the listener should place his tin of water on the ground, lie down +beside it, immerse one ear therein, and so draw secrets from the +earth. Othello failed to locate the mine, but kept his head in the +biscuit-tin long enough to contract a severe attack of earache. + +But he is not discouraged. At present he is meditating a design for +painting himself grass-green and climbing a tree--thence to take a +comprehensive and unobserved survey of the enemy's dispositions. He +will do it, too, if he gets a chance! + +The machine-gunners, also, contrive to chase monotony by methods +of their own. Listen to Ayling, concocting his diurnal scheme +of frightfulness with a colleague. Unrolled upon his knee is a +large-scale map. + +"I think we might touch up those cross-roads to-night," he says, +laying the point of his dividers upon a spot situated some hundreds of +yards in rear of the German trenches. + +"I expect they'll have lots of transport there about ration-time--eh?" + +"Sound scheme," assents his coadjutor, a bloodthirsty stripling named +Ainslie. "Got the bearings?" + +"Hand me that protractor. Seventy-one, nineteen, true. That +comes to"--Ayling performs a mental calculation--"almost exactly +eighty-five, magnetic. We'll go out about nine, with two guns, to the +corner of this dry ditch here--the range is two thousand five hundred, +exactly"-- + +"Our lightning calculator!" murmurs his admiring colleague. "No +elastic up the sleeve, or anything! All done by simple ledger-de-mang? +Proceed!" + +--"And loose off a belt or two. What say?" + +"Application forwarded, and strongly recommended," announced Ainslie. +He examined the map. "Cross-roads--eh? That means at least one +estaminet. One estaminet, with Bosches inside, complete! Think of our +little bullets all popping in through the open door, five hundred a +minute! Think of the rush to crawl under the counter! It might be a +Headquarters? We might get Von Kluck or Rupy of Bavaria, splitting +a half litre together. We shall earn Military Crosses over this, my +boy," concluded the imaginative youth. "Wow, wow!" + +"The worst of indirect fire," mused the less gifted Ayling, "is that +you never can tell whether you have hit your target or not. In fact, +you can't even tell whether there was a target there to hit." + +"Never mind; we'll chance it," replied Ainslie. "And if the Bosche +artillery suddenly wakes up and begins retaliating on the wrong spot +with whizz-bangs--well, we shall know we've tickled up _somebody_, +anyhow! Nine o'clock, you say?" + + * * * * * + +Here, again, is a bombing party, prepared to steal out under cover of +night. They are in charge of one Simson, recently promoted to Captain, +supported by that hoary fire-eater, Sergeant Carfrae. The party +numbers seven all told, the only other member thereof with whom we are +personally acquainted being Lance-Corporal M'Snape, the ex-Boy Scout. +Every man wears a broad canvas belt full of pockets: each pocket +contains a bomb. + +Simson briefly outlines the situation. Our fire-trench here runs round +the angle of an orchard, which brings it uncomfortably close to the +Germans. The Germans are quite as uncomfortable about the fact as we +are--some of us are rather inclined to overlook this important feature +of the case--and they have run a sap out towards the nearest point of +the Orchard Trench (so our aeroplane observers report), in order to +supervise our movements more closely. + +"It may only be a listening-post," explains Simson to his bombers, +"with one or two men in it. On the other hand, they may be collecting +a party to rush us. There are some big shell-craters there, and they +may be using one of them as a saphead. Anyhow, our orders are to go +out to-night and see. If we find the sap, with any Germans in it, we +are to bomb them out of it, and break up the sap as far as possible. +Advance, and follow me." + +The party steals out. The night is very still, and a young and +inexperienced moon is making a somewhat premature appearance +behind the Bosche trenches. The ground is covered with weedy +grass--disappointed hay--which makes silent progress a fairly simple +matter. The bombers move forward in extended order searching for the +saphead. Simson, in the centre, pauses occasionally to listen, and his +well-drilled line pauses with him. Sergeant Carfrae calls stertorously +upon the left. Out on the right is young M'Snape, tingling. + +They are half-way across now, and the moon is marking time behind a +cloud. + +Suddenly there steals to the ears of M'Snape--apparently from the +recesses of the earth just in front of him--a deep, hollow sound, +the sound of men talking in some cavernous space. He stops dead, and +signals to his companions to do likewise. Then he listens again. Yes, +he can distinctly hear guttural voices, and an occasional _clink, +clink_. The saphead has been reached, and digging operations are in +progress. + +A whispered order comes down the line that M'Snape is to +"investigate." He wriggles forward until his progress is arrested by a +stunted bush. Very stealthily he rises to his knees and peers over. As +he does so, a chance star-shell bursts squarely over him, and comes +sizzling officiously down almost on to his back. His head drops like +a stone into the bush, but not before the ghostly magnesium flare has +shown him what he came out to see--a deep shell-crater. The crater is +full of Germans. They look like grey beetles in a trap, and are busy +with pick and shovel, apparently "improving" the crater and connecting +it with their own fire-trenches. They have no sentry out. _Dormitat +Homerus._ + +M'Snape worms his way back, and reports. Then, in accordance with an +oft-rehearsed scheme, the bombing party forms itself into an arc of a +circle at a radius of some twenty yards from the stunted bush. (Not +the least of the arts of bomb-throwing is to keep out of range of your +own bombs.) Every man's hand steals to his pocketed belt. Next moment +Simson flings the first bomb. It flies fairly into the middle of the +crater. + +Half a dozen more go swirling after it. There is a shattering roar; a +cloud of smoke; a muffled rush, of feet; silence; some groans. +Almost simultaneously the German trenches are in an uproar. A dozen +star-shells leap to the sky; there is a hurried outburst of rifle +fire; a machine-gun begins to patter out a stuttering malediction. + +Meanwhile our friends, who have exhibited no pedantic anxiety to +remain and behold the result of their labours, are lying upon their +stomachs in a convenient fold in the ground, waiting patiently until +such time as it shall be feasible to complete their homeward journey. + +Half an hour later they do so, and roll one by one over the parapet +into the trench. Casualties are slight. Private Nimmo has a +bullet-wound in the calf of his leg, and Sergeant Carfrae, whom Nature +does not permit to lie as flat as the others, will require some +repairs to the pleats of his kilt. + +"All present?" inquires Simson. + +It is discovered that M'Snape has not returned. Anxious eyes peer over +the parapet. The moon is stronger now, but it is barely possible to +distinguish objects clearly for more than a few yards. + +A star-shell bursts, and heads sink below the parapet. A German bullet +passes overhead, with a sound exactly like the crack of a whip. +Silence and comparative darkness return. The heads go up again. + +"I'll give him five minutes more, and then go and look for him," says +Simson. "Hallo!" + +A small bush, growing just outside the barbed wire, rises suddenly +to its feet; and, picking its way with incredible skill through the +nearest opening, runs at full speed for the parapet. Next moment it +tumbles over into the trench. + +Willing hands extracted M'Snape from his arboreal envelope--he could +probably have got home quite well without it, but once a Boy Scout, +always a Boy Scout--and he made his report. + +"I went back to have a look-see into the crater, sirr." + +"Well?" + +"It's fair blown in, sirr, and a good piece of the sap too. I tried +could I find a prisoner to bring in"--our Colonel has promised a +reward of fifty francs to the man who can round up a whole live +Bosche--"but there were nane. They had got their wounded away, I +doubt." + +"Never mind," says Simson. "Sergeant, see these men get some sleep +now. Stand-to at two-thirty, as usual. I must go and pitch in a +report, and I shall say you all did splendidly. Good-night!" + +This morning, the official Intelligence Summary of our +Division--published daily and known to the unregenerate as "Comic +Cuts"--announced, with solemn relish, among other items of news:-- + +_Last night a small party bombed a suspected saphead at_--here +followed the exact bearings of the crater on the large-scale map. +_Loud groans were heard, so it is probable that the bombs took +effect_. + +For the moment, life has nothing more to offer to our seven friends. + + +II + +As already noted, our enthusiasm for our own sphere of activity is +not always shared by our colleagues. For instance, we in the trenches +frequently find the artillery of both sides unduly obtrusive; and we +are of opinion that in trench warfare artillery practice should be +limited by mutual consent to twelve rounds per gun per day, fired by +the gunners _at_ the gunners. "Except, of course, when the Big Push +comes." The Big Push is seldom absent from our thoughts in these days. + +"That," observed Captain Wagstaffe to Bobby Little, "would leave us +foot-sloggers to settle our own differences. My opinion is that we +should do so with much greater satisfaction to ourselves if we weren't +constantly interfered with by coal-boxes and Black Marias." + +"Still, you can't blame them for loosing off their big guns," +contended the fair-minded Bobby. "It must be great sport." + +"They tell me it's a greatly overrated amusement," replied +Wagstaffe--"like posting an insulting letter to some one you dislike. +You see, you aren't there when he opens it at breakfast next morning! +The only man of them who gets any fun is the Forward Observing +Officer. And he," concluded Wagstaffe in an unusual vein of pessimism, +"does not live long enough to enjoy it!" + +The grievances of the Infantry, however, are not limited to those +supplied by the Royal Artillery. There are the machine-guns and the +trench-mortars. + +The machine-gunner is a more or less accepted nuisance by this time. +He has his own emplacements in the line, but he never appears to use +them. Instead, he adopts the peculiar expedient of removing his weapon +from a snug and well-fortified position, and either taking it away +somewhere behind the trenches and firing salvoes over your head (which +is reprehensible), or planting it upon the parapet in your particular +preserve, and firing it from there (which is criminal). Machine-gun +fire always provokes retaliation. + +"Why in thunder can't you keep your filthy tea-kettle in its own +place, instead of bringing it here to draw fire?" inquired Mr. +Cockerell, not altogether unreasonably, as Ayling and his satellites +passed along the trench bearing the offending weapon, with +water-jacket aboil, back to its official residence. + +"It is all for your good, my little man," explained Ayling loftily. +"It would never do to give away one's real gun positions. If we did, +the Bosches would sit tight and say nothing at the time, but just make +a note of the occurrence. Then, one fine morning, when they _really_ +meant business, they would begin by droping a Black Maria on top of +each emplacement; and where would you and your platoon be then, with +an attack coming on and _us_ out of action? So long!" + +But the most unpopular man in the trenches is undoubtedly the Trench +Mortar Officer. His apparatus consists of what looks like a section +of rain-pipe, standing on legs. Upon its upturned muzzle is poised +a bomb, having the appearance of a plum-pudding on a stick. This he +discharges over the parapet into the German trenches, where it causes +a comforting explosion. He then walks rapidly away. + +For obvious reasons, it is not advisable to fire a trench-mortar too +often--at any rate from the same place. But the whole weight of public +opinion in our trench is directed against it being fired from anywhere +at all. Behold the Trench Mortar Officer and his gang of pariahs +creeping stealthily along in the lee of the parados, just as dawn +breaks, in the section of trench occupied by No. 10 Platoon. For the +moment they are unheeded, for the platoon are "standing-to," and +the men are lined along the firing-step, with their backs to the +conspirators. + +On reaching a suitable spot, the mortar party proceed to erect their +apparatus with as little ostentation as possible. But they are soon +discovered. The platoon subaltern hurries up. + +"Awfully sorry, old man," he says breathlessly, "but the C.O. gave +particular orders that this part of the trench was on no account to be +used for trench-mortar fire. You see, we are only about seventy yards +from the Bosche trenches here--" + +"I know," explains the T.M.O.; "that is why I came." + +"But it is most important," continues the platoon commander, still +quoting glibly from an entirely imaginary mandate of the C.O., "that +no retaliatory shell fire should be attracted here. Most serious +for the whole Brigade, if this bit of parapet got pushed over. Now, +there's a topping place about ten traverses away. You can lob them +over from there beautifully. Come along." + +And with fair words and honeyed phrases he elbows the dispirited band +to a position--for his platoon--of comparative inoffensiveness. + +The Trench Mortar Officer drifts on, and presently, with the uneasy +assurance of the proprietor of a punch-and-judy show who has +inadvertently strayed into Park Lane, attempts once more to give his +unpopular entertainment. This time his shrift is even shorter, for he +encounters Major Kemp--never at his sunniest in the small hours of the +morning. + +Field officers have no need to employ the language of diplomacy when +dealing with subalterns. + +"No, you _don't_, my lad!" announces the Major. "Not if I can help it! +Take it away! Take your darned liver-pill out of this! Burn, it! Bury +it! Eat it! But not here! Creep away!" + +The abashed procession complies. This time they find a section +of trench in charge of a mere corporal. Here, before any one of +sufficient standing can be summoned to deal with the situation, the +Trench Mortar Officer seizes his opportunity, and discharges three +bombs over the parapet. He then retires defiantly to his dug-out. + +But it is an Ishmaelitish existence. + + +III + +So much for the alleviations which professional enthusiasm bestows. +Now for a few alleviations proper. These are Sleep, Food, and +Literature. + +Sleep is the rarest of these. We seldom get more than a few hours at +a time; but it is astonishing how readily one learns to slumber in +unlikely surroundings--upon damp earth, in cramped positions, amid +ceaseless noise, in clothes and boots that have not been removed for +days. One also acquires the priceless faculty of losing no time in +dropping off. + +As for food, we grumble at times, just as people at home are grumbling +at the Savoy, or Lockhart's. It is the Briton's habit so to do. But in +moments of repletion we are fain to confess that the organisation of +our commissariat is wonderful. Of course the quality of the _menu_ +varies, according to the immunity of the communication-trenches from +shell fire, or the benevolence of the Quartermaster and the mysterious +powers behind him, or the facilities for cooking offered by the time +and place in which we find ourselves. No large fires are permitted: +the smoke would give too good a ranging-mark to Minnie and her +relatives. Still, it is surprising how quickly you can boil a +canteen over a few chips. There is also, for those who can afford +half-a-crown, that invaluable contrivance, "Tommy's Cooker"; and +occasionally we get a ration of coke. When times are bad, we live on +bully, biscuit, cheese, and water, strongly impregnated with chloride +of lime. The water is conveyed to us in petrol-tins--the old familiar +friends, Shell and Pratt--hundreds of them. Motorists at home must be +feeling the shortage. In normal times we can reckon on plenty of hot, +strong tea; possibly some bread; probably an allowance of bacon and +jam. And sometimes, when the ration parties arrive, mud-stained and +weary, in the dead of night, and throw down their bursting sacks, our +eyes feast upon such revelations as tinned butter, condensed milk, +raisins, and a consignment of that great chieftain of the ration race, +The Maconochie of Maconochie. On these occasions Private Mucklewame +collects his share, retires to his kennel, and has a gala-day. + +Thirdly, the blessings of literature. Our letters arrive at night, +with the rations. The mail of our battalion alone amounts to eight or +ten mail-bags a day; from which you may gather some faint idea of the +labours of our Field Post Offices. There are letters, and parcels, and +newspapers. Letters we may pass over. They are featureless things, +except to their recipient. Parcels have more individuality. Ours are +of all shapes and sizes, and most of them are astonishingly badly +tied. It is quite heartrending to behold a kilted exile endeavouring +to gather up a heterogeneous mess of socks, cigarettes, chocolate, +soap, shortbread, and Edinburgh rock, from the ruins of what was once +a flabby and unstable parcel, but is now a few skimpy rags of brown +paper, which have long escaped the control of a most inadequate piece +of string--a monument of maternal lavishness and feminine economy. + +Then there are the newspapers. We read them right through, beginning +at the advertisements and not skipping even the leading articles. +Then, when we have finished, we frequently read them right through +again. They serve three purposes. They give us information as to how +the War is progressing--we get none here, the rank and file, that +is; they serve to pass the time; and they afford us topics for +conversation. For instance, they enable us to follow and discuss the +trend of home politics. And in this connection, I think it is time you +were introduced to Captain Achille Petitpois. (That is not his real +name, but it is as near to it as most of us are likely to get.) He is +one of that most efficient body, the French _liaison_ officers, who +act as connecting-link between the Allied Forces, and naturally is +an accomplished linguist. He is an ardent admirer of British +institutions, but is occasionally not a little puzzled by their +complexity. So he very sensibly comes to people like Captain Wagstaffe +for enlightenment, and they enlighten him. + +Behold Achille--a guest in A Company's billet--drinking +whisky-and-sparklet out of an aluminium mug, and discussing the news +of the day. + +"And your people at home," he said, "you think they are taking the War +seriously?" (Achille is addicted to reading the English newspapers +without discrimination.) + +"So seriously," replied Wagstaffe instantly, "that it has become +necessary for the Government to take steps to cheer them up." + +"Comment?" inquired Achille politely. + +For answer Wagstaffe picked up a three-day-old London newspaper, and +read aloud an extract from the Parliamentary report. The report dealt +faithfully with the latest antics of the troupe of eccentric +comedians which appears (to us), since the formation of the Coalition +Government, to have taken possession of the front Opposition Bench. + +"Who are these assassins--these imbeciles--these _crétins_," inquired +Petitpois, "who would endanger the ship of the State?" (Achille prides +himself upon his knowledge of English idiom.) + +"Nobody knows!" replied Wagstaffe solemnly. "They are children of +mystery. Before the War, nobody had ever heard of them. They--" + +"But they should be shot!" explained that free-born Republican, +Petitpois. + +"Not a bit, old son! That is where you fail to grasp the subtleties of +British statesmanship. I tell you there are no flies on our Cabinet!" + +"Flies?" + +"Yes: _mouches_, you know. The agility of our Cabinet Ministers is +such that these little insects find it impossible to alight upon +them." + +"Your Ministers are athletes--yes," agreed Achille comprehendingly. +"But the--" + +"Only intellectually. What I mean is that they are a very downy +collection of old gentlemen--" + +Achille, murmuring something hazy about "Downing Street," nodded his +head. + +"--And when they came into power, they knew as well as anything that +after three weeks or so the country would begin to grouse--" + +"Grouse? A sporting bird?" interpolated Achille. + +"Exactly. They knew that the country would soon start giving them the +bird--" + +"What bird? The grouse?" + +"Oh, dry up, Wagger!" interposed Blaikie. "He means, Petitpois, that +the Government, knowing that the electorate would begin to grow +impatient if the War did not immediately take a favourable turn--" + +Achille smiled. + +"I see now," he said. "Proceed, Ouagstaffe, my old!" + +"In other words," continued the officer so addressed, "the Government +decided that if they gave the Opposition half a chance to get +together, and find leaders, and consolidate their new trenches, they +might turn them out." + +"Bien," assented Achille. Every one was listening now, for Wagstaffe +as a politician usually had something original to say. + +"Well," proceeded Wagstaffe, "they saw that the great thing to do +was to prevent the Opposition from making an impression on the +country--from being taken too seriously, in fact. So what did they +do? They said: 'Let's arrange for a _comic_ Opposition--an Opposition +_pour rire_, you know. They will make the country either laugh or cry. +Anyhow, the country will be much too busy deciding which to do to have +any time to worry about _us_; so we shall have a splendid chance to +get on with the War.' So they sent down the Strand--that's where the +Variety agents foregather, I believe--what you call _entrepreneurs_, +Achille--and booked this troupe, complete, for the run of the War. +They did the thing in style; spared no expense; and got a comic +newspaper proprietor to write the troupe up, and themselves down. +The scheme worked beautifully--what you would call a _succès fou_, +Achille." + +"I am desolated, my good Ouagstaffe," observed Petitpois after a +pregnant silence; "but I cannot believe all you say." + +"I _may_ be wrong," admitted Wagstaffe handsomely, "but that's my +reading of the situation. At any rate, Achille, you will admit that my +theory squares with the known facts of the case." + +Petitpois bowed politely. + +"Perhaps it is I who am wrong, my dear Ouagger. There is such a +difference of point of view between your politics and ours." + +The deep voice of Captain Blaikie broke in. + +"If Lancashire," he said grimly, "were occupied by a German army, as +the Lille district is to-day, I fancy there would be a considerable +levelling up of political points of view all round. No limelight for a +comic opposition then, Achille, old son!" + + +IV + +Besides receiving letters, we write them. And this brings us to that +mysterious and impalpable despot, the Censor. + +There is not much mystery about him really. Like a good many other +highly placed individuals, he deputes as much of his work as possible +to some one else--in this case that long-suffering maid-of-all-work, +the company officer. Let us track Bobby Little to his dug-out, during +one of those numerous periods of enforced retirement which occur +between the hours of three and six, "Pip Emma"--as our friends the +"buzzers" call the afternoon. On the floor of this retreat (which +looks like a dog-kennel and smells like a vault) he finds a small heap +of letters, deposited there for purposes of what the platoon-sergeant +calls "censure." These have to be read (which is bad); licked up +(which is far worse); signed on the outside by the officer, and +forwarded to Headquarters. Here they are stamped with the familiar +red triangle and forwarded to the Base, where they are supposed to be +scrutinised by the real Censor--i.e., the gentleman who is paid for +the job--and are finally despatched to their destination. + +Bobby, drawing his legs well inside the kennel, out of the way of +stray shrapnel bullets, begins his task. + +The heap resolves itself into three parts. First come the post-cards, +which give no trouble, as their secrets are written plain for all to +see. There are half a dozen or so of the British Army official issue, +which are designed for the benefit of those who lack the epistolatory +gift--what would a woman say if you offered such things to her?--and +bear upon the back the following printed statements:-- + + _I am quite well. + + I have been admitted to hospital. + + I am sick } {and am going on well. + wounded} {and hope to be discharged soon. + + I have received your {letter, dated ... + {telegram, " + {parcel, " + + Letter follows at first opportunity. + + I have received no letter from you {lately. + {for a long time._ + +(The gentleman who designed this postcard must have been a descendant +of Sydney Smith. You remember that great man's criticism of the Books +of Euclid? He preferred the Second Book, on the ground that it was +more "impassioned" than the others!) + +All the sender of this impassioned missive has to do is to delete such +clauses as strike him as untruthful or over-demonstrative, and sign +his name. He is not allowed to add any comments of his own. On this +occasion, however, one indignant gentleman has pencilled the ironical +phrase, "I don't think!" opposite the line which acknowledges the +receipt of a parcel. Bobby lays this aside, to be returned to the +sender. + +Then come some French picture post-cards. Most of these present +soldiers--soldiers posing, soldiers exchanging international +handgrips, soldiers grouped round a massive and _décolletée_ lady in +flowing robes, and declaring that _La patrie sera libre!_ Underneath +this last, Private Ogg has written: "Dear Lizzie,--I hope this finds +you well as it leaves me so. I send you a French p.c. The writing +means long live the Queen of France." + +The next heap consists of letters in official-looking green envelopes. +These are already sealed up, and the sender has signed the following +attestation, printed on the flap: _I certify on my honour that the +contents of this envelope refer to nothing but private and family +matters._ Setting aside a rather bulky epistle addressed to The Editor +of a popular London weekly, which advertises a circulation of over a +million copies--a singularly unsuitable recipient for correspondence +of a private and family nature--Bobby turns to the third heap, and +sets to work upon his daily task of detecting items of information, +"which if intercepted or published might prove of value to the enemy." + +It is not a pleasant task to pry into another person's correspondence, +but Bobby's scruples are considerably abated by the consciousness that +on this occasion he is doing so with the writer's full knowledge. +Consequently it is a clear case of _caveat scriptor_. Not that Bobby's +flock show any embarrassment at the prospect of his scrutiny. Most of +them write with the utmost frankness, whether they are conducting a +love affair, or are involved in a domestic broil of the most personal +nature. In fact, they seem rather to enjoy having an official +audience. Others cheerfully avail themselves of this opportunity of +conveying advice or reproof to those above them, by means of what the +Royal Artillery call "indirect fire." Private Dunshie remarks: "We +have been getting no pay these three weeks, but I doubt the officer +will know what has become of the money." It is the firm conviction +of every private soldier in "K(1)" that all fines and deductions go +straight into the pocket of the officer who levies them. Private Hogg, +always an optimist, opines: "The officers should know better how to +treat us now, for they all get a read of our letters." + +But, as recorded above, the outstanding feature of this correspondence +is an engaging frankness. For instance, Private Cosh, who under an +undemonstrative, not to say wooden, exterior evidently conceals a +heart as inflammable as flannelette, is conducting single-handed no +less than four parallel love affairs. One lady resides in his native +Coatbridge, the second is in service in South Kensington, the third +serves in a shop in Kelvinside, and the fourth moth appears to have +been attracted to this most unlikely candle during our sojourn in +winter billets in Hampshire. Cosh writes to them all most ardently +every week--sometimes oftener--and Bobby Little, as he ploughs wearily +through repeated demands for photographs, and touching protestations +of lifelong affection, curses the verbose and susceptible youth with +all his heart. + +But this mail brings him a gleam of comfort. + +_So you tell me, Chrissie_, writes Cosh to the lady in South +Kensington, _that you are engaged to be married on a milkman_.... + +("Thank heaven!" murmurs Bobby piously.) + +_No, no, Chrissie, you need not trouble yourself. It is nothing to +me_. + +("He's as sick as muck!" comments Bobby.) + +_All I did before was in friendship's name_. + +("Liar!") + +Bobby, thankfully realising that his daily labours will be materially +lightened by the withdrawal of the fickle Chrissie from the postal +arena, ploughs steadily through the letters. Most of them begin in +accordance with some approved formula, such as-- + +_It is with the greatest of pleasure that I take up my pen_-- + +It is invariably a pencil, and a blunt one at that. + +Crosses are ubiquitous, and the flap of the envelope usually bears the +mystic formula, S.W.A.K. This apparently means "Sealed with a kiss," +which, considering that the sealing is done not by the writer but by +the Censor, seems to take a good deal for granted. + +Most of the letters acknowledge the receipt of a "parcle"; many give a +guarded summary of the military situation. + +_We are not allowed to tell you about the War, but I may say that we +are now in the trenches. We are all in the pink, and not many of the +boys has gotten a dose of lead-poisoning yet._ + +It is a pity that the names of places have to be left blank. Otherwise +we should get some fine phonetic spelling. Our pronunciation is +founded on no pedantic rules. Armentières is Armentears, Busnes is +Business, Bailleul is Booloo, and Vieille Chapelle is Veal Chapel. + +The chief difficulty of the writers appears to be to round off their +letters gracefully. _Having no more to say, I will now draw to a +close_, is the accepted formula. Private Burke, never a tactician, +concludes a most ardent love-letter thus: "_Well, Kate, I will now +close, as I have to write to another of the girls_." + +But to Private Mucklewame literary composition presents no +difficulties. Here is a single example of his terse and masterly +style:-- + +_Dere wife, if you could make the next postal order a trifle stronger, +I might get getting an egg to my tea.--Your loving husband_, JAS. +MUCKLEWAME, _No_. 74077. + +But there are features of this multifarious correspondence over which +one has no inclination to smile. There are wistful references to old +days; tender inquiries after bairns and weans; assurances to anxious +wives and mothers that the dangers of modern warfare are merely +nominal. There is an almost entire absence of boasting or lying, and +very little complaining. There is a general and obvious desire to +allay anxiety. We are all "fine"; we are all "in the pink." "This is a +grand life." + +Listen to Lance-Corporal M'Snape: _Well, mother, I got your parcel, +and the things was most welcome; but you must not send any more. I +seen a shilling stamp on the parcel: that is too much for you to +afford_. How many officers take the trouble to examine the stamp on +their parcels? + +And there is a wealth of homely sentiment and honest affection which +holds up its head without shame even in the presence of the Censor. +One rather pathetic screed, beginning: _Well, wife, I doubt this will +be a poor letter, for I canna get one of they green envelopes to-day, +but I'll try my best_--Bobby Little sealed and signed without further +scrutiny. + + +V + +One more picture, to close the record of our trivial round. + +It is a dark, moist, and most unpleasant dawn. Captain Blaikie stands +leaning against a traverse in the fire-trench, superintending +the return of a party from picket duty. They file in, sleepy and +dishevelled, through an archway in the parapet, on their way to +dug-outs and repose. The last man in the procession is Bobby Little, +who has been in charge all night. + +Our line here makes a sharp bend round the corner of an orchard, and +for security's sake a second trench has been cut behind, making, as +it were, the cross-bar of a capital A. The apex of the A is no health +resort. Brother Bosche, as already explained, is only fifty yards +away, and his trench-mortars make excellent practice with the parapet. +So the Orchard Trench is only occupied at night, and the alternative +route, which is well constructed and comparatively safe, is used by +all careful persons who desire to proceed from one arm of the A to the +other. + +The present party are the night picket, thankfully relinquishing their +vigil round the apex. + +Bobby Little remained to bid his company-commander good-morning at the +junction of the two trenches. + +"Any casualties?" An invariable question at this spot. + +"No, sir. We were lucky. There was a lot of sniping." + +"It's a rum profession," mused Captain Blaikie, who was in a wakeful +mood. + +"In what way, sir?" inquired the sleepy but respectful Bobby. + +"Well"--Captain Blaikie began to fill his pipe--"who takes about +nine-tenths of the risk, and does practically all the hard work in the +Army? The private and the subaltern--you and your picket, in fact. +Now, here is the problem which has puzzled me ever since I joined +the Army, and I've had nineteen years' service. The farther away you +remove the British soldier from the risk of personal injury, the +higher you pay him. Out here, a private of the line gets about a +shilling a day. For that he digs, saps, marches, and fights like a +hero. The motor-transport driver gets six shillings a day, no danger, +and lives like a fighting cock. The Army Service Corps drive about in +motors, pinch our rations, and draw princely incomes. Staff Officers +are compensated for their comparative security by extra cash, and +first chop at the war medals. Now--why?" + +"I dare say they would sooner be here, in the trenches, with us," was +Bobby's characteristic reply. + +Blaikie lit his pipe--it was almost broad daylight now--and +considered. + +"Yes," he agreed--"perhaps. Still, my son, I can't say I have ever +noticed Staff Officers crowding into the trenches (as they have a +perfect right to do) at four o'clock in the morning. And I can't say I +altogether blame them. In fact, if ever I do meet one performing such +a feat, I shall say: 'There goes a sahib--and a soldier!' and I shall +take off my hat to him." + +"Well, get ready now," said Bobby. "Look!" + +They were still standing at the trench junction. Two figures, in the +uniform of the Staff, were visible in Orchard Trench, working their +way down from the apex--picking their steps amid the tumbled sandbags, +and stooping low to avoid gaps in the ruined parapet. The sun was just +rising behind the German trenches. One of the officers was burly and +middle-aged; he did not appear to enjoy bending double. His companion +was slight, fair-haired, and looked incredibly young. Once or twice he +glanced over his shoulder, and smiled encouragingly at his senior. + +The pair emerged through the archway into the main trench, and +straightened their backs with obvious relief. The younger officer--he +was a lieutenant--noticed Captain Blaikie, saluted him gravely, and +turned to follow his companion. + +Captain Blaikie did not take his hat off, as he had promised. Instead, +he stood suddenly to attention, and saluted in return, keeping his +hand uplifted until the slim, childish figure had disappeared round +the corner of a traverse. + +It was the Prince of Wales. + + + + +XX + +THE GATHERING OF THE EAGLES + + +When this war is over, and the glory and the praise are duly assigned, +particularly honourable mention should be made of the inhabitants of a +certain ancient French town with a Scottish name, which lies not far +behind a particularly sultry stretch of the trenches. The town is +subject to shell fire, as splintered walls and shattered windows +testify; yet every shop stands open. The town, moreover, is the only +considerable place in the district, and enjoys a monopoly of patronage +from all the surrounding billeting areas; yet the keepers of the +shops have heroically refrained from putting up their prices to any +appreciable extent. This combination of courage and fair-dealing has +had its reward. The town has become a local Mecca. British soldiers +with an afternoon to spare and a few francs to spend come in from +miles around. Mess presidents send in their mess-sergeants, and +fearful and wonderful is the marketing which ensues. + +In remote and rural billets catering is a simple matter. We take what +we can get, and leave it at that. The following business-card, which +Bobby Little once found attached to an outhouse door in one of his +billets, puts the resources of a French hamlet into a nutshell:-- + + HÉRE + SMOKING ROM + BEER + WINE {WITHE + {RAID + COFFE + EGS + +But in town the shopper has a wider range. Behold Sergeant Goffin, a +true-born Londoner, with the Londoner's faculty of never being at +a loss for a word, at the grocer's, purchasing comforts for our +officers' mess. + +"Bong jooer, Mrs. Pankhurst!" he observes breezily to the plump +_épicière_. This is his invariable greeting to French ladies who +display any tendency to volubility--and they are many. + +"Bon jour, M'sieu le Caporal!" replies the _épicière_, smiling. +"M'sieu le Caporal désire?" + +The sergeant allows his reduction in rank to pass unnoticed. He does +not understand the French tongue, though he speaks it with great +fluency and incredible success. He holds up a warning hand. + +"Now, keep your 'and off the tap of the gas-meter for one minute +_if_ you please," he rejoins, "and let me get a word in edgeways. I +want"--with great emphasis--"vinblank one, vinrooge two, bogeys six, +Dom one. Compree?" + +By some miracle the smiling lady does "compree," and produces white +wine, red wine, candles, and--a bottle of Benedictine! (Sergeant +Goffin always names wines after the most boldly printed word upon +the label. He once handed round some champagne, which he insisted on +calling "a bottle of brute.") + +"Combine?" is the next observation. + +The _épicière_ utters the series of short sharp sibilants of which +all French numerals appear to be composed. It sounds like +"song-song-song." The resourceful Goffin lays down a twenty-franc +note. + +"Take it out of that," he says grandly. + +He receives his change, and counts it with a great air of wisdom. The +_épicière_ breaks into a rapid recital--it sounds rather like our +curate at home getting to work on _When the wicked man_--of the beauty +and succulence of her other wares. Up goes Goffin's hand again. + +"Na pooh!" he exclaims.. "Bong jooer!" And he stumps out to the +mess-cart. + +"Na pooh!" is a mysterious but invaluable expression. Possibly it is +derived from "Il n'y a plus." It means, "All over!" You say "Na pooh!" +when you push your plate away after dinner. It also means, "Not +likely!" or "Nothing doing!" By a further development it has come to +mean "done for," "finished," and in extreme cases, "dead." "Poor Bill +got na-poohed by a rifle-grenade yesterday," says one mourner to +another. + +The Oxford Dictionary of the English Language will have to be revised +and enlarged when this war is over. + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile, a few doors away, a host of officers is sitting in the Café +de la Terre. Cafés are as plentiful as blackberries in this, as in +most other French provincial towns, and they are usually filled to +overflowing with privates of the British Army heroically drinking beer +upon which they know it is impossible to get intoxicated. But the +proprietor of the Café de la Terre is a long-headed citizen. By the +simple expedient of labelling his premises "Officers Only," and making +a minimum charge of one franc per drink, he has at a single stroke +ensured the presence of the _élite_ and increased his profits tenfold. + +Many arms of the Service are grouped round the little marble-topped +tables, for the district is stiff with British troops, and promises +to grow stiffer. In fact, so persistently are the eagles gathering +together upon this, the edge of the fighting line, that rumour is +busier than ever. The Big Push holds redoubled sway in our thoughts. +The First Hundred Thousand are well represented, for the whole +Scottish Division is in the neighbourhood. Beside the glengarries +there are countless flat caps--line regiments, territorials, gunners, +and sappers. The Army Service Corps is there in force, recruiting +exhausted nature from the strain of dashing about the countryside in +motor-cars. The R.A.M.C. is strongly represented, doubtless to test +the purity of the refreshment provided. Even the Staff has torn itself +away from its arduous duties for the moment, as sundry red tabs +testify. In one corner sit four stout French civilians, playing a +mysterious card-game. + +At the very next table we find ourselves among friends. Here are Major +Kemp, also Captain Blaikie. They are accompanied by Ayling, Bobby +Little, and Mr. Waddell. The battalion came out of trenches yesterday, +and for the first time found itself in urban billets. For the moment +haylofts and wash-houses are things of the dim past. We are living in +real houses, sleeping in real beds, some with sheets. + +To this group enters unexpectedly Captain Wagstaffe. + +"Hallo, Wagger!" says Blaikie. "Back already?" + +"Your surmise is correct," replies Wagstaffe, who has been home on +leave. "I got a wire yesterday at lunch-time--in the Savoy, of all +places! Every one on leave has been recalled. We were packed like +herrings on the boat. Garçon, bière--the brunette kind!" + +"Tell us all about London," says Ayling hungrily. "What does it look +like? Tell us!" + +We have been out here for the best part of five months now. Leave +opened a fortnight ago, amid acclamations--only to be closed again +within a few days. Wagstaffe was one of the lucky few who slipped +through the blessed portals. He now sips his beer and delivers his +report. + +"London is much as usual. A bit rattled over Zeppelins--they have +turned out even more street lamps--but nothing to signify. Country +districts crawling with troops. All the officers appear to be +colonels. Promotion at home is more rapid than out here. Chin, chin!" +Wagstaffe buries his face in his glass mug. + +"What is the general attitude," asked Mr. Waddell, "towards the war?" + +"Well, one's own friends are down in the dumps. Of course it's only +natural, because most of them are in mourning. Our losses are much +more noticeable at home than abroad, somehow. People seemed quite +surprised when I told them that things out here are as right as rain, +and that our troops are simply tumbling over one another, and that we +don't require any comic M.P.'s sent out to cheer us up. The fact is, +some people read the papers too much. At the present moment the London +press is, not to put too fine a point on it, making a holy show of +itself. I suppose there's some low-down political rig at the back of +it all, but the whole business must be perfect jam for the Bosches in +Berlin." + +"What's the trouble?" inquired Major Kemp. + +"Conscription, mostly. (Though why they should worry their little +heads about it, I don't know. If K. wants it we'll have it: if not, +we won't; so that's that!) Both sides are trying to drag the +great British Public into the scrap by the back of the neck. The +Conscription crowd, with whom one would naturally side if they +would play the game, seem to be out to unseat the Government as a +preliminary. They support their arguments by stating that the British +Army on the Western front is reduced to a few platoons, and that +they are allowed to fire one shell per day. At least, that's what I +gathered." + +"What do the other side say?" inquired Kemp. + +"Oh, theirs is a very simple line of argument. They state, quite +simply, that if the personal liberty of Britain's workers--that +doesn't mean you and me, as you might think: we are the Overbearing +Militarist Oligarchy: a worker is a man who goes on strike,--they say +that if the personal liberty of these sacred perishers is interfered +with by the Overbearing Militarist Oligarchy aforesaid, there will +be a Revolution. That's all! Oh, they're a sweet lot, the British +newspaper bosses!" + +"But what," inquired that earnest seeker after knowledge, Mr. Waddell, +"is the general attitude of the country at large upon this grave +question?" + +Captain Wagstaffe chuckled. + +"The dear old country at large," he replied, "is its dear old self, +as usual. It is not worrying one jot about Conscription, or us, +or anything like that. The one topic of conversation at present +is--Charlie Chaplin." + +"Who is Charlie Chaplin?" inquired several voices. + +Wagstaffe shook his head. + +"I haven't the faintest idea," he said. "All I know is that you can't +go anywhere in London without running up against him. He is It. The +mention of his name in a _revue_ is greeted with thunders of applause. +At one place I went to, twenty young men came upon the stage at once, +all got up as Charlie Chaplin." + +"But who _is_ he?" + +"That I can't tell you. I made several attempts to find out; but +whenever I asked the question people simply stared at me in amazement. +I felt quite ashamed: it was plain that I ought to have known. I have +a vague idea that he is some tremendous new boss whom the Government +have appointed to make shells, or something. Anyhow, the great British +Nation is far too much engrossed with Charles to worry about a little +thing like Conscription. Still, I should like to know. I feel I have +been rather unpatriotic about it all." + +"I can tell you," said Bobby Little. "My servant is a great admirer of +his. He is the latest cinema star. Falls off roofs, and gets run over +by motors--" + +"And keeps the police at bay with a firehose," added Wagstaffe. +"That's him! I know the type. Thank you, Bobby!" + +Major Kemp put down his glass with a gentle sigh, and rose to go. + +"We are a great nation," he remarked contentedly. "I was a bit anxious +about things at home, but I see now there was nothing to worry about. +We shall win all right. Well, I am off to the Mess. See you later, +everybody!" + +"Meanwhile," inquired Wagstaffe, as the party settled down again, +"what is brewing here! I haven't seen the adjutant yet." + +"You'll see him soon enough," replied Blaikie grimly. He glanced over +his shoulder towards the four civilian card-players. They looked +bourgeois enough and patriotic enough, but it is wise to take no +risks in a café, as a printed notice upon the war, signed by the +Provost-Marshal, was careful to point out. "Come for a stroll," he +said. + +Presently the two captains found themselves in a shady boulevard +leading to the outskirts of the town. Darkness was falling, and soon +would be intense; for lights are taboo in the neighbourhood of the +firing line. + +"Have we finished that new trench in front of our wire?" asked +Wagstaffe. + +"Yes. It is the best thing we have done yet. Divisional Headquarters +are rightly pleased about it." + +Blaikie gave details. The order had gone forth that a new trench was +to be constructed in front of our present line--a hundred yards in +front. Accordingly, when night fell, two hundred unconcerned heroes +went forth, under their subalterns, and, squatting down in line +along a white tape (laid earlier in the evening by our imperturbable +friends, Lieutenants Box and Cox, of the Royal Engineers), proceeded +to dig the trench. Thirty yards ahead of them, facing the curious eyes +of countless Bosches, lay a covering party in extended order, ready to +repel a rush. Hour by hour the work went on--skilfully, silently. On +these occasions it is impossible to say what will happen. The enemy +knows we are there: he can see us quite plainly. But he has his own +night-work to do, and if he interferes with us he knows that our +machine-guns will interfere with him. So, provided that our labours +are conducted in a manner which is neither ostentatious nor +contemptuous--that is to say, provided we do not talk, whistle, or +smoke--he leaves us more or less alone. + +But this particular task was not accomplished without loss: it was too +obviously important. Several times the German machine-guns sputtered +into flame, and each time the stretcher-bearers were called upon to +do their duty. Yet the work went on to its accomplishment, without +question, without slackening. The men were nearly all experts: they +had handled pick and shovel from boyhood. Soldiers of the line would +have worked quite as hard, maybe, but they would have taken twice as +long. But these dour sons of Scotland worked like giants--trained +giants. In four nights the trench, with traverses and approaches, was +complete. The men who had made it fell back to their dug-outs, and +shortly afterwards to their billets--there to spend the few odd francs +which their separation allotments had left them, upon extremely +hard-earned glasses of extremely small beer. + +At home, several thousand patriotic Welshmen, fellows of the same +craft, were upholding the dignity of Labour, and the reputation of +the British Nation, by going out on strike for a further increase of +pay--an increase which they knew a helpless Government would grant +them. It was one of the strangest contrasts that the world has ever +seen. But the explanation thereof, as proffered by Private Mucklewame, +was quite simple and eminently sound. + +"All the decent lads," he observed briefly, "are oot here." + +"Good work!" said Wagstaffe, when Blaikie's tale was told. "What is +the new trench for, exactly?" + +Blaikie told him. + +"Tell me more!" urged Wagstaffe, deeply interested. + +Blaikie's statement cannot be set down here, though the substance +of it may be common property to-day. When he had finished Wagstaffe +whistled softly. + +"And it's to be the day after to-morrow?" he said. + +"Yes, if all goes well." + +It was quite dark now. The horizon was brilliantly lit by the flashes +of big guns, and a continuous roar came throbbing through the soft +autumn darkness. + +"If this thing goes with a click, as it ought to do," said Wagstaffe, +"it will be the biggest thing that ever happened--bigger even than +Charlie Chaplin." + +"Yes--_if_!" assented the cautious Blaikie. + +"It's a tremendous opportunity for our section of 'K(1),'" continued +Wagstaffe. "We shall have a chance of making history over this, old +man." + +"Whatever we make--history or a bloomer--we'll do our level best," +replied Blaikie. "At least, I hope 'A' Company will." + +Then suddenly his reserved, undemonstrative Scottish tongue found +utterance. + +"Scotland for Ever!" he cried softly. + + + + +XXI + +THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS + + +"Half-past two, and a cold morning, sir." + +Thus Bobby Little's servant, rousing his employer from uneasy slumber +under the open sky, in a newly-constructed trench running parallel to +and in rear of the permanent trench line. + +Bobby sat up, and peering at his luminous wrist-watch, morosely +acquiesced in his menial's gruesome statement. But he cheered up at +the next intimation. + +"Breakfast is ready, sir." + +Tea and bacon are always tea and bacon, even in the gross darkness and +mental tension which precede a Big Push. Presently various humped +figures in greatcoats, having gathered in the open ditch which did duty +for Officers' Mess, broke into spasmodic conversation--conversation +rendered even more spasmodic by the almost ceaseless roar of guns. There +were guns all round us--rank upon rank: to judge by the noise, you would +have said tier upon tier as well. Half a mile ahead, upon the face of a +gentle slope, a sequence of flames would spout from the ground, and a +storm of shells go whistling on their way. No sooner had this happened +than there would come a shattering roar from the ground beneath our +feet, and a heavy battery, concealed in a hedge fifty yards to our +front, would launch its contribution. Farther back lay heavier batteries +still, and beyond that batteries so powerful and so distant that one +heard the shell pass before the report arrived. One of these monsters, +coming apparently from infinity and bound for the back of beyond, +lumbered wearily over the heads of "A" Company, partaking of breakfast. + +Private Mucklewame paused in the act of raising his canteen to his +lips. + +"There's Wullie awa' for a walk!" he observed. + +Considering that they were upon the eve of an epoch-making combat, the +regiment were disappointingly placid. + +In the Officers' Mess the prevailing note was neither lust of battle +nor fear of death: it was merely that ordinary snappishness which is +induced by early rising and uncomfortable surroundings. + +"It's going to rain, too," grumbled Major Kemp. + +At this moment the Colonel arrived, with final instructions from the +Brigadier. + +"We move off at a quarter to four," he said, "up Fountain Alley and +Scottish Trench, into Central Boyau"--"boyau" is the name which is +given to a communication-trench in trenches which, like those in front +of us, are of French extraction--"and so over the parapet. There we +extend, as arranged, into lines of half-companies, and go at 'em, +making Douvrin our objective, and keeping the Hohenzollern and Fosse +Eight upon our left." + +Fosse Eight is a mighty waste-heap, such as you may behold anywhere +along the railway in the colliery districts between Glasgow and +Edinburgh. The official map calls such an eminence a Fosse; the Royal +Engineers call it a Dump; Operation Orders call it a Slag-Heap; +experts like Ogg and Hogg (who ought to know if any one does) call it +a Bing. From this distance, two miles away, the Fosse looks as big +as North Berwick Law. It is one of the many scattered about this +district, all carefully numbered by the Ordnance. There are others, +again, towards Hulluch and Loos. Number Eight has been the object +of pressing attentions on the part of our big guns ever since the +bombardment began, three weeks ago; but it still stands up--gaunt, +grim, and defiant--against the eastern sky. Whether any one is left +alive upon it, or in it, is another question. We shall have cause to +remember Fosse Eight before this fight is over. + +The Hohenzollern Redoubt, on the other hand, is a most inconspicuous +object, but a very important factor in the present situation. It has +been thrust forward from the Bosche lines to within a hundred yards +of our own--a great promontory, a maze of trenches, machine-gun +emplacements, and barbed wire, all flush with or under the ground, and +terribly difficult to cripple by shell fire. It has been a source +of great exasperation to us--a starting-point for saps, mines, and +bombing parties. As already stated, this mighty fortress has been +christened by its constructors, the Hohenzollern. It is attached +to its parent trench-line by two communicating trenches, which the +British Army, not to be outdone in reverence to the most august of +dynasties, have named Big and Little Willie respectively. + +A struggling dawn breaks, bringing with it promise of rain, and the +regiment begins to marshal in the trench called Fountain Alley, along +which it is to wind, snake-like, in the wake of the preceding troops, +until it debouches over the parapet, a full mile away, and extends +into line. + +Presently the order is given to move off, and the snake begins to +writhe. Progress is steady, but not exhilarating. We have several +battalions of the Division in front of us (which Bobby Little resents +as a personal affront), but have been assured that we shall see all +the fighting we want. The situation appears to be that owing to the +terrific artillery bombardment the attacking force will meet with +little or no opposition in the German front-line trenches; or second +line, for that matter. + +"The whole Division," explains Captain Wagstaffe to Bobby Little, +"should be able to get up into some sort of formation about the Bosche +third line before any real fighting begins; so it does not very much +matter whether we start first or fiftieth in the procession." + +Captain Wagstaffe showed himself an accurate prophet. + +We move on. At one point we pass through a howitzer battery, where +dishevelled gentlemen give us a friendly wave of the hand. Others, not +professionally engaged for the moment, sit unconcernedly in the ditch +with their backs to the proceedings, frying bacon. This is their busy +hour. + +Presently the pace grows even slower, and finally we stop altogether. +Another battalion has cut in ahead of us, and we must perforce +wait, snapping our fingers with impatience, like theatre-goers in +a Piccadilly block, whose taxis have been held up by the traffic +debouching from Berkeley Street. + +"Luckily the curtain doesn't rise till five-fifty," observes Captain +Wagstaffe. + +We move on again at last, and find ourselves in Central Boyau, getting +near the heart of things. Suddenly we are conscious of an overpowering +sense of relief. Our guns have ceased firing. For the first time for +three days and nights there is peace. + +Captain Wagstaffe looks at his watch. + +"That means that our first line are going over the parapet," he says. +"Punctual, too! The gunners have stopped to put up their sights and +lengthen their fuses. We ought to be fairly in it in half an hour." + +But this proves to be an under-estimate. There are mysterious and +maddening stoppages--maddening, because in communication-trench +stoppages it is quite impossible to find out what is the matter. +Furious messages begin to arrive from the rear. The original form of +inquiry was probably something like this: "Major Kemp would like to +know the cause of the delay." As transmitted sonorously from mouth to +mouth by the rank and file it finally arrives (if it ever arrives at +all) in some such words as: "Pass doon; what for is this (asterisk, +obelus) wait?" But as no answer is ever passed back it does not much +matter. + +The righteous indignation of Major Kemp, who is situated somewhere +about the middle of the procession, reaches its culminating point +when, with much struggling and pushing and hopeless jamming, a +stretcher carrying a wounded man is borne down the crowded trench on +its way to the rear. The Major delivers himself. + +"This is perfectly monstrous! You stretcher-bearers will kill that +poor chap if you try to drag him down here. There is a specially +constructed road to the dressing-station over there--Bart's Alley, it +is called. We cannot have up-and-down traffic jumbled together like +this. For heaven's sake, Waddell, pass up word to the C.O. that it is +mistaken kindness to allow these fellows down here. He _must_ send +them back." + +Waddell volunteers to climb out of the trench and go forward with a +message. But this the Major will not allow. "Your platoon will require +a leader presently," he mentions. "We'll try the effect of a note." + +The note is passed up, and anon an answer comes back to the effect +that no wounded have been allowed down from the head of the column. +They must be getting in by a sidetrack somewhere. The Major groans, +but can do nothing. + +Presently there is a fresh block. + +"What is it this time?" inquires the afflicted Kemp. "More wounded, or +are we being photographed?" + +The answer races joyously down the line--"Gairman prisoners, +sirr--seeventy of them!" + +This time the Major acts with promptness and decision. + +"Prisoners? No, they _don't!_ Pass up word from me that the whole +boiling are to be hoisted on to the parapet, with their escort, and +made to walk above ground." + +The order goes forward. Presently our hearts are rejoiced by an +exhilarating sight. Across the field through which our trench winds +comes a body of men, running rapidly, encouraged to further fleetness +of foot by desultory shrapnel and stray bullets. They wear grey-green +uniform, and flat, muffin-shaped caps. They have no arms or equipment: +some are slightly wounded. In front of this contingent, running even +more rapidly, are their escort--some dozen brawny Highlanders, armed +to the teeth. But the prisoners exhibit no desire to take advantage of +this unusual order of things. Their one ambition in life appears to be +to put as large a space as possible between themselves and their late +comrades-in-arms, and, if possible, overtake their captors. + +Some of them find time to grin, and wave their hands to us. One +addresses the scandalised M'Slattery as "Kamarad!" "No more dis war +for me!" cries another, with unfeigned satisfaction. + +After this our progress is more rapid. As we near the front line, the +enemy's shrapnel reaps its harvest even in our deep trench. More than +once we pass a wounded man, hoisted on to the parapet to wait for +first-aid. More than once we step over some poor fellow for whom no +first-aid will avail. + +Five minutes later we reach the parapet--that immovable rampart +over which we have peeped so often and so cautiously with our +periscopes--and clamber up a sandbag staircase on to the summit. We +note that our barbed wire has all been cut away, and that another +battalion, already extended into line, is advancing fifty yards ahead +of us. Bullets are pinging through the air, but the guns are once more +silent. Possibly they are altering their position. Dotted about upon +the flat ground before us lie many kilted figures, strangely still, in +uncomfortable attitudes. + +A mile or so upon our right we can see two towers--pit-head +towers--standing side by side. They mark the village of Loos, where +another Scottish Division is leading the attack. To the right of Loos +again, for miles and miles and miles, we know that wave upon wave of +impetuous French soldiers is breaking in a tempest over the shattered +German trenches. Indeed, we conjecture that down there, upon our +right, is where the Biggest Push of all is taking place. Our duty is +to get forward if we can, but before everything to engage as many +German troops and guns as possible. Even if we fight for a week or +more, and only hold our own, we shall have done the greater part of +what was required of us. But we hope to do more than that. + +Upon our left lies the Hohenzollern. It is silent; so we know that +it has been captured. Beyond that, upon our left front, looms Fosse +Eight, still surmounted by its battered shaft-tower. Right ahead, +peeping over a low ridge, is a church steeple, with a clock-face in +it. That is our objective. + +Next moment we have deployed into extended order, and step out, to +play our little part in the great Battle of the Slag-Heaps. + + +II + +Twenty-four hours later, a little group of officers sat in a roomy +dug-out. Major Kemp was there, with his head upon the plank table, +fast asleep. Bobby Little, who had neither eaten nor slept since the +previous dawn, was nibbling chocolate, and shaking as if with ague. He +had gone through a good deal. Waddell sat opposite to him, stolidly +devouring bully-beef out of a tin with his fingers. Ayling reclined +upon the floor, mechanically adjusting a machine-gun lock, which he +had taken from his haversack. Captain Wagstaffe was making cocoa over +a Tommy's Cooker. He looked less the worse for wear than the others, +but could hardly have been described as spruce in appearance. The +whole party were splashed with mud and soaked to the skin, for it had +rained hard during the greater part of the night. They were all sick +for want of food and sleep. Moreover, all had seen unusual sights. It +was Sunday morning. + +Presently Wagstaffe completed his culinary arrangements, and poured +out the cocoa into some aluminium cups. He touched Major Kemp on the +shoulder. + +"Have some of this, Major," he said. + +The burly Kemp roused himself and took the proffered cup gratefully. +Then, looking round, he said-- + +"Hallo, Ayling! You arrived? Whereabouts in the line were you?" + +"I got cut off from the Battalion in the advance up Central Boyau, +sir," said Ayling. "Everybody had disappeared by the time I got the +machine-guns over the parapet. However, knowing the objective, I +pushed on towards the Church Tower." + +"How did you enjoy yourself passing Fosse Eight?" inquired Captain +Wagstaffe. + +"Thank you, we got a dose of our own medicine--machine-gun fire, in +enfilade. It was beastly." + +"We also noticed it," Wagstaffe intimated. "That was where poor +Sinclair got knocked out. What did you do?" + +"I signalled to the men to lie flat for a bit, and I did the same. I +did not know that it was possible for a human being to lie as flat as +I lay during that quarter of an hour. But it was no good. The guns +must have been high up on the Fosse: they had excellent command. The +bullets simply greased all round us. I could feel them combing out my +hair, and digging into the ground underneath me." + +"What were your sensations, _exactly_?" asked Kemp. + +"I felt just as if an invisible person were tickling me," replied +Ayling, with feeling. + +"So did I," said Kemp. "Go on." + +"I heard one of my men cry out that he was hit," continued Ayling, +"and I came to the conclusion that we would have a better chance as +moving targets than as fixed; so I passed the word to get up and +move forward steadily, in single file. Ultimately we struck a stray +communication-trench, into which we descended with as much dignity as +possible. It led us into some quarries." + +"Off our line altogether." + +"So I learned from two Companies of an English regiment which were +there, acting as reserve to a Brigade which was scrapping somewhere in +the direction of Hulluch; so I realised that we had worked too far to +the right. We moved out of the quarries and struck over half-left, and +ultimately found the Battalion, a very long way ahead, in what I took +to be a Bosche third-line trench, facing east." + +"Right! Fosse Alley," said Kemp. "You remember it on the map?" + +"Yes, I do now," said Ayling. "Well, I planted myself on the right +flank of the Battalion with-two guns, and sent Sergeant Killick along +with the other two to the left. You know the rest." + +"I'm not sure that I do," said the Major. "We were packed so tight in +that blooming trench that it was quite impossible to move about, and +I only saw what was going on close around me. Did you get much +machine-gun practice?" + +"A fair amount, sir," replied Ayling, with professional satisfaction. +"There was a lot of firing from our right front, so I combed out all +the bushes and house-fronts I could see; and presently the firing died +down, but not before I had had one gun put out of action with a bullet +through the barrel-casing. After dark things were fairly quiet, except +for constant alarms, until the order came to move back to the next +trench." + +Major Kemp's fist came down upon the plank table. + +"Move back!" he exclaimed angrily. "Just so! To capture Fosse Alley, +hold it all day and half the night, and then be compelled to move +back, simply because we had pushed so far ahead of any other Division +that we had no support on either flank! It was tough--rotten--hellish! +Excuse my exuberance. 'You all right, Wagstaffe?" + +"Wonderful, considering," replied Wagstaffe. "I was mildly gassed by +a lachrymous shell about two o'clock this morning, but nothing to +signify." + +"Did your respirator work?" + +"I found that in the heat of the moment I had mislaid it." + +"What did you do?" + +"I climbed on to the parapet and sat there. It seemed the healthiest +spot under the circumstance: anyhow, the air was pure. When I +recovered I got down. What happened to 'A,' Bobby? I heard rumours, +but hoped--" + +He hesitated. + +"Go on," he said abruptly; and Bobby, more composed now, told his +tale. + +"A" Company, it appeared, had found themselves clinging grimly to the +section of Fosse Alley which they had captured, with their left flank +entirely in the air. Presently came an order. Further forward still, +half-right, another isolated trench was being held by a portion of +the Highland Brigade. These were suffering cruelly, for the German +artillery had the range to a nicety, and convenient sapheads gave the +German bombers easy access to their flanks. It is more than likely +that this very trench had been constructed expressly for the +inveiglement of a too successful attacking party. Certainly no troops +could live in it for long. "A" Company were to go forward and support. + +Captain Blaikie, passing word to his men to be ready, turned to Bobby. + +"I'm a morose, dour, monosyllabic Scot, Bobbie," he said; "but this +sort of thing bucks me up." + +Next moment he was over the parapet and away, followed by his Company. +In that long, steadily-advancing line were many of our friends. +Mucklewame was there, panting heavily, and cannily commending his soul +to Providence. Messrs. Ogg and Hogg were there, shoulder to shoulder. +M'Ostrich, the Ulster visionary, was there, six paces ahead of any +other man, crooning some Ironside canticle to himself. Next behind him +came the reformed revolutionary, M'Slattery. + +Straightway the enemy observed the oncoming reinforcements, and +shrapnel began to fly. The men pressed on, at a steady double now. +M'Ostrich was the first to go down. Game to the last, he waved +encouragement to his mates with a failing arm as they passed over his +body. + +"Come along, boys!" cried Captain Blaikie, suddenly eloquent. "There +is the trench! The other lads are waiting for you. Come along! +Charge!" + +The men needed no further bidding. They came on--with a ragged +cheer--and assuredly would have arrived, but for one thing. Suddenly +they faltered, and stopped dead. + +Captain Blaikie turned to his faithful subaltern panting behind him. + +"We are done in, Bobby," he said. "Look! Wire!" + +He was right. This particular trench, it was true, was occupied by our +friends; but it had been constructed in the first instance for the use +of our enemies. Consequently it was wired, and heavily wired, upon the +side facing the British advance. + +Captain Blaikie, directing operations with a walking-stick as if the +whole affair were an Aldershot field-day, signalled to the Company to +lie down, and began to unbutton a leather pouch in his belt. + +"You too, Bobby," he said; "and don't dare to move a muscle until you +get the order!" + +He strolled forward, pliers in hand, and began methodically to cut a +passage, strand by strand, through the forest of wire. + +Then it was that invisible machine-guns opened, and a very gallant +officer and Scotsman fell dead upon the field of honour. + +Half an hour later, "A" Company, having expended all their ammunition +and gained never a yard, fell back upon the rest of the Battalion. +Including Bobby Little (who seemed to bear a charmed life), they did +not represent the strength of a platoon. + +"I wonder what they will do with us next," remarked Mr. Waddell, who +had finished his bully. + +"If they have any sense of decency," said Major Kemp, "they will send +us back to rest a bit, and put another Division in. We have opened the +ball and done a lot of dirty work for them, and have lost a lot of men +and officers. Bed for me, please!" + +"I should be more inclined to agree with you, Major," said Wagstaffe, +"if only we had a bit more to show for our losses." + +"We haven't done so badly," replied Kemp, who was growing more +cheerful under the influence of hot cocoa. "We have got the +Hohenzollern, and the Bosche first line at least, and probably Fosse +Eight. On the right I hear we have taken Loos. That's not so dusty for +a start. I have not the slightest doubt that there will be a heavy +counter-attack, which we shall repel. After that we shall attack +again, and gain more ground, or at least keep the Bosche exceedingly +busy holding on. That is our allotted task in this entertainment--to +go on hammering the Hun, occupying his attention and using up his +reserves, regardless of whether we gain ground or lose it, while our +French pals on the right are pushing him off the map. At least, that +is my theory: I don't pretend to be in touch with the official mind. +This battle will probably go on for a week or more, over practically +the same ground. It will be dreadful for the wounded, but even if +we only hold on to what we have gained already, we are the winners. +Still, I wish we could have consolidated Fosse Alley before going to +bed." + +At this moment the Colonel, stooping low in the tiny doorway, entered +the dug-out, followed by the Adjutant. He bade his supporters +good-morning. + +"I am glad to find that you fellows have been able to give your men a +meal," he said. "It was capital work getting the ration-carts up so +far last night." + +"Any news, Colonel?" asked Major Kemp. + +"Most decidedly. It seems that the enemy have evacuated Fosse Alley +again. Nobody quite knows why: a sudden attack of cold feet, probably. +Our people command their position from Fosse Eight, on their left +rear, so I don't altogether blame them. Whoever holds Fosse Eight +holds Fosse Alley. However, the long and short of it all is that the +Brigade are to go forward again this evening, and reoccupy Fosse +Alley. Meanwhile, we consolidate things here." + +Major Kemp sighed. + +"Bed indefinitely postponed!" he remarked resignedly. + + +III + +By midnight on the same Sunday the Battalion, now far under its +original strength, had re-entered the scene of yesterday's long +struggle, filing thither under the stars, by a deserted and ghostly +German _boyau_ nearly ten feet deep. Fosse Alley erred in the opposite +direction. It was not much more than four feet in depth; the +chalky parapet could by no stretch of imagination be described as +bullet-proof; dug-outs and communication-trenches were non-existent. +On our left the trench-line was continued by the troops of another +Division: on our right lay another battalion of our own brigade. + +"If the line has been made really continuous this time," observed the +Colonel, "we should be as safe as houses. Wonderful fellows, these +sappers! They have wired almost our whole front already. I wish they +had had time to do it on our left as well." + +Within the next few hours all defensive preparations possible in the +time had been completed; and our attendant angels, most effectively +disguised as Royal Engineers, had flitted away, leaving us to wait for +Monday morning--and Brother Bosche. + +With the dawn, our eyes, which had known no sleep since Friday night, +peered rheumily out over the whitening landscape. + +To our front the ground stretched smooth and level for two hundred +yards, then fell gently away, leaving a clearly denned skyline. Beyond +the skyline rose houses, of which we could descry only the roofs and +upper windows. + +"That must be either Haisnes or Douvrin," said Major Kemp. "We are +much farther to the left than we were yesterday. By the way, _was_ it +yesterday?" + +"The day before yesterday, sir," the ever-ready Waddell informed him. + +"Never mind; to-day's the day, anyhow. And it's going to be a busy +day, too. The fact is, we are in a tight place, and all through doing +too well. We have again penetrated so much farther forward than any +one else in our neighbourhood that we _may_ have to fall back a bit. +But I hope not. We have a big stake, Waddell. If we can hold on to +this position until the others make good upon our right and left, we +shall have reclaimed a clear two miles of the soil of France, my son." +The Major swept the horizon with his glasses. "Let me see: that is +probably Hulluch away on our right front: the Loos towers must be in +line with us on our extreme right, but we can't see them for those +hillocks. There is our old friend Fosse Eight towering over us on our +left rear. I don't know anything about the ground on our absolute +left, but so long as that flathead regiment hold on to their trench, +we can't go far wrong. Waddell, I don't like those cottages on our +left front. They block the view, and also spell machine-guns. I see +one or two very suggestive loopholes in those red-tiled roofs. Go and +draw Ayling's attention to them. A little preliminary _strafing_ will +do them no harm." + +Five minutes later one of Ayling's machine-guns spoke out, and +a cascade of tiles came sliding down the roofs of the offending +cottages. + +"That will tickle them up, if they have any guns set up on those +rafters," observed the Major, with ghoulish satisfaction. "I wonder +if Brer Bosche is going to attack. I hope he does. There is only one +thing I am afraid of, and that is that there may be some odd saps +running out towards us, especially on our flanks. If so, we shall have +some close work with bombs--a most ungentlemanly method of warfare. +Let us pray for a straightforward frontal attack." + +But Brer Bosche had other cards to play first. Suddenly, out of +nowhere, the air was filled with "whizz-bang" shells, moving in a +lightning procession which lasted nearly half an hour. Most of these +plastered the already scarred countenance of Fosse Eight: others +fell shorter and demolished our parapet. When the tempest ceased, as +suddenly as it began, the number of casualties in the crowded trench +was considerable. But there was little time to attend to the wounded. +Already the word was running down, the line-- + +"Look out to your front!" + +Sure enough, over the skyline, two hundred yards away, grey figures +were appearing--not in battalions, but tentatively, in twos and +threes. Next moment a storm of rapid rifle fire broke from the trench. +The grey figures turned and ran. Some disappeared over the horizon, +others dropped flat, others simply curled up and withered. In three +minutes solitude reigned again, and the firing ceased. + +"Well, that's that!" observed Captain Wagstaffe to Bobby Little, upon +the right of the Battalion line. "The Bosche has 'bethought himself +and went,' as the poet says. Now he knows we are here, and have +brought our arquebuses with us. He will try something more ikey next +time. Talking of time, what about breakfast? When was our last meal, +Bobby?" + +"Haven't the vaguest notion," said Bobby sleepily. + +"Well, it's about breakfast-time now. Have a bit of chocolate? It is +all I have." + +It was eight o'clock, and perfect silence reigned. All down the line +men, infinitely grubby, were producing still grubbier fragments of +bully-beef and biscuits from their persons. For an hour, squatting +upon the sodden floor of the trench--it was raining yet again--the +unappetising, intermittent meal proceeded. + +Then-- + +"Hallo!" exclaimed Bobby with a jerk (for he was beginning to nod), +"what was that on our right?" + +"I'm afraid," replied Wagstaffe, "that it was bombs. It was right in +this trench, too, about a hundred yards long. There must be a sap +leading up there, for the bombers certainly have not advanced +overground. I've been looking out for them since stand-to. Who is this +anxious gentleman?" + +A subaltern of the battalion on our right was forcing his way along +the trench. He addressed Wagstaffe. + +"We are having a pretty bad time with Bosche bombers on our right, +sir," he said. "Will you send us down all the bombs you can spare?" + +Wagstaffe hoisted himself upon the parapet. + +"I will see our C.O. at once," he replied, and departed at the double. +It was a risky proceeding, for German bullets promptly appeared in +close attendance; but he saved a good five minutes on his journey to +Battalion Headquarters at the other end of the trench. + +Presently the bombs began to arrive, passed from hand to hand. +Wagstaffe returned, this time along the trench. + +"We shall have a tough fight for it," he said. "The Bosche bombers +know their business, and probably have more bombs than we have. But +those boys on our right seem to be keeping their end up." + +"Can't _we_ do anything?" asked Bobby feverishly. + +"Nothing--unless the enemy succeed in working right down here; in +which case we shall take our turn of getting it in the neck--or giving +it! I fancy old Ayling and his popgun will have a word to say, if he +can find a nice straight bit of trench. All we can do for the present +is to keep a sharp look-out in front. I have no doubt they will attack +in force when the right moment comes." + +For close on three hours the bomb-fight went on. Little could be seen, +for the struggle was all taking place upon the extreme right; but the +sounds of conflict were plain enough. More bombs were passed up, and +yet more; men, some cruelly torn, were passed down. + +Then a signal-sergeant doubled up across country from somewhere in +rear, paying out wire, and presently the word went forth that we were +in touch with the Artillery. Directly after, sure enough, came the +blessed sound and sight of British shrapnel bursting over our right +front. + +"That won't stop the present crowd," said Wagstaffe, "but it may +prevent their reinforcements from coming up. We are holding our own, +Bobby. What's that, Sergeant?" + +"The Commanding Officer, sirr," announced Sergeant Carfrae, "has just +passed up that we are to keep a sharp look-out to our left. They've +commenced for to bomb the English regiment now." + +"Golly, both flanks! This is getting a trifle steep," remarked +Wagstaffe. + +Detonations could now be distinctly heard upon the left. + +"If they succeed in getting round behind us," said Wagstaffe in a low +voice to Bobby, "we shall have to fall back a bit, into line with the +rest of the advance. Only a few hundred yards, but it means a lot to +_us_!" + +"It hasn't happened yet," said Bobby stoutly. + +Captain Wagstaffe knew better. His more experienced eye and ear had +detected the fact that the position of the regiment upon the left was +already turned. But he said nothing. + +Presently the tall figure of the Colonel was seen, advancing in +leisurely fashion along the trench, stopping here and there to +exchange a word with a private or a sergeant. + +"The regiment on the left may have to fall back, men," he was saying. +"We, of course, will stand fast, and cover their retirement." + +This most characteristic announcement was received with a +matter-of-fact "Varra good, sir," from its recipients, and the Colonel +passed on to where the two officers were standing. + +"Hallo, Wagstaffe," he said; "good-morning! We shall get some very +pretty shooting presently. The enemy are massing on our left front, +down behind those cottages. How are things going on our right?" + +"They are holding their own, sir." + +"Good! Just tell Ayling to get his guns trained. But doubtless he has +done so already. I must get back to the other flank." + +And back to the danger-spot our C.O. passed--an upright, gallant +figure, saying little, exhorting not at all, but instilling confidence +and cheerfulness by his very presence. + +Half-way along the trench he encountered Major Kemp. + +"How are things on the left, sir?" was the Major's _sotto voce_ +inquiry. + +"Not too good. Our position is turned. We have been promised +reinforcements, but I doubt if they can get up in time. Of course, +when it comes to falling back, this regiment goes last." + +"Of course, sir." + + +IV + +_Highlanders! Four hundred yards! At the enemy advancing half-left, +rapid fire_! + +Twenty minutes had passed. The regiment still stood immovable, though +its left flank was now utterly exposed. All eyes and rifles were fixed +upon the cluster of cottages. Through the gaps that lay between these +could be discerned the advance of the German infantry--line upon line, +moving towards the trench upon our left. The ground to our front was +clear. Each time one of these lines passed a gap the rifles rang out +and Ayling's remaining machine-gun uttered joyous barks. Still the +enemy advanced. His shrapnel was bursting overhead; bullets were +whistling from nowhere, for the attack in force was now being pressed +home in earnest. + +The deserted trench upon our left ran right through the cottages, and +this restricted our view. No hostile bombers could be seen; it was +evident that they had done their bit and handed on the conduct of +affairs to others. Behind the shelter of the cottages the infantry +were making a safe detour, and were bound, unless something unexpected +happened, to get round behind us. + +"They'll be firing from our rear in a minute," said Kemp between his +teeth. "Lochgair, order your platoon to face about and be ready to +fire over the parados." + +Young Lochgair's method of executing this command was +characteristically thorough. He climbed in leisurely fashion upon the +parados; and standing there, with all his six-foot-three in full view, +issued his orders. + +"Face this way, boys! Keep your eyes on that group of buildings just +behind the empty trench, in below the Fosse. You'll get some +target practice presently. Don't go and forget that you are the +straightest-shooting platoon in the Company. There they are"--he +pointed with his stick--"lots of them--coming through that gap in the +wall! Now then, rapid fire, and let them have it! Oh, well done, boys! +Good shooting! Very good! Very good ind--" + +He stopped suddenly, swayed, and toppled back into the trench. Major +Kemp caught him in his arms, and laid him gently upon the chalky +floor. There was nothing more to be done. Young Lochgair had given his +platoon their target, and the platoon were now firing steadily upon +the same. He closed his eyes and sighed, like a tired child. + +"Carry on, Major!" he murmured faintly. "I'm all right." + +So died the simple-hearted, valiant enthusiast whom we had christened +Othello. + +The entire regiment--what was left of it--was now firing over the +back of the trench; for the wily Teuton had risked no frontal attack, +seeing that he could gain all his ends from the left flank. +Despite vigorous rifle fire and the continuous maledictions of the +machine-gun, the enemy were now pouring through the cottages behind +the trench. Many grey figures began to climb up the face of Fosse +Eight, where apparently there was none to say them nay. + +"We shall have a cheery walk back, I _don't_ think!" murmured +Wagstaffe. + +He was right. Presently a withering fire was opened from the summit +of the Fosse, which soon began to take effect in the exiguous and +ill-protected trench. + +"The Colonel is wounded, sir," reported the Sergeant-Major to Major +Kemp. + +"Badly?" + +"Yes, sir." + +Kemp looked round him. The regiment was now alone in the trench, for +the gallant company upon their right had been battered almost out of +existence. + +"We can do no more good by staying here any longer," said the Major. +"We have done our little bit. I think it is a case of 'Home, John!' +Tell off a party to bring in the C.O., Sergeant-Major." + +Then he passed the order. + +"Highlanders, retire to the trenches behind, by Companies, beginning +from the right." + +"Whatever we may think of the Bosche as a gentleman," mused that +indomitable philosopher, Captain Wagstaffe, as he doubled stolidly +rearward behind his Company, "there is no denying his bravery as a +soldier or his skill in co-ordinating an attack. It's positively +uncanny, the way his artillery supports his infantry. (Hallo, that was +a near one!) This enfilade fire from the Fosse is most unpleasant. (I +fancy that one went through my kilt.) Steady there, on the left: +don't bunch, whatever you do! Thank heaven, there's the next line of +trenches, fully manned. And thank God, there's that boy Bobby tumbling +in unhurt!" + + +V + +So ended our share in the Big Push. It was a very small episode, +spread over quite a short period, in one of the biggest and longest +battles in the history of the world. It would have been easy to select +a more showy episode, but hard to find a better illustration of the +character of the men who took part in it. The battle which began upon +that grey September morning has been raging, as I write, for nearly +three weeks. It still surges backwards and forwards over the same +stricken mile of ground; and the end is not yet. But the Hun is being +steadily beaten to earth. (Only yesterday, in one brief furious +counter-attack, he lost eight thousand killed.) When the final advance +comes, as come it must, and our victorious line sweeps forward, it +will pass over two narrow, ill-constructed, shell-torn trenches. +In and around those trenches will be found the earthly remains of +men--Jocks and Jimmies, and Sandies and Andies--clad in the uniform +of almost every Scottish regiment. That assemblage of mute, glorious +witnesses marks the point reached, during the first few hours of the +first day's fighting, by the Scottish Division of "K(1)." _Molliter +ossa cubent_. + +There is little more to add to the record of those three days. For yet +another night we carried on--repelling counter-attacks, securing +the Hohenzollern, making sorties out of Big Willie, or manning the +original front line parapet against eventualities. As is inevitable in +a fight of these proportions, whole brigades were mingled together, +and unexpected leaders arose to take the place of those who had +fallen. Many a stout piece of work was done that night by mixed bands +of kilties, flat-heads, and even cyclists, marshalled in a captured +German trench and shepherded by a junior subaltern. + +Finally, about midnight, came the blessed order that fresh troops were +coming up to continue the attack, and that we were to be extricated +from the _mêlée_ and sent back to rest. And so, after a participation +in the battle of some seventy-two hours, our battered Division came +out--to sleep the sleep of utter exhaustion in dug-outs behind the +railway line, and to receive, upon waking, the thanks of its Corps +Commander. + + +VI + +And here I propose (for a time, at least) to take leave of The First +Hundred Thousand. Some day, if Providence wills, the tale shall be +resumed; and you shall hear how Major Kemp, Captain Wagstaffe, Ayling, +and Bobby Little, assisted by such veterans as Corporal Mucklewame, +built up the regiment, with copious drafts and a fresh batch of +subalterns, to its former strength. + +But the title of the story will have to be changed. In the hearts of +those who drilled them, reasoned with them, sometimes almost wept +over them, and ultimately fought shoulder to shoulder with them, the +sturdy, valiant legions, whose humorously-pathetic career you have +followed so patiently for fifteen months, will always be First; but +alas! they are no longer The Hundred Thousand. + +So we will leave them, as is most justly due, in sole possession of +their proud title. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12877 *** |