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diff --git a/16078-h/16078-h.htm b/16078-h/16078-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1561138 --- /dev/null +++ b/16078-h/16078-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3875 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> + + <title>The Amateur Army, by Patrick MacGill.</title> + + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4 {text-align: center;} + h5,h6 {text-align: left;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + + .note + {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + + span.pagenum + {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;} + + .poem + {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i6 {margin-left: 3em;} + .poem p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;} + + .figure, .figcenter + {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;} + .figure img, .figcenter img + {border: none;} + .figure p, .figcenter p + {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: auto;} + + .footnote {font-size: 0.9em; margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 10%;} + + p.author {text-align: right; margin-right:10%; font-variant: small-caps;} + --> + </style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Amateur Army, by Patrick MacGill + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Amateur Army + +Author: Patrick MacGill + +Release Date: June 16, 2005 [EBook #16078] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AMATEUR ARMY *** + + + + +Produced by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries +(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto), Suzanne Lybarger, +William Flis, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>THE AMATEUR ARMY</h1> + +<h2>BY PATRICK MACGILL</h2> + + + + +<h4>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</h4> + +<h3>CHILDREN OF THE DEAD END</h3> + +<h3>THE RAT-PIT</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:80%;"><a href="images/frontis.jpg"><img width="100%" src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="RIFLEMAN PATRICK MACGILL" /></a>RIFLEMAN PATRICK MACGILL</div> + + + + +<h1>THE AMATEUR ARMY</h1> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h2>PATRICK MACGILL</h2> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF</h4> + +<h3>"CHILDREN OF THE DEAD END"</h3> + +<h4>HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED<br /> +ARUNDEL PLACE HAYMARKET <br /> +LONDON S.W. MCMXV</h4> + + + + +<center><i>Wyman & Sons Ltd., Printers, London and Reading.</i></center> + + + + +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>I am one of the million or more male +residents of the United Kingdom, who a year ago had no special yearning +towards military life, but who joined the +army after war was declared. At Chelsea I +found myself a unit of the 2nd London Irish +Battalion, afterwards I was drilled into shape +at the White City and training was concluded +at St. Albans, where I was drafted into the +1st Battalion. In my spare time I wrote +several articles dealing with the life of the +soldier from the stage of raw "rooky" to +that of finished fighter. These I now publish +in book form, and trust that they may interest +men who have joined the colours or who +intend to take up the profession of arms and +become members of the great brotherhood of fighters.</p> + +<p class="author">Patrick MacGill.</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"The London Irish,"</p> +<p>British Expeditionary Force,</p> +<p><i>March 25th</i>, 1915.</p> + </div> </div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page9" id="page9"></a>[pg 9]</span> + + + + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i10"> <b>PAGE</b></p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>CHAPTER I</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>I ENLIST AND AM BILLETED <a href="#page13">13</a></p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>CHAPTER II</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>RATIONS AND SICK PARADE <a href="#page23">23</a></p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>CHAPTER III</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>PICKETS AND SPECIAL LEAVE <a href="#page36">36</a></p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>CHAPTER IV</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>OFFICERS AND RIFLES <a href="#page48">48</a></p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>CHAPTER V</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>THE COFFEE-SHOP AND WANKIN <a href="#page60">60</a></p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>CHAPTER VI</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>THE NIGHT SIDE OF SOLDIERING <a href="#page71">71</a></p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>CHAPTER VII</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>DIVISIONAL EXERCISE AND MIMIC WARFARE <a href="#page85">85</a></p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>CHAPTER VIII</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>THE GENERAL INSPECTION AND THE EVERLASTING WAITING <a href="#page99">99</a></p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>CHAPTER IX</p> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>READY TO GO—THE BATTALION MOVES <a href="#page111">111</a></p> + </div> </div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page13" id="page13"></a>[pg 13]</span> + + + + +<h1>THE AMATEUR ARMY</h1> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h2 class="sc">I Enlist and am Billeted</h2> + + +<p>What the psychological processes were +that led to my enlisting in "Kitchener's Army" need not be +inquired into. Few men could explain +why they enlisted, and if they attempted +they might only prove that they had +done as a politician said the electorate +does, the right thing from the wrong +motive. There is a story told of an incident +that occurred in Flanders, which shows +clearly the view held in certain quarters. +The Honourable Artillery Company were +relieving some regulars in the trenches when +the following dialogue ensued between a +typical Tommy Atkins and an H.A.C. private:</p> + +<p>T.A.: "Oo are you?"</p> + +<p>H.A.C.: "We're the H.A.C."</p> + +<p>T.A.: "Gentlemen, ain't yer?"</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page14" id="page14"></a>[pg 14]</span> + +<p>H.A.C.: "Oh well, in a way I suppose—"</p> + +<p>T.A.: "'Ow many are there of yer?"</p> + +<p>H.A.C.: "About eight hundred."</p> + +<p>T.A.: "An' they say yer volunteered!"</p> + +<p>H.A.C.: "Yes, we did."</p> + +<p>T.A.: (With conviction as he gathers +together his kit). "Blimey, yer must be mad!"</p> + +<p>For curiosity's sake I asked some of +my mates to give me their reasons for +enlisting. One particular friend of mine, a +good-humoured Cockney, grinned sheepishly +as he replied confidentially, "Well, matey, +I done it to get away from my old gal's +jore—now you've got it!" Another recruit, +a pale, intelligent youth, who knew Nietzsche +by heart, glanced at me coldly as he +answered, "I enlisted because I am an +Englishman." Other replies were equally +unilluminating and I desisted, remembering +that the Germans despise us because we are devoid of military enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>The step once taken, however, we all +set to work to discover how we might become +soldiers with a minimum of exertion and +inconvenience to ourselves. During the process +I learned many things, among others +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page15" id="page15"></a>[pg 15]</span> +that I was a unit in the most democratic +army in history; where Oxford undergraduate +and farm labourer, Cockney and peer's +son lost their identity and their caste in +a vast war machine. I learned that Tommy +Atkins, no matter from what class he is +recruited, is immortal, and that we British +are one of the most military nations in the +world. I have learned to love my new life, +obey my officers, and depend upon my rifle; +for I am Rifleman Patrick MacGill of the +Irish Rifles, where rumour has it that the +Colonel and I are the only two <i>real</i> Irishmen +in the battalion. It should be remembered +that a unit of a rifle regiment is known as +rifleman, not private; we like the term +rifleman, and feel justly indignant when a +wrong appellation plays skittles with our rank.</p> + +<p>The earlier stages of our training took +place at Chelsea and the White City, where +untiring instructors strove to convince us +that we were about the most futile lot of +"rookies" that it had ever been their misfortune +to encounter. It was not until we +were unceremoniously dumped amidst the +peaceful inhabitants of a city that slumbers +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page16" id="page16"></a>[pg 16]</span> +in the shadow of an ancient cathedral that I felt I was in reality a soldier.</p> + +<p>Here we were to learn that there is no +novelty so great for the newly enlisted soldier +as that of being billeted, in the process of +which he finds himself left upon an unfamiliar door-step like somebody else's +washing. He is the instrument by which +the War Office disproves that "an Englishman's home is his castle." He has the +law behind him; but nothing else—save his +own capacity for making friends with his victims.</p> + +<p>If the equanimity of English householders +who are about to have soldiers billeted upon +them is a test of patriotism, there may well +be some doubts about the patriotic spirit +of the English middle class in the present +crisis. The poor people welcome to their +homes soldiers who in most cases belong to +the same strata of society as themselves; +and, besides, ninepence a night as billet-fee is not to be laughed at. The upper +class can easily bear the momentary inconvenience of Tommy's company; the method +of procedure of the very rich in regard to +billeting seldom varies—a room, stripped of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page17" id="page17"></a>[pg 17]</span> +all its furniture, fitted with beds and pictures, +usually of a religious nature, is given up for +the soldiers' benefit. The lady of the house, +gifted with that familiar ease which the very +rich can assume towards the poor at a pinch—especially +a pinch like the present, when +"all petty class differences are forgotten +in the midst of the national crisis"—may +come and talk to her guests now and again, +tell them that they are fine fellows, and give +them a treat to light up the heavy hours +that follow a long day's drill in full marching +order. But the middle class, aloof and +austere in its own seclusion, limited in +means and apartment space, cannot easily +afford the time and care needed for the housing +of soldiers. State commands cannot be +gainsaid, however, and Tommy must be +housed and fed in the country which he will +shortly go out and defend in the trenches of France or Flanders.</p> + +<p>The number of men assigned to a house +depends in a great measure on the discretion +of the householder and the temper of the +billeting officer. A gruff reply or a caustic +remark from the former sometimes offends; +often the officer is in a hurry, and at such +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page18" id="page18"></a>[pg 18]</span> +a time disproportionate assortment is generally +the result. A billeting officer has told +me that fifty per cent. of the householders +whom he has approached show manifest +hostility to the housing of soldiers. But the +military authorities have a way of dealing +with these people. On one occasion an +officer asked a citizen, an elderly man full +of paunch and English dignity, how many +soldiers could he keep in his house. "Well, it's like this—," the man began.</p> + +<p>"Have you any room to spare here?" demanded the officer.</p> + +<p>"None, except on the mat," was the caustic answer.</p> + +<p>"Two on the mat, then," snapped the +officer, and a pair of tittering Tommies were left at the door.</p> + +<p>Matronly English dignity suffered on +another occasion when a sergeant inquired +of a middle-aged woman as to the number +of men she could billet in her house.</p> + +<p>"None," she replied. "I have no way of keeping soldiers."</p> + +<p>"What about that apartment there?" +asked the N.C.O. pointing to the drawing-room.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page19" id="page19"></a>[pg 19]</span> + +<p>"But they'll destroy everything in the room," stammered the woman.</p> + +<p>"Clear the room then."</p> + +<p>"But they'll have to pass through the hall +to get in, and there are so many valuable things on the walls—"</p> + +<p>"You've got a large window in the drawing-room," +said the officer; "remove that, and +the men will not have to pass through the hall. +I'll let you off lightly, and leave only two."</p> + +<p>"But I cannot keep two."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll leave four," was the reply, and four were left.</p> + +<p>Sadder than this, even, was the plight +of the lady and gentleman at St. Albans +who told the officer that their four children +were just recovering from an attack of +whooping cough. The officer, being a wise +man and anxious about the welfare of those +under his care, fled precipitately. Later he +learned that there had been no whooping +cough in the house; in fact, the people who +caused him to beat such a hasty retreat were +childless. He felt annoyed and discomfited; +but about a week following his first visit +he called again at the house, this time followed by six men.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page20" id="page20"></a>[pg 20]</span> + +<p>"These fellows are just recovering from +whooping cough," he told the householder; +"they had it bad. We didn't know what +to do with them, but, seeing that you've +had whooping cough here, I feel it's the only +place where it will be safe to billet them." And he left them there.</p> + +<p>But happenings like these were more +frequent at the commencement of the war +than now. Civilians, even those of the +conventional middle class, are beginning to +understand that single men in billets, to +paraphrase Kipling slightly, are remarkably like themselves.</p> + +<p>With us, rations are served out daily at +our billets; our landladies do the cooking, +and mine, an adept at the culinary art, can +transform a basin of flour and a lump of +raw beef into a dish that would make an +epicurean mouth water. Even though food +is badly cooked in the billet, it has a superior +flavour, which is never given it in the boilers +controlled by the company cook. Army +stew has rather a notorious reputation, as +witness the inspired words of a regimental +poet—one of the 1st Surrey Rifles—in a pæan of praise to his colonel:</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page21" id="page21"></a>[pg 21]</span> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"Long may the colonel with us bide,</p> +<p class="i2">His shadow ne'er grow thinner.</p> +<p>(It would, though, if he ever tried</p> +<p class="i2">Some Army stew for dinner.)"</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>Billeting has gained for the soldier many +friends, and towns that have become accustomed +to his presence look sadly forward +to the day when he will leave them for the +front, where no kind landlady will be at +hand to transform raw beef and potatoes +into beef pudding or potato pie. The working +classes in particular view the future +with misgiving. The bond of sympathy +between soldier and workers is stronger than +that between soldier and any other class of +citizen. The houses and manners of the +well-to-do daunt most Tommies. "In their +houses we feel out of it somehow," they say. +"There's nothin' we can talk about with +the swells, and 'arf the time they be askin' +us about things that's no concern of theirs at all."</p> + +<p>Most toilers who have no friends or relations +preparing for war have kinsmen already +in the trenches—or on the roll of honour. +And feelings stronger than those of friendship +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page22" id="page22"></a>[pg 22]</span> +now unite thousands of soldiers to the young +girls of the houses in which they are billeted. +For even in the modern age, that now seems +to voice the ultimate expression of man's +culture and advance in terrorism and destruction, +love and war, vital as the passion of +ancient story, go hand in hand up to the trenches and the threat of death.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page23" id="page23"></a>[pg 23]</span> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h2 class="sc">Rations and Sick Parade</h2> + + +<p>It has been said that an army moves +upon its stomach, and, as if in confirmation of this, the soldier is exhorted +in an official pamphlet "Never to start on +a march with an empty stomach." To a +hungry rifleman the question of his rations +is a matter of vital importance. For the +first few weeks our food was cooked up and +served out on the parade ground, or in the +various gutter-fringed sheds standing in the +vicinity of our headquarters. The men were +discontented with the rations, and rumour +had it that the troops stationed in a neighbouring +village rioted and hundreds had been placed under arrest.</p> + +<p>Sometimes a haunch of roast beef was doled +out almost raw, and potatoes were generally +boiled into pulp; these when served up +looked like lumps of wet putty. Two potatoes, +unwashed and embossed with particles +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page24" id="page24"></a>[pg 24]</span> +of gravel, were allowed to each man; all +could help themselves by sticking their +fingers into the doughy substance and lifting +out a handful, which they placed along with +the raw "roast" on the lid of their mess-tin. This constituted dinner, but often +rations were doled out so badly that several +men only got half the necessary allowance for their meals.</p> + +<p>Tea was seldom sufficiently sweetened, and +the men had to pay for milk. After a time +we became accustomed to the Epsom Salts +that a kindly War Office, solicitous for our +well-being, caused to be added, and some of +us may go to our graves insisting on Epsom +Salts with tea. The feeding ground being +in many cases a great distance from the fire, +the tea was cold by the time it arrived at +the men's quarters. Those who could afford +it, took their food elsewhere: the restaurants +in the vicinity did a roaring trade, and +several new ones were opened. A petition +was written; the men signed it, and decided +to send it to the colonel; but the N.C.O.'s +stepped in and destroyed the document. +"You'll not do much good at the front," they +told us, "if you are grumbling already."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page25" id="page25"></a>[pg 25]</span> + +<p>A week followed the destruction of the +petition, and then appeared the following +in Battalion Orders: "From to-morrow +until further orders, rations will be issued +at the men's billets." This announcement +caused no little sensation, aroused a great +deal of comment, and created a profound feeling +of satisfaction in the battalion. Thenceforth +rations were served out at the billets, +and the householders were ordered to do the +cooking. My landlady was delighted. "Not +half feeding you; that's a game," she +said. "And you going to fight for your +country! But wait till you see the dishes +I'll make out of the rations when they come."</p> + +<p>The rations came. In the early morning +a barrow piled with eatables was dragged +through our street, and the "ration fatigue" +party, full of the novelty of a new job, +yelled in chorus, "Bring out your dead, ladies; rations are 'ere!"</p> + +<p>"What have you got?" asked my landlady, going to the door. "What are you +supposed to leave for the men? Nothing's +too good for them that's going to fight for their country."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page26" id="page26"></a>[pg 26]</span> + +<p>"Dead rats," said the ration-corporal with a grin.</p> + +<p>"Don't be funny. What are my men to get?"</p> + +<p>"Each man a pound of fresh meat, one and +a half pounds of bread, two taters, two ounces +of sugar, and an ounce of tea and three +ounces of cheese. And, besides this, every +feller gets a tin of jam once in four days."</p> + +<p>This looks well on paper, but pot and +plate make a difference in the proposition. +Army cheese runs to rind rapidly, and a +pound of beef is often easily bitten to the +bone: sometimes, in fact, it is all bone and +gristle, and the ravages of cooking minimise +its bulk in a disheartening way. One and a +half pound of bread is more than the third +of a big loaf, but minus butter it makes a +featureless repast. Breakfast and tea without +butter and milk does not always make a dainty meal.</p> + +<p>Even the distribution of rations leaves +much to be desired; the fatigue party, +well-intentioned and sympathetic though it +be, often finds itself short of provisions. +This may in many cases be due to unequal +distribution; an ounce of beef too much to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page27" id="page27"></a>[pg 27]</span> +each of sixteen men leaves the seventeenth +short of meat. This may easily happen, as +the ration party has never any means of +weighing the food: it is nearly always served +out by guesswork. But sometimes the landladies +help in the distribution by bringing +out scales and weighing the provisions. One +lady in our street always weighed the men's +rations, and saw that those under her care +got the exact allowance. Never would she +take any more than her due, and never less. +But a few days ago, when weighing sugar +and tea, a blast of wind upset the scales, +and a second allowance met with a similar +fate. Sugar and tea littered the pavement, +and finally the woman supplied her soldiers +from the household stores. She now leaves +the work of distribution in the hands of the +ration party, and takes what is given to her without grumbling.</p> + +<p>The soldiers' last meal is generally served +out about five o'clock in the afternoon, +sometimes earlier; and a stretch of fourteen +hours intervenes between then and breakfast. +About nine o'clock in the evening those who +cannot afford to pay for extras feel their +waist-belts slacken, and go supperless to bed. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page28" id="page28"></a>[pg 28]</span> +And tea is not a very substantial meal; the +rations served out for the day have decreased +in bulk, bread has wasted to microscopic proportions, and the cheese has +diminished sadly in size. A regimental song, +pent with soldierly woes, bitterly bemoans the drawbacks of Tommy's tea:</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"Bread and cheese for breakfast,</p> +<p class="i2">For dinner Army stew,</p> +<p>But when it comes to tea-time</p> +<p class="i2">There's dough and rind for you,</p> +<p class="i6">So you and me</p> +<p class="i6">Won't wait for tea—</p> +<p class="i2">We're jolly big fools if we do."</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>But those who do not live in billets, and +whose worldly wealth fails to exceed a shilling +a day, must be content with Army rations, +with the tea tasting of coom, and seldom +sweetened, with the pebble-studded putty +potato coated in clay, with the cheese that +runs to rind at last parade, and, above all, +with the knowledge that they are merely +inconvenienced at home so that they may endure the better abroad.</p> + +<p>There is another school of theorists that +states that an army moves, not upon its +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page29" id="page29"></a>[pg 29]</span> +stomach, but upon its feet, the care of which +is of vital importance. This, too, finds confirmation +in the official pamphlet, which +tells the soldier to "Remember that a dirty +foot is an unsound foot. See that feet are +washed if no other part of the body is," etc.</p> + +<p>My right foot had troubled me for days; +a pain settled in the arch of the instep, and +caused me intense agony when resuming +the march after a short halt; at night I +would suddenly awake from sleep to experience +the sensation of being stabbed by innumerable pins in ankle and toes. Marching +in future, I felt, would be a monstrous futility, +and I decided that my case was one for the medical officer.</p> + +<p>Sick parade is not restricted by any dress +order; the sore-footed may wear slippers; +the sore-headed, Balaclava helmets; puttees +can be discarded; mufflers and comforters may be used. "The sick rabble" is +the name given by the men to the +crowd that waits outside the door of the +M.O.'s room at eight in the morning. And +every morning brings its quota of ailing +soldiers; some seriously ill, some slightly, +and a few (as may be expected out of a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page30" id="page30"></a>[pg 30]</span> +thousand men of all sorts and conditions) +who have imaginary or feigned diseases that +will so often save "slackers" from a hard +day's marching. The aim and ambition of +these latter seem to be to do as little hard +work as possible; some of them attend +sick parade on an average once a week, +and generally obtain exemption from a day's +work. To obtain this they resort to several +ruses; headaches and rheumatic pains are +difficult to detect, and the doctor must depend +on the private's word; a quick pulse and +heightened temperature is engendered by a +brisk run, and this is often a means towards +a favourable medical verdict—that is, when +"favourable" means a suspension of duties.</p> + +<p>At a quarter to eight I stood with ten +others in front of the M.O.'s door, on which +a white card with the blue-lettered "No +Smoking" stood out in bold relief. The +morning was bitterly cold, and a sharp, +penetrating wind splashed with rain swept +round our ears, and chilled our hands and +faces. One of the waiting queue had a sharp +cough and spat blood; all this was due, +he told us, to a day's divisional field exercise, +when he had to lie for hours on the wet +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page31" id="page31"></a>[pg 31]</span> +ground firing "blanks" at a "dummy" +enemy. Another sick soldier, a youth of +nineteen, straight as a lance and lithe as a +poplar, suffered from ulcer in the throat. +"I had the same thing before," he remarked +in a thin, hoarse voice, "but I got over it +somehow. This time it'll maybe the hospital. I don't know."</p> + +<p>An orderly corporal filled in admission +forms and handed them to us; each form +containing the sick man's regimental number, +name, religion, age, and length of military +service, in addition to several other minor +details having no reference at all to the +matter in hand. These forms were again +handed over to another orderly corporal, +who stood smoking a cigarette under the +blue-lettered notice pinned to the door.</p> + +<p>The boy with the sore throat was sitting +in a chair in the room when I entered, the +doctor bending over him. "Would you like +a holiday?" the M.O. asked in a kindly voice.</p> + +<p>"Where to, sir?"</p> + +<p>"A couple of days in hospital would leave +you all right, my man," the M.O. continued, "and it would be a splendid rest."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page32" id="page32"></a>[pg 32]</span> + +<p>"I don't want a rest," answered the youth. +"Maybe I'll be better in the morning, sir."</p> + +<p>The doctor thought for a moment, then:</p> + +<p>"All right, report to-morrow again," he +said. "You're a brave boy. Some, who are +not the least ill, whine till one is sick—what's the matter with you?"</p> + +<p>"Sore foot, sir," I said, seeing the M.O.'s eyes fixed on me.</p> + +<p>"Off with your boot, then."</p> + +<p>I took off my boot, placed my foot on a chair, and had it inspected.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong with it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir. It pains me when marching, and sometimes—"</p> + +<p>"Have you ever heard that Napoleon said an army marches on its stomach?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, when the feet of the army is all right," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Quite true," he replied. "No doubt +you've sprained one of yours; just wash it +well in warm water, rub it well, and have a +day or two resting. That will leave you all right. Your boots are good?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"They don't pinch or—what's wrong with +you?" He was speaking to the next man.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page33" id="page33"></a>[pg 33]</span> + +<p>"I don't know, sir."</p> + +<p>"Don't know? You don't know why +you're here. What brought you here?"</p> + +<p>"Rheumatic pains, I think, sir," was the +answer. "Last night I 'ad an orful night. +Couldn't sleep. I think it was the wet as +done it. Lyin' out on the grass last field day—"</p> + +<p>"How many times have you been here before?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, the last time was when—"</p> + +<p>"How many times?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir."</p> + +<p>"Was it rheumatic pains last time?"</p> + +<p>"No sir, it was jaw-ache—toothache, I mean."</p> + +<p>"I'll put you on light duties for the day," +said the M.O. And the rheumatic one and I went out together.</p> + +<p>"That's wot they do to a man that's sick," +said the rheumatic one when we got outside. +"Me that couldn't sleep last night, and now +it's light duties. I know what light duties +are. You are to go into the orderly room +and wash all the dishes: then you go and +run messages, then you 'old the orficer's +horse and then maybe when you're worryin' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page34" id="page34"></a>[pg 34]</span> +your own bit of grub they come and bundle +you out to sweep up the orficers' mess, or run +an errand for the 'ead cook and bottle-washer. Light duties ain't arf a job. I'm +blowed if marchin' in full kit ain't ten times +better, and I'm going to grease to the battalion parade."</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes later I met him leaving +his billet, his haversack on the wrong side, +his cartridge pouches open, the bolt of his +gun unfastened; his whole general appearance +was a discredit to his battalion and a +disgrace to the Army. I helped to make +him presentable as he bellowed his woes into +my ear. "No bloomin' grub this mornin'," +he said. "Left my breakfast till I'd come +back, and 'aven't no time for it now. Anyway +I'm going out on the march; no light +duties for me. I know what they are." +He was still protesting against the hardships +of things as he swung out of sight round the +corner of the street. Afterwards I heard that +he got three days C.B. for disobeying the orders of the M.O.</p> + +<p>Save for minor ailments and accident, my +battalion is practically immune from sickness; colds come and go as a matter of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page35" id="page35"></a>[pg 35]</span> +course, sprains and cuts claim momentary +attention, but otherwise the health of the +battalion is perfect. "We're too healthy +to be out of the trenches," a company +humorist has remarked, and the company and battalion agrees with him.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page36" id="page36"></a>[pg 36]</span> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h2 class="sc">Pickets and Special Leave</h2> + + +<p>One of the first things we had to learn +was that our ancient cathedral town has its bounds and limits for the +legions of the lads in khaki. Beyond a +certain line, the two-mile boundary, we dare +not venture alone without written permission, +and we can only pass the limit in a +body when led by a commissioned officer.</p> + +<p>The whole world, with the exception of +the space enclosed by this narrow circle, is +closed to the footsteps of Tommy; he cannot +now visit his sweetheart, his sweetheart +must come and visit him. The housemaid +from Hammersmith and the typist from +Tottenham have to come to their beaux in +billets, and as most of the men in our town +are single, and nearly all have sweethearts, +it is estimated that five or six thousand +maidens blush to hear the old, old story +within the two-mile limit every week-end.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page37" id="page37"></a>[pg 37]</span> + +<p>Once only every month is a soldier allowed +week-end leave, and then he has permission +to be absent from his billet between the +hours of 3 p.m. on Saturday and 10 p.m. +on Sunday. His pass states that during this +time he is not liable to be arrested for desertion. +Some men use one pass for quite a +long period, and alter the dates to suit every occasion.</p> + +<p>One Sunday, when returning from week-end +leave, I travelled from London by train. +My compartment was crowded with men of +my division, and only one-half of these had +true passes; one, who was an adept calligraphist, wrote his own pass, and made a +counterfeit signature of the superior who +should have signed the form of leave. +Another had altered the dates of an early +pass so cleverly that it was difficult to +detect the erasure, and a number of men +had no passes whatsoever. These boasted +of having travelled to London every week-end, +and they had never been caught napping.</p> + +<p>Passes were generally inspected at the +station preceding the one to which we were +bound. My travelling companions were well +aware of this, and made preparations to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page38" id="page38"></a>[pg 38]</span> +combat the difficulty in front; two crawled +under the seats, and two more went up +on the racks, where they lay quiet as mice, +stretched out at full length and covered +over with several khaki overcoats. One +man, a brisk Cockney, who would not deign +to roost or crawl, took up his position as +far away as possible from the platform window.</p> + +<p>"Grease the paper along as quick as +you know 'ow and keep the picket jorin' +till I'm safe," he remarked as the train +stopped and a figure in khaki fumbled with the door handle.</p> + +<p>"Would you mind me lookin' at passes, +mateys?" demanded the picket, entering +the compartment. The man by the door +produced his pass, the one he had written +and signed himself; and when it passed +inspection he slyly slipped it behind the +back of the man next him, and in the space +of three seconds the brisk Cockney had the +forged permit of leave to show to the inspector. +The men under the seat and on the racks were not detected.</p> + +<p>Every station in our town and its vicinity +has a cordon of pickets, the Sunday farewell +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page39" id="page39"></a>[pg 39]</span> +kisses of sweethearts are never witnessed +by the platform porter, as the lovers in +khaki are never allowed to see their loves +off by train, and week-end adieux always +take place at the station entrance. Some +time ago the pickets allowed the men to +see their sweethearts off, but as many youths +abused the privilege and took train to London +when they got on the platform, these +kind actions have now become merely a pleasing memory.</p> + +<p>Pickets seem to crop up everywhere; +on one bus ride to London, a journey of +twenty miles, I have been asked to show +my pass three times, and on a return journey by train I have had to produce the +written permit on five occasions. But some +units of our divisions soar above these petty +inconveniences, as do two brothers who +motor home every Sunday when church parade comes to an end.</p> + +<p>When these two leave church after divine +service, a car waits them at the nearest +street corner, and they slip into it, don +trilby hats and civilian overcoats, and sweep +outside the restricted area at a haste that +causes the slow-witted country policeman +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page40" id="page40"></a>[pg 40]</span> +to puzzle over the speed of the car and +forget its number while groping for his pocket-book.</p> + +<p>It has always been a pleasure to me to +follow for hours the winding country roads +looking out for fresh scenes and new adventures. +The life of the roadside dwellers, +the folk who live in little stone houses and +show two flower-pots and a birdcage in +their windows, has a strange fascination +for me. When I took up my abode here +and got my first free Sunday afternoon, +I shook military discipline aside for a moment and set out on one of my rambles.</p> + +<p>There comes a moment on a journey when +something sweet, something irresistible and +charming as wine raised to thirsty lips, +wells up in the traveller's being. I have +never striven to analyse this feeling or +study the moment when it comes, and +that feeling has been often mine. Now I +know the moment it floods the soul of +the traveller. It is at the end of the second +mile, when the limbs warm to their work +and the lungs fill with the fresh country air. At such a moment, when a man +naturally forgets restraint to which he has +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page41" id="page41"></a>[pg 41]</span> +only been accustomed for a short while, +I met the picket for the first time. He +told me to turn—and I went back. But +it was not in my heart to like that picket, +and I shall never like him while he stands +there, sentry of the two-mile limit; an +ogre denying me entrance into the wide world that lies beyond.</p> + +<p>There is one thing, however, before which +the picket is impotent—a pass. It is like +a free pardon to a convict; it opens to him +the whole world—that is for the period +it covers. The two most difficult things +in military life are to obtain permit of absence +from billets, and the struggle against +the natural impulse to overstay the limit +of leave. There are times when soldiers +experience an intense longing to see their +own homes, firesides, and friends, and in +moments like these it takes a stiff fight +to overcome the desire to go away, if only +for a little while, to their native haunts. +Only once in five weeks may a man obtain +a week-end pass—if he is lucky. To the +soldier, luck is merely another word for skill.</p> + +<p>With us, the rifleman who scores six successive "bulls" at six hundred yards on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page42" id="page42"></a>[pg 42]</span> +the open range has been lucky; if he speaks +nicely to the quartermaster and obtains +the best pair of boots in the stores, he has +been lucky; if by mistake he is given double +rations by the fatigue party he is lucky; +but if the same man, sweating over his +rifle in a carnival of "wash-outs," or, weary +of blistered feet and empty stomach, asks +for sympathy because his rifle was sighted +too low or because he lost his dinner while +waiting on boot-parade, we explain that +his woes are due to a caper of chance—that he has been unlucky. To obtain a +pass at any time a man must be lucky; +obtaining one when he desires it most is a +thing heard of now and again, and getting +a pass and not being able to use it is of +common occurrence. Now, when I applied +for special leave I was more than a little lucky.</p> + +<p>It was necessary that I should attend +to business in London, and I set about +making application for a permit of leave. +I intended to apply for a pass dating from +6 p.m. of a Friday evening to 10 p.m. of the +following Sunday. On Wednesday morning +I spoke to a corporal of my company.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page43" id="page43"></a>[pg 43]</span> + +<p>"If you want leave, see the platoon +sergeant," he told me. The platoon sergeant, who was in a bad temper, spoke +harshly when I approached him. "No business of mine!" he said; "the company +clerk will look into the matter."</p> + +<p>But I had no success with the company +clerk; the leave which I desired was a +special one, and that did not come under +his jurisdiction. "The orderly sergeant +knows more about this business than I do. Go to him about it," he said.</p> + +<p>By Wednesday evening I spoke to the +orderly sergeant, who looked puzzled for +a moment. "Come with me to the lieutenant," he said. "He'll know more about +this matter than I do, and he'll see into +it. But it will be difficult to get special +leave, you know; they don't like to give it."</p> + +<p>"Why?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he repeated; "what the devil +does it matter to you? You're paid here +to do what you're told, not to ask questions."</p> + +<p>The lieutenant was courteous and civil. +"I can't do anything in the matter," he +said. "The orderly sergeant will take you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page44" id="page44"></a>[pg 44]</span> +to the company officer, Captain ——, and he'll maybe do something for you."</p> + +<p>"If you're lucky," said the sergeant in +a low whisper. About eight o'clock in the +evening I paraded in the long, dimly-lighted +passage that leads to our company orderly-room, +and there I had to wait two hours +while the captain was conducting affairs +of some kind or another inside. When the door was opened I was ordered inside.</p> + +<p>"Quick march! Left turn! Halt!" +ordered the sergeant as I crossed the threshold, +and presently I found myself face +to face with our company commander, who +was sitting by a desk with a pile of papers before him.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he asked, fixing a pair +of stern eyes on me, and I explained my +business with all possible despatch.</p> + +<p>"Of course you understand that everything +is now subservient to your military +duties; they take premier place in your +new life," said the officer. "But I'll see +what I can do. By myself I am of little +help. However, you can write out a pass +telling the length of time you require off +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page45" id="page45"></a>[pg 45]</span> +duty, and I'll lay it before the proper authorities."</p> + +<p>I wrote out the "special pass," which ran as follows:</p> + +<p>"Rifleman —— has permission to be +absent from his quarters from 6 p.m. (date) +to 10 p.m. (date), for the purpose of proceeding to London."</p> + +<p>I came in from a long march on Thursday +evening to find the pass signed, stamped, +and ready. On the following night I could +go to London, and I spent the evening +'phoning, wiring, and writing to town, arranging +matters for the day ahead. Also, +I asked some friends to have dinner with +me at seven o'clock on Friday night.</p> + +<p>Next day we had divisional exercise, +which is usually a lengthy affair. In the +morning I approached the officer and asked +if I might be allowed off parade, seeing +I had to set out for London at six o'clock in the evening.</p> + +<p>"Oh! we shall be back early," I was +told, "back about three or thereabouts."</p> + +<p>The day was very interesting; the whole +division, thousands of men, numberless +horses, a regiment of artillery, and all +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page46" id="page46"></a>[pg 46]</span> +baggage and munition for military use took +up position in battle formation. In front +lay an imaginary army, and we had to +cross a river to come into contact with it. +Engineers, under cover of the artillery, +built pontoon bridges for our crossing; on +the whole an intensely interesting and novel +experience. So interesting indeed that I +lost all count of time, and only came to +consciousness of the clock and remembrance +of friends making ready for dinner when +some one remarked that the hour of four +had passed, and that we were still five miles from home.</p> + +<p>I got to my billet at six; there I flung +off my pack, threw down my rifle, and in +frenzied haste consulted a railway timetable. A slow train was due to leave our +town at five minutes to seven. I arranged +my papers, made a brief review of matters +which would come before me later, and +with muddy boots and heavy heart I arrived +at the station at seven minutes to seven +and took the slow train for London.</p> + +<p>When I told the story of my adventures +at dinner a soldier friend remarked: "You've +been more than a little lucky in getting +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page47" id="page47"></a>[pg 47]</span> +away at all. I was very unlucky when I applied—"</p> + +<p>But his story was a long one, and I have forgotten it.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page48" id="page48"></a>[pg 48]</span> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h2 class="sc">Officers and Rifles</h2> + + +<p>As I have said, I have learned among +other things to obey my officers and depend upon my rifle. At first the +junior officers appeared to me only as immaculate +young men in tailor-made tunics +and well-creased trousers, wearing swords +and wrist-watches, and full of a healthy +belief in their own importance. My mates +are apt to consider them as being somewhat +vain, and no Tommy dares fail to salute +the young commissioned officers when he +meets them out with their young ladies on +the public streets. For myself, I have a +great respect for them and their work; +day and night they are at their toil; when +parade comes to an end, and the battalion +is dismissed for the day, the officers, who +have done ten or twelve hours' of field exercise, +turn to their desks and company accounts, and time and again the Last Post +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page49" id="page49"></a>[pg 49]</span> +sees them busy over ledgers, pamphlets, and plans.</p> + +<p>Accurate and precise in every detail, they +know the outs and ins of platoon and company +drill, and can handle scores and hundreds +of men with the ease and despatch of +artists born to their work. Where have +these officers, fresh youngsters with budding +moustaches and white, delicate hands, learned +all about frontage, file, flank, and formation, +alignment, echelon, incline, and interval? +Words of direction and command come so +readily from their lips that I was almost +tempted to believe that they had learned +as easily as they taught, that their skill in +giving orders could only be equalled by the +ease with which I supposed they had mastered the details of their work. Later I +came to know of the difficulty that confronts +the young men, raw from the Officers' +Training Corps, when they take up their +preliminary duties as commanders of trained +soldiers. No "rooky" fresh to the ranks +is the butt of so many jokes and such biting +sarcasm as the young officer is subjected to +when he takes his place as a leader of men.</p> + +<p>Soon after my arrival in our town a score +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page50" id="page50"></a>[pg 50]</span> +of young lieutenants came to our parade +ground, accompanied by two commanders, +a keen-eyed adjutant, brisk as a bell, and +a white-haired colonel with very thin legs, +and putties which seemed to have been +glued on to his shins. The young gentlemen +were destined for various regiments, and +most of them were fresh and spotless in their +new uniforms. Some wore Glengarry bonnets, +kilts, and sporrans, some the black +ribbons of Wales; one, whose hat-badge +proclaimed the Dublin Fusilier, was conspicuous +by the eyeglass he wore, and others +were still arrayed in civilian garb, the uniform +of city and office life. Several units of my +battalion were taken off to drill in company +with the strange officers. I was one of the chosen.</p> + +<p>The young men took us in hand, acting +in turn as corporals, platoon sergeants, and +company commanders. The gentleman with +the eyeglass had charge of my platoon, and +from the start he cast surreptitious glances +at a little red brochure which he held in his +hand, and mumbled words as if trying to commit something to memory.</p> + +<p>"Get to your places," the adjutant yelled +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page51" id="page51"></a>[pg 51]</span> +to the officers. "Hurry up! Don't stand +there gaping as if you're going to snap at +flies. We've got to do some work. There's +no hay for those who don't work. Come on, +Weary, and drill your men; you with the +eyeglass, I mean! I want you to put the +company through some close column movements."</p> + +<p>The man with the eyeglass took up his +position, and issued some order, but his +voice was so low that the men nearest him could not hear the command.</p> + +<p>"Shout!" yelled the adjutant. "Don't +mumble like a flapper who has just got her +first kiss. It's not allowed on parade."</p> + +<p>The order was repeated, and the voice raised a little.</p> + +<p>"Louder, louder!" yelled the adjutant. +Then with fine irony: "These men are +very interested in what you've got to tell them.... I don't think."</p> + +<p>Eyeglass essayed another attempt, but +stopped in the midst of his words, frozen +into mute helplessness by the look of the adjutant.</p> + +<p>"For heaven's sake, try and speak up," +the adjutant said. "If you don't talk like +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page52" id="page52"></a>[pg 52]</span> +a man, these fellows won't salute you when +they meet you in the street with your young +lady. On second thoughts, you had better +go back and take up the job of platoon +sergeant. Come on, Glengarry, and try and trumpet an order."</p> + +<p>Glengarry, so-called from his bonnet, a +sturdy youth with sloping shoulders, took up his post nervously.</p> + +<p>"A close column forming column of fours," +he cried in a shrill treble, quoting the cautionary +part of his command. "Advance +in fours from the right; form fours—right!"</p> + +<p>"Form fours—where?" roared the adjutant.</p> + +<p>"Left," came the answer.</p> + +<p>"Left, your grandmother! You were +right at first. Did you not know that you +were right?... Where's Eyeglass, the +platoon sergeant, now? Who's pinched him?"</p> + +<p>This unfortunate officer had dropped his +eyeglass, and was now groping for it on the +muddy ground, one of my mates helping him in the search.</p> + +<p>Other officers took up the job of company +commander in turn, and all suffered. One, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page53" id="page53"></a>[pg 53]</span> +who was a dapper little fellow, speedily +earned the nickname of "Tailor's Dummy;" +another, when giving a platoon the wrong +direction in dressing, was told to be careful, +and not shove the regiment over. A third, +a Welshman, with the black ribbons, got +angry with a section for some slight mistake +made by two of its number, and was told +to be careful and not annoy the men. He had only got them on appro'.</p> + +<p>Spick and span in their new uniforms, +they came to drill daily on our parade +ground. Slowly the change took place. +They were "rookies" no longer, and the +adjutant's sarcasm was a thing of the past. +Commands were pronounced distinctly and +firmly; the officers were trained men, ready +to lead a company of soldiers anywhere and to do anything.</p> + +<p>No man who has trained with the new +armies can be lacking in respect for the +indefatigable N.C.O., upon whom the brunt +of the work has fallen. With picturesque +scorn and sarcasm he has formed huge +armies out of the rawest of raw material, +and all in a space of less than half a year. +His methods are sometimes strange and his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page54" id="page54"></a>[pg 54]</span> +temper short; yet he achieves his end in +the shortest time possible. He is for ever +correcting the same mistakes and rebuking +the same stupidity, and the wonder is, not +that he loses his temper, but that he should +ever be able to preserve it. He understands +men, and approaches them in an idiom that +is likely to produce the best results.</p> + +<p>"Every man of you has friends of some +sort," said the musketry instructor, as we +formed up in front of him on the parade +ground, gripping with nervous eagerness the +rifles which had just been served out from +the quartermaster's stores. We were recruits, raw "rookies," green to the grind, +and chafing under discipline. "And some +sort of friends it would be as well as if you +never met them," the instructor continued. +"They'd play you false the minute they'd +get your back turned. But you've a friend +now that will always stand by you and +play you fair. Just give him a chance, +and he'll maybe see you out of many a tight +corner. Now, who is this friend I'm talking +about?" he asked, turning to a youth who +was leaning on his rifle. "Come, Weary, and tell me."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page55" id="page55"></a>[pg 55]</span> + +<p>"The rifle," was the answer.</p> + +<p>"The crutch?"</p> + +<p>"No, the rifle."</p> + +<p>"I see that, boy, I see that! But, damn +it, don't make a crutch of it. You're a +soldier now, my man, and not a crippled one yet."</p> + +<p>Thus was the rifle introduced to us. We +had long waited for its coming, and dreamt +of cross-guns, the insignia of a crack shot's +proficiency, while we waited. And with the +rifle came romance, and the element of responsibility. +We were henceforward fighting +men, numbered units, it was true, with +numbered weapons, but for all that, fighters—men +trained to the trade and licensed to the profession.</p> + +<p>Our new friend was rather a troublesome +individual to begin with. In rising to the +slope he had the trick of breaking free and +falling on the muddy barrack square. A +muddy rifle gets rusty, and brings its owner +into trouble, and a severe penalty is considered meet for the man who comes on +parade with a rusty rifle. Bringing the +friend from the slope to the order was a +difficult process for us recruits at the start +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page56" id="page56"></a>[pg 56]</span> +the back-sight tore at the fingers, and bleeding +hands often testified to the unnatural +instinct of the rebellious weapon. But the +unkindest kick of all was given when the +slack novice fired the first shot, and the heel +of the butt slipped upwards and struck the +jaw. Then was learnt the first real lesson. +The rifle kicks with the heel and aims for +the jaw. Control your friend, humour him; +keep him well in hand and beware his fling.</p> + +<p>I was unlucky in my first rifle practice +on the miniature range, and out of my first +five shots I did not hit the target once. The +instructor lay by my side on the waterproof +ground-sheet (the day was a wet one, +and the range was muddy) and lectured me +between misses on the peculiarities of my +weapon and the cultivation of a steady eye.</p> + +<p>"Keep the beggar under control," he +said. "You've got to coax him, and not +use force. Pull the trigger easily, as though +you loved it, and hold the butt affectionate-like +against the shoulder. It's an easy +matter to shoot as you're shooting now. +There's shooting and shooting, and you've got +to shoot straight. If you don't you're no +dashed good! Give me the rifle, you're +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page57" id="page57"></a>[pg 57]</span> +not aiming at the bull, man, you're aiming +at the locality where the bull is grazing."</p> + +<p>He took my rifle, slid a cartridge into the +breech, and coaxed the trigger lovingly towards +him. Three times he fired, then we +went together to look at the target. Not a +bullet fired by him had struck it. The +instructor glared down the barrel of the +gun, made some nasty remarks about deflection, +and went back to yell at an orderly corporal.</p> + +<p>"What the dickens did you take this +here for?" he cried. "It's a blooming +wash-out,<a id="footnotetag1" name="footnotetag1"></a><a href="#footnote1"><sup>1</sup></a> and was never any good. Old +as an unpaid bill and worn bell-mouth it is, and nobody can fire with it."</p> + +<p>On a new rifle being obtained I passed +the preliminary test, and a rather repentant +instructor remarked that it might be possible to make a soldier of me some day.</p> + +<p>Since then my fellow-soldiers and I have +had almost unlimited rifle practice, on miniature +and open ranges, at bull and disappearing +targets, in field firing at distances from +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page58" id="page58"></a>[pg 58]</span> +100 to 600 yards. On a field exceeding +600 yards it is almost impossible to hit a point +the size of an ordinary bull; fire then must +be directed towards a position. Field or +volley firing is very interesting. Once my +company took train to Dunstable and advanced +on an imaginary enemy that occupied +the wastes of the Chiltern Hills. Practice +commenced by firing at little squares of +iron standing upright in a row about 200 +yards off in front of our line. These represented +heads and shoulders of men rising +over the trenches to take aim at us as we +advanced. In extended order we came to +our position, 200 yards distant from the front +trenches. At the sound of the officer's +whistle, we sank to the ground, facing our +front, fixed our sights, and loaded. A second +whistle was blown; we fired "three rounds +rapid" at the foe. The aiming was very +accurate; little spurts of earth danced up +and around the targets, and every iron +disc fell. The "searching ground," the +locality struck by bullets, scarcely measured +a dozen paces from front to rear, thus +showing that there was very little erratic firing.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page59" id="page59"></a>[pg 59]</span> + +<p>"That's some shooting!" my Jersey friend +remarked. "If the discs were Germans!"</p> + +<p>"They might shoot back," someone said, +"and then we mightn't take as cool an aim."</p> + +<p>We are trained to the rifle; it is always +with us, on parade, on march, on bivouac, +and recently, when going through a dental +examination, we carried our weapons of war +into the medical officer's room. As befits +units of a rifle regiment, we have got accustomed +to our gun, and now, as fully trained +men, we have established the necessary unity +between hand and eye, and can load and +unload our weapon with butt-plate stiff to +shoulder and eye steady on target while the +operation is in progress. In fact, our rifle +comes to hand as easy as a walking-stick. +We shall be sorry to lose it when the war is +over, and no doubt we shall feel lonely without it.</p> + +<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote1" name="footnote1"></a><b>Footnote 1: </b><a href="#footnotetag1">(return) </a><p>"Wash-out" is a term used by the men when +their firing is so wide of the mark that it fails to hit +any spot on the card. The men apply it indiscriminately +to anything in the nature of a failure.</p></blockquote> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page60" id="page60"></a>[pg 60]</span> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h2 class="sc">The Coffee-Shop and Wankin</h2> + + +<p>What the pump is to the villager, +so the coffee-shop is to the soldier of the New Army. Here the men +crowd nightly and live over again the incidents +of the day. Our particular coffee-shop +is situated in our corner of the town; +our men patronise it; there are three assistants, +plump, merry girls, and three of our +men have fallen in love with them; in short, +it is our very own restaurant, opened when +we came here, and adapted to our needs; +the waitresses wear our hat-badges, sing our +songs, and make us welcome when we cross +the door to take up our usual chairs and +yarn over the cosy tables. The Jersey +youth with the blue eyes, the Oxford man, +who speaks of things that humble waitresses +do not understand, the company drummer, +the platoon sergeants, and the Cockney +who vows that water is spoilt in making +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page61" id="page61"></a>[pg 61]</span> +every cup of coffee he drinks, all come here, and all love the place.</p> + +<p>I have come to like the place and do +most of my writing there, catching snatches +of conversation and reminiscence as they float across to me.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't meanin' to 'urt ole Ginger +Nobby nohow, but the muck I throwed took +'im dead on the jor. 'Wot's yer gime?' +'e 'ollers at me. 'Wot's my gime?' I says +back to 'im. 'Nuffin', if ye want ter know!' +I says. 'I was just shyin' at squidges.'"</p> + +<p>Thus spoke the bright-eyed Cockney at +the table next me, gazing regretfully at his +empty coffee-cup and cutting away a fringe +of rag-nails from his finger with a clasp-knife. +The time was eight o'clock of the +evening, and the youth was recounting an +adventure which he had had in the morning +when throwing mud at sparrows on the +parade ground. A lump of clay had struck +a red-haired non-commissioned officer on the +jaw, and the officer became angry. The +above was the Cockney version of the story. +One of my friends, an army unit with the +Oxford drawl, was voluble on another subject.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page62" id="page62"></a>[pg 62]</span> + +<p>"Russian writers have had a great effect on +our literature," he said, deep in a favourite +topic. "They have stripped bare the soul +of man with a realism that shrivels up our +civilisation and proves—Two coffees, please."</p> + +<p>A tall, well-set waitress, with several +rings on her fingers, took the order as gravely +as if she were performing some religious +function; then she turned to the Cockney.</p> + +<p>"Cup of cawfee, birdie!" he cried, leaning +over the table and trying to grip her hand. +"Not like the last, mind; it was good +water spoilt. I'll never come in 'ere again."</p> + +<p>"So you say!" said the girl, moving +out of his way and laughing loudly.</p> + +<p>"Strike me balmy if I do!"</p> + +<p>"Where'll yer go then?"</p> + +<p>"Round the corner, of course," was the +answer. "There's another bird there—and +cawfee! It's some stuff too, not like 'ere."</p> + +<p>"All right; don't come in again if yer don't want ter."</p> + +<p>The Cockney got his second cup of coffee +and pronounced it inferior to the first; +then looked at an evening paper which +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page63" id="page63"></a>[pg 63]</span> +Oxford handed to him, and studied a photograph +of a battleship on the front page.</p> + +<p>"Can't stand these 'ere papers," he said, +after a moment, as he got to his feet and +lit a cigarette. "Nuffink but war in them +always; I'm sick readin' about war! I +saw your bit in one a couple of nights ago," he said, turning to me.</p> + +<p>"What did you think of it?" I asked, +anxious to hear his opinion on an article +dealing with the life of his own regiment.</p> + +<p>"Nuffink much," he answered, honestly +and frankly. "Everything you say is about +things we all know; who wants to 'ear +about them? D'ye get paid for writin' that?"</p> + +<p>One of his mates, a youth named Bill, +who came in at that moment, overheard the remark.</p> + +<p>"Paid! Of course 'e gets paid," said +the newcomer. "Bet you he gets 'arf a +crown for every time 'e writes for the paper."</p> + +<p>All sorts and conditions of soldiers drift +into the place and discuss various matters +over coffee and mince pies; they are men +of all classes, who had been as far apart +as the poles in civil life, and are now knit +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page64" id="page64"></a>[pg 64]</span> +together in the common brotherhood of war. +Caste and estate seem to have been forgotten; +all are engaged in a common business, +full of similar risks, and rewarded by a similar wage.</p> + +<p>In one corner of the room a game of cards +was in progress, some soldiers were reading, +and a few writing letters. Now and again +a song was heard, and a score of voices +joined in the chorus. The scene was one of +indescribable gaiety; the temperament of +the assembly was like a hearty laugh, infectious +and healthy. Now and then a discussion took place, and towards the close +of the evening hot words were exchanged +between Bill and his friend, the bright-eyed Cockney.</p> + +<p>"I'll give old Ginger Nobby what for one day!" said the latter.</p> + +<p>"Will you? I don't think!"</p> + +<p>"Bet yer a bob I will!"</p> + +<p>"You'd lose it."</p> + +<p>"Would I?"</p> + +<p>"Straight you would!"</p> + +<p>"Strike me pink if I would!"</p> + +<p>"You know nothin' of what you're sayin'."</p> + +<p>"Don't I?"</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page65" id="page65"></a>[pg 65]</span> + +<p>"Git!"</p> + +<p>"Shut!"</p> + +<p>In the coffee-shop Wankin is invariably +the centre of an interested group. As the +company scapegrace and black sheep of the +battalion he occupies in his mates' eyes +a position of considerable importance. His +repartees are famous, and none knows better +than he how to score off an unpopular officer +or N.C.O. He has the distinction also of +having spent more days in the guard-room +than any other man in the battalion.</p> + +<p>On the occasion when identity discs were +being served out to the men and a momentary +stir pervaded the battalion, it was Wankin +who first became involved in trouble.</p> + +<p>He employed the disc string to fasten the +water-bottle of the man on his left to the +haversack of the man on his right, and the +colour-sergeant, livid with rage, vowed to +chasten him by confining him eternally to +barracks. But the undaunted company +scapegrace was not to be beaten. Fastening +the identity disc on his left eye he fixed a stern look on the sergeant.</p> + +<p>"My deah fellah," he drawled out, imitating +the voice of the company lieutenant +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page66" id="page66"></a>[pg 66]</span> +who wears an eyeglass, "your remarks are +uncalled for, really. By Jove! one would +think that a scrap of string was a gold +bracelet or a diamond necklace. I could +buy the disc and the string for a bloomin' 'apenny."</p> + +<p>"You'll pay dearly for it this time," said +the colour with fine irony. "Three days +C.B.<a id="footnotetag2" name="footnotetag2"></a><a href="#footnote2"><sup>2</sup></a> your muckin' about'll cost you." +And before Wankin could reply the sergeant +was reporting the matter to the captain.</p> + +<p>Wankin is eternally in trouble, although +his agility in dodging pickets and his skill +in making a week's C.B. a veritable holiday +are the talk of the regiment. All the +officers know him, and many of them who +have been victims of his smart repartee +fear him more than they care to acknowledge. +The subaltern with the eyeglass is a bad +route-marcher, and Wankin once remarked +in an audible whisper that the officer had +learned his company drill with a drove of +haltered pack-horses, and the officer bears +the name of "Pack-horse" ever since.</p> + +<p>On another occasion the major suffered +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page67" id="page67"></a>[pg 67]</span> +when a battalion kit inspection took place +early one December morning. Wankin had +sold his spare pair of boots, the pair that +is always kept on top of the kit-bag; but +when the major inspected Wankin's kit the +boots were there, newly polished and freed +from the most microscopic speck of dust. +Someone tittered during the inspection, then +another, and the major smelt a rat. He +lifted Wankin's kit-bag in his hand and +found Wankin's feet tucked under it—Wankin's +feet in stockinged soles. The major +was justly indignant. "One step to the +front, left turn," he roared. "March in +front of every rank in the battalion and see what you think of it!"</p> + +<p>With stockinged feet, cold, but still wearing +an inscrutable smile of impudence, Wankin +paraded in front of a thousand grinning +faces and in due course got back to his kit and beside the sarcastic major.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of it?" asked the latter.</p> + +<p>"I don't think much of it, sir," Wankin +replied. "It's the dirtiest regiment I ever inspected."</p> + +<p>Wankin was sometimes unlucky; fortune +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page68" id="page68"></a>[pg 68]</span> +refused to favour him when he took up the +work of picket on the road between St. +Albans and London. No unit of his regiment +is supposed to go more than two miles +beyond St. Albans without a written permit, +and guards are placed at different points of +the two-mile radius to intercept the regimental +rakes whose feet are inclined to roving. +Wankin learned that the London road was +not to be guarded on a certain Sunday. +The regiment was to parade for a long route-march, +and all units were to be in attendance. Wankin pondered over things for a +moment, girt on his belt and sword and took +up his position on the London road within +a hundred yards of a wayside public-house. +At this tavern a traveller from St. Albans +may obtain a drink on a Sabbath day.</p> + +<p>Soldiers, like most mortals, are sometimes +dry and like to drink; Wankin was often +dry and Wankin had seldom much money +to spend. The first soldier who came out +from the town wanted to get to the tavern.</p> + +<p>"Can't pass here!" the mock-picket told him.</p> + +<p>"But I'm dry and I've a cold that catches me awful in the throat."</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page69" id="page69"></a>[pg 69]</span> + +<p>"Them colds are dangerous," Wankin +remarked in a contemplative voice, tinged +with compassion. "Used to have them bad +myself an' I feel one coming on. I think +gin, same as they have in the trenches, is +the stuff to put a cold away. But I'm on the rocks."</p> + +<p>"If you'll let me through I'll stand on my hands."</p> + +<p>"It's risky," said Wankin, then in a brave +burst of bravado he said, "Damn it all! +I'll let you go by. It's hard to stew dry +so near the bar!" An hour later the young +man set off towards home, and on his way +he met two of his comrades-in-arms on the road.</p> + +<p>"Going to —— pub?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"Going to see that no one does go near +it," was the answer. "Picket duty for the rest of the day, we are."</p> + +<p>"But Wankin—"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>The young man explained, and shortly +afterwards Wankin went to headquarters +under an armed escort. Three days later +I saw his head sticking out through the +guard-room window, and at that time I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page70" id="page70"></a>[pg 70]</span> +had not heard of the London road escapade.</p> + +<p>"Here on account of drink?" I asked him.</p> + +<p>"You fool," he roared at me. "Do you +think I mistook this damned place for the canteen?"</p> + +<p>I like Wankin and most of his mates +like him. We feel that when detention, +barrack confinement and English taverns +will be things of yesterday, Wankin will +make a good and trustworthy friend in the trenches.</p> + +<blockquote class="footnote"><a id="footnote2" name="footnote2"></a><b>Footnote 2: </b><a href="#footnotetag2">(return) </a><p>Confinement to Barracks.</p></blockquote> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page71" id="page71"></a>[pg 71]</span> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h2 class="sc">The Night Side of Soldiering</h2> + + +<p>There are three things in military life which make a great appeal to +me; the rifle's reply to the pull of +the trigger-finger, the gossip of soldiers in +the crowded canteen, and the onward movement of a thousand men in full marching +order with arms at the trail. And at no +time is this so impressive as at night when +with rifles held in a horizontal position by +the side, the arm hanging easily from the +shoulder, we march at attention in complete +silence. Not a word is spoken by anyone +save officers, little is heard but the dull +crunch of boots on the gravel and the rustle +of trenching-tool handles as they rub against +trousers or haversack. Seen from a flank +at the rear, the moving battalion, bending +round the curve or straining to a hill, looks +like the plesiosaur of the picture shown +in the act of dragging its cumbrous length +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page72" id="page72"></a>[pg 72]</span> +along. The silence is full of mystery, the +gigantic mass, of which you form so minute +a unit, is entirely voiceless, a dumb thing +without a tongue, brooding, as it were, over +some eternal sorrow or ancient wrong to +which it cannot give expression. Marching +thus at night, a battalion is doubly +impressive. The silent monster is full of +restrained power; resolute in its onward +sweep, impervious to danger, it looks a +menacing engine of destruction, steady to +its goal, and certain of its mission.</p> + +<p>A march like this fell to our lot once +every fortnight. At seven in the evening, +loaded with full pack, bayonet, haversack, +ground-sheet, water-bottle, overcoat, and +rifle, we would take our way from the town +out into the open country. The night +varied in temper—sometimes it rained; +again, it froze and chilled the ears and +finger-tips; and once we marched with +the full moon over us, lighting up the whole +county—the fields, the woods, the lighted +villages, the snug farmhouses, and the grey +roads by which the long line of khaki-clad +soldiers went on their way. That night was one to be remembered.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page73" id="page73"></a>[pg 73]</span> + +<p>We went off from the parade ground, a +thousand strong, along the sloping road +that sweeps down the hill on which our +town is built. Giggling girls watched us +depart—they are ever there when the soldiers are on the move—old gentlemen and +ladies wished us luck as we passed, but +never a head of a thousand heads turned +to the left or right, never a tongue replied +to the cheery greetings; we were marching +at attention, with arms at the trail.</p> + +<p>The sky stood high, splashed with stars, +and the moon, pinched and anæmic, hung +above like a whitish speck of smoke that +had curled into a ball. Marching at the +rear, I could see the long brown line curving +round a corner ahead, the butt-plates of +the rifles sparkling brightly, the white trenching-tool +handles shaking backward and forward at every move of the men.</p> + +<p>"March easy!"</p> + +<p>Half an hour had passed, and we were +now in the open country. At the word +of command rifles were slung over the shoulders, +and the battalion found voice, first +in brisk conversation and exchange of witticisms, then in shouting and song. We +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page74" id="page74"></a>[pg 74]</span> +have escaped from the tyranny of "Tipperary," none of us sing it now, but that +doggerel is replaced by other music-hall +abominations which are at present in the +full glory of their rocket-reign. A parody +of a hymn, "Toiling on," is also popular, and +my Jersey mate gave it full vent on the left.</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"Lager beer! lager beer!</p> +<p>There's a lager beer saloon across the way.</p> +<p>Lager bee-ee-eer!</p> +<p>Is there any lager beer to give away."</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>Although the goddess of music forgot +me in the making, I found myself roaring +out the chorus for all I was worth along with my Jersey friend.</p> + +<p>"You're singing some!" he remarked, +sarcastically, when the chorus came to an +end. "But, no wonder! This night would +make a brass monkey sing. It's grand to be alive!"</p> + +<p>Every battalion has its marching songs. +One of the favourites with us was written +by a certain rifleman in "C" Company, +sung to the air of "Off to Philadelphia in the Morning." It runs:</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page75" id="page75"></a>[pg 75]</span> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"It is said by our commanders that in trenches out by Flanders</p> +<p>There is work to do both trying and exciting,</p> +<p>And the men who man the trenches, they are England's men and French's</p> +<p>Where the legions of the khaki-clad are fighting.</p> +<p>Though bearing up so gaily they are waiting for us daily,</p> +<p>For the fury of the foemen makes them nervous,</p> +<p>But the foe may look for trouble when we charge them at the double,</p> +<p>We, the London Irish out on active service.</p> + </div> </div> + +<center><i>Chorus.</i></center> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"With our rifles on our shoulder, sure there's no one could be bolder,</p> +<p class="i2">And we'll double out to France when we get warnin'</p> +<p class="i2">And we'll not stop long for trifles, we're the London Irish Rifles,</p> +<p class="i2">When we go to fight the Germans in the mornin'.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page76" id="page76"></a>[pg 76]</span> + </div><div class="stanza"> +<p>"An' the girls: oh it will grieve them when we take the train and leave them,</p> +<p>Oh! what tears the dears will weep when we are moving,</p> +<p>But it's just the old, old story, on the path that leads to Glory,</p> +<p>Sure we cannot halt for long to do our loving.</p> +<p>They'll see us with emotion all departing o'er the ocean,</p> +<p>And every maid a-weepin' for her lover;</p> +<p>'Good-bye' we'll hear them callin', while so many tears are fallin'</p> +<p>That they'd almost swamp the boat that takes us over.</p> + </div> </div> + +<center><i>Chorus.</i></center> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2">"With our rifles," etc.</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>Our colonel sang this song at a concert, +thus showing the democratic nature of the +New Army, where a colonel sings the songs +written in the ranks of his own battalion.</p> + +<p>At the ten minutes' halt which succeeded +the first hour's march, my Jersey friend spoke +to me again. "Aren't there stars!" he said, +turning his face to the heavens and gripping +his rifle tightly as if for support. His wide +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page77" id="page77"></a>[pg 77]</span> +open eyes seemed to have grown in size, +and were full of an expression I had never +seen in them before. "I like the stars," +he remarked, "they're so wonderful. And +to think that men are killing each other +now, this very minute!" He clanked the +butt of his gun on the ground and toyed with the handle of his sword.</p> + +<p>Hour after hour passed by; under the +light of the moon the country looked beautiful; +every pond showed a brilliant face +to the heavens, light mists seemed to hover +over every farmhouse and cottage; light +winds swept through the telegraph wires; +only the woods looked dark, and there the +trees seemed to be hugging the darkness around them.</p> + +<p>On our way back a sharp shower, charged +with a penetrating cold, fell. The waterproof +ground-sheets were unrolled, and we +tied them over our shoulders. When the +rain passed, the water falling in drops from +our equipment glittered so brightly that +it put the polished swords and brilliant rifle butt-plates to shame.</p> + +<p>We stole into the town at midnight, +when nearly all the inhabitants were abed. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page78" id="page78"></a>[pg 78]</span> +With arms at the trail, we marched along, +throwing off company after company, at +the streets where they billeted. The battalion dwindled down slowly; my party +came to a halt, and the order "Dismiss!" +was given, and we went to our billets. The +Jersey youth came with me to my doorstep.</p> + +<p>"'Twas a grand march!" he remarked.</p> + +<p>"Fine," I replied.</p> + +<p>"I can't help looking at the stars!" +he said as he moved off. "There are a lot +to-night. And to think—" He hesitated, with the words trembling on his +tongue, realising that he was going to repeat +himself. "Anyway, there's some stars," +he said in a low voice. "Good night!"</p> + +<p>There is a peculiar glamour about all +night work. The importance of night +manœuvring was emphasised in the South +African War, and we had ample opportunities of becoming accustomed to the +darkness. On one occasion at about nine +o'clock we swung out from the town with +our regimental pipe-band playing to pursue +some night operations. So far the men +did not know what task had been assigned to them.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page79" id="page79"></a>[pg 79]</span> + +<p>"We've got to do to-night's work as +quiet as a growing mushroom," someone +whispered to me, as we took our way off +the road and lined up in the field that, +stretching out in front and flanks, lost itself +in formless mistiness under the loom of the +encircling hedgerows. Here and there in +the distance trees stand up gaunt and bare, +holding out their leafless branches as if +in supplication to the grey sky; a slight +whisper of wind moaned along the ground and died away in the darkness.</p> + +<p>Our officer, speaking in a low voice, gave +instructions. "The enemy is advancing to +attack us in great force," he explained, "and +our scouts have located him some six miles +away from here. We have now found that +it is inadvisable to march on any farther, as +our reinforcements are not very strong and +have been delayed to rear. Therefore we +have decided to take up our present position +as a suitable ground for operations and +entrenching ourselves in—ready to give battle. +Everything now must be done very quickly. +Our lives will, perhaps, depend at some +early date on the quickness with which we +can hide ourselves from the foe. So; dig +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page80" id="page80"></a>[pg 80]</span> +your trench as quickly as possible, as quickly, +in fact, as if your life depended on it. Work +must be done in absolute silence; no smoking +is allowed, no lighting of matches, no talk.</p> + +<p>"A word about orders. Commands are +not to be shouted, but will be passed along +from man to man, and none must speak +above his breath. The passing of messages +along in this manner is very difficult; words +get lost, and unnecessary words are added +in transit. But I hope you'll make a success +of the job. Now we'll see how quickly we can get hidden!"</p> + +<p>A "screen" of scouts (one man to every +fifty yards of frontage) took up its place in +line a furlong ahead. A hundred paces to +rear of the "screen" the officers marked out +the position of the trenches, placing soldiers +as markers on the imaginary alignment. +In front lay a clear field of fire, a deadly area +for an enemy advancing to the attack.</p> + +<p>We took off our equipment, hafted the +entrenching tools which we always carry, +and bent to our work in the wet clay. The +night was close and foggy, the smell of the +damp earth and the awakening spring verdure +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page81" id="page81"></a>[pg 81]</span> +filled our nostrils. In the distance was heard +the rumbling of trains, the jolting of wagons +along the country road, the barking of dogs, +and clear and musical through all these +sounds came the song of a mavis or merle from the near hedgerows.</p> + +<p>In the course of ten minutes we were +sweating at our work, and several units of +the party took off their tunics. One hapless +individual got into trouble immediately. His +shirt was not regulation colour, it was spotlessly +white and visible at a hundred yards. +A whispered order from the officer on the +left faltered along the line of diggers.</p> + +<p>"Man with white shirt, put on his tunic!"</p> + +<p>The order was obeyed in haste, the white +disappeared rapidly as the arms of the culprit +slid into sleeves, and the covering tunic hid his wrong from the eyes of man.</p> + +<p>The night wore on. Now and again a clock +in the town struck out the time with a dull, +weary clang that died away in the darkness. +On both sides I could see stretching out, +like some gigantic and knotted rope, the row +of bent workers, the voiceless toilers, busy +with their labours. Picks rose into the air, +remained poised a moment, then sank to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page82" id="page82"></a>[pg 82]</span> +tear the sluggish earth and pull it apart. +The clay was thrown out to front and rear, +and scattered evenly, so that the natural +contour of the ground might show no signs +of man's interference. And even as we +worked the section commanders stole up and +down behind us, urging the men to make +as little sound as possible—our safety depended +on our silence. But pick and shovel, +like the rifle, will sing at their toil, and +insistent and continuous, as if in threat, +they rasped out the almost incoherent song of labour.</p> + +<p>A man beside me suddenly laid down +his shovel and battled with a cough that +strove to break free and riot in the darkness. +I could see his face go purple, his eyes stare +out as if endeavouring to burst from their +sockets. Presently he was victor, and as +he bent to his shovel again I heard him +whisper huskily, "'Twas a stiff go, that; it almost floored me."</p> + +<p>Thrown from tongue to tongue as a ball +is thrown in play, a message from the captain +on the flank hurried along the living line. +"Close in on the left," was the order, and +we hastened to obey. Trenching tools were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page83" id="page83"></a>[pg 83]</span> +unhafted and returned to their carriers, +equipments were donned again, belts tightened, +and shoulder-straps buttoned. Singly, +in pairs, and in files we hurried back to the +point of assembly, to find a very angry captain awaiting us.</p> + +<p>"I am very disappointed with to-night's +work," he said. "I sent five messages out; +two of them died on the way; a third reached +its destination, but in such a muddled condition +that it was impossible to recognise +it as the one sent off. The order to cease +work was the only one that seemed to hurry +along. Out at the front, where all orders +are passed along the trenches in this manner, +it is of the utmost importance that every +word is repeated distinctly, and that no +order miscarries. Even out there, it is found +very difficult to send messages along."</p> + +<p>The captain paused for a moment; then +told a story. "It is said that an officer at +the front gave out the following message +to the men in the trenches: 'In the wood +on the right a party of German cavalry,' +and when the message travelled half a mile +it had changed to: 'German Navy defeated +in the North Sea.' We don't know how +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page84" id="page84"></a>[pg 84]</span> +much truth there is in the story, but I hope +we will not make a mistake like that out there."</p> + +<p>Lagging men were still stealing in as we +took up our places in columns of fours. A +clock struck out the hour of twelve, and the +bird in the hedgerow was still singing as we +marched out to the roadway, and followed our merry pipers home to town.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page85" id="page85"></a>[pg 85]</span> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h2 class="sc">Divisional Exercise and Mimic Warfare</h2> + + +<p>Divisional exercise is a great game of +make-believe. All sorts of liberties +are taken, the clock is put forward +or back at the command of the general, a +great enemy army is created in the twinkling +of an eye, day is turned into night and a +regular game of topsy-turvydom indulged +in. On the occasion of which I write the +whole division was out. The time was nine +o'clock in the forenoon, and an imaginary +forced march was nearly completed, and an +imaginary day was at an end. We were +being hurried up as reinforcements to the +main army, which was in touch with the +enemy ahead and an engagement was developing. Our battalion came to a halt +on the roadway, closing in to the left in order +to give full play to the field telephone service in process of being laid.</p> + +<p>Our officers went out in front to seek +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page86" id="page86"></a>[pg 86]</span> +a position for a bivouac; the doctor accompanied +them to examine the place chosen, +see to the water supply, the drainage, and +sanitation. In addition to this, our commanders +had to find the battalion a resting-ground easy to defend and of merit as a +tactical position.</p> + +<p>At ten o'clock we lay down, battalion after +battalion, just as we halted: equipment +on, our packs unloosened but shoved up +under our heads, and our rifles by our sides, +muzzles towards the enemy. One word of +command would bring twenty thousand men +from their beds, ready in an instant, rifles +loaded, bayonets at hips, quick to the route +and ready for battle. We would rise, as we +slept, in full marching order, and the space +of a moment would find us hurrying, fully +armed, into battle, with the sleep of night still heavy in our eyes.</p> + +<p>For miles around the soldiers lay down, each +in his place and every place occupied. Hardly a word was spoken; commands +were whispered, and our officers crept round +explaining the work ahead. Two miles in +front the enemy was assembled in great +strength on a river, and by dawn, if all went +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page87" id="page87"></a>[pg 87]</span> +well, we would enter the firing line. At +present we had to lie still; no man was to +move about, and sentries with fixed bayonets +were stationed at front, flank, and rear, +ready to give the alarm at the first sign of danger.</p> + +<p>Behind us were the kitchen, horse-lines, +and latrines. The position of these varies +as the wind changes, and it is imperative +that unhealthy odours are not blown across +the bivouac. The battalion lay in two +parallel squares, with a gangway, blocked +up with baggage and various necessaries, +between. On these squares no refuse was +to be thrown down; the ground had to be +kept clean; papers, scraps of meat, and +pieces of bread, if not eaten, had to be buried.</p> + +<p>Even as we lay, and while the officers +were explaining the work in hand, the +artillery took up its stand on several wooded +knolls that rose behind us. What a splendid +sight, the artillery going into action! Heavy +guns, an endless line of them, swept over +the greensward and rattled into place. Six +horses strained at each gun, which was +accompanied by two ammunition wagons +with six horses to each wagon. How many +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page88" id="page88"></a>[pg 88]</span> +horses! How many guns! Out of nowhere +in particular they came, and disappeared +as if behind a curtain barely four hundred +yards away. Thirty minutes afterwards I +fancied as I looked in their direction that +I could see black, ominous muzzles peering +through the undergrowth. Probably I was +mistaken. Anyhow, they were there, guarding +us while we slept, our silent watchers!</p> + +<p>About eleven o'clock an orderly stole in +and spoke to the colonel, a hurried consultation +in which all the officers took part was +held, and the messenger departed. Again +followed an interval of silence, only broken +by the officers creeping round and giving +us further information. The enemy was +repulsed, they told us, and was now in retreat, +but before moving off he had blown up all +the bridges on the river. The artillery of +our main army in front was shelling the +fleeing foe, and our engineers had just set +off to build three pontoon bridges, so that the +now sleeping division could cross at dawn and follow the army in retreat.</p> + +<p>Our dawn came at one o'clock in the +afternoon; a whistle was blown somewhere +near at hand, and the battalion sprang to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page89" id="page89"></a>[pg 89]</span> +life; every unit, with pack on back, cartridge +pouches full, rifle at the order, was +afoot and ready. Only two hours before +had the engineers set out to build the bridges +which the whole division, with its regiment +after regiment, with its artillery, its guns, +ammunition wagons and horses, its transport +section, and vehicles of all descriptions, was +now to cross. The landscape had changed +utterly, the country was alive, and had +found voice; the horse-lines were broken, +and all the animals, from the colonel's charger +to the humble pack horse, were on the move. +The little squares, dotted brown, had taken +on new shape, and were transformed into +companies of moving men in khaki. We +were out on the heels of the retreating foe.</p> + +<p>Two hours' forced marching brought us +to the river, a real one, with three pontoon +bridges, newly built and held firm on flat-bottomed +boats moored in mid-stream. We +took our way across, and bent to the hill +on the other side. Half-way up, in a narrow +lane, a wagon got stuck in the front of our +battalion, and we were forced to come to +a halt for a moment. Looking back, I could +see immediately behind three lines of men +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page90" id="page90"></a>[pg 90]</span> +straining to the hill; farther back the same +lines were crossing the bridges and, away +in the far distance, pencilled brown on the +ploughed fields, the three lines of khaki +crawled along like long threads endlessly +unwinding from some invisible ball. Now +and again I could see the artillery coming into +sight, only to disappear again over a wooded +knoll or into an almost invisible hollow.</p> + +<p>Thus the division, the apparently limitless +lines of men, horses, and guns crawled +on the track of the fleeing enemy. As we +stood there, held in check by the wagon, and +as I looked back at the thousands of soldiers +in the rear, I felt indeed that I was a minute +mite amongst the many. And then a second +thought struck me. The whole mass of +men around me was a small thing in relation +to the numbers engaged in the great war. +Even I, Rifleman Something or Another, No. +So-and-so, bulked larger in the division as +one of its units than the division did in the +war as a unit of the Allied Forces.</p> + +<p>Even more interesting than divisional +exercises is the mimic warfare that is heralded +by a notice in battalion orders such as the +following: "The battalion will take part +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page91" id="page91"></a>[pg 91]</span> +in brigade exercise to-day. Ten rounds of +blank ammunition and haversack rations will be carried."</p> + +<p>At eight o'clock in the morning whistles +were blown at the bottom of the street in +which my company is billeted, and the +soldiers, rubbing the sleep from their eyes +or munching the last mouthful of a hasty +breakfast, came trooping out from the snug +middle-class houses in which they are quartered. +The morning was bitterly cold, and +the falling rain splashed soberly on the +pavement, every drop coming slowly to +ground as if selecting a spot to rest on. The +colour-sergeant, standing at the end of the +street, whistle in hand, was in a nasty temper.</p> + +<p>"Hurry up, you heavy-footed beggars," +he yelled to the men. "The parade takes +place to-day, not to-morrow! And you, +what's wrong with your understandings?" +he called to a man who came along wearing carpet slippers.</p> + +<p>"My boots are bad, colour," is the answer. "I cannot march in them."</p> + +<p>"And are you goin' to march in them +drorin'-room abominations?" roared the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page92" id="page92"></a>[pg 92]</span> +sergeant. "Get your boots mended and grease out of it."</p> + +<p>At roll-call three of the company were +found to be absent; two were sick, and one +who had been found guilty of using bad +language to a N.C.O. was confined to the +guard-room. Those who answered their +names were served out with packets of blank +ammunition, one packet per man, and each +containing ten cartridges wrapped in brown paper and tied with a blue string.</p> + +<p>The captain read the following instructions: "The enemy is reported to be in +strong force on X hill, and Battalions A and +B are ordered to dislodge him from that +position. A will form first line of attack, +B will send up reserves and supports as +needed." The rifles were examined by our +young lieutenant, after which inspection the +company joined the battalion, and presently +a thousand men with rifles on shoulder, +bayonets and haversacks on left hip, and +ammunition in pouches, were marching +through the rain along the muddy streets, out into the open country.</p> + +<p>The day promised to be an interesting one +from my point of view; I had never taken +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page93" id="page93"></a>[pg 93]</span> +part in a mimic battle before, and the day's +work was to be in many ways similar to +operations on the real field of battle. "Only +nobody gets killed, of course," my mate told +me. He had taken part in this kind of work +before, and was wise in his superior knowledge.</p> + +<p>"One-half of the brigade, two thousand +men, is our enemy," he explained; "and +we're going to fight them. The battalion +that's helping us is on in front, and it will +soon be fighting. When it's hard pressed +we'll go up to help, for we're the supports. +It won't be long till we hear the firing."</p> + +<p>An hour's brisk march was followed by a +halt, when we were ordered to draw well into +the left of the road to let the company guns go +by. Dark-nosed and cold, they wheeled +past, the horses sweating as they strained at +the carriage shafts; the drivers, by deft +handling, pulling the steeds clear of the ruts; +out in front they swung, and the battalion +closed up and resumed its march behind.</p> + +<p>The rain ceased and a cold sun shot feeble +rays over the sullen December landscape. +Again a halt was called; the brigadier-general, +followed by two officers and several +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page94" id="page94"></a>[pg 94]</span> +orderlies, galloped up, and a hurried consultation +with our colonel took place. In a +moment the battalion moved ahead only to +come to a dead stop again after ten minutes' +slow marching, and find a company detailed +off to guard the rear. The other companies, +led by their officers, turned off the road and +moved in sections across the newly furrowed +and soggy fields. A level sweep of December +England broken only by leafless hedgerows +and wire fencing stretched out in front towards +a wooded hillock, that stood up black against +the sky-line two miles away. The enemy +held this wood; we could hear his guns +booming and now considered ourselves under +shell fire. Each squad of sixteen men marched +in the rear or on the flank of its neighbour; +this method of progression minimises the +dangers of bursting shrapnel, for a shell +falling in the midst of one body of men and +causing considerable damage will do no harm to the adjacent party.</p> + +<p>Somewhere near us our gunners were +answering the enemy's fire; but so well +hidden were the guns that I could not locate +them. We still crept slowly forward; section +after section crawled across the black, ploughed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page95" id="page95"></a>[pg 95]</span> +fields, now rising up like giant caterpillars +to the crest of a mound, and again dropping +out of sight in the hollow land like corks on +a comber. On our heels the ambulance +corps followed with its stretchers, and in front +the enemy was firing vigorously; over the +belt of trees that lined the summit of the hillock +little wisps of smoke could be seen rising and fading in the air.</p> + +<p>Suddenly we came into line with our guns +hidden in a deep narrow cart-track, their +dark muzzles trained on the enemy, and the +gunners, knee-deep in the mire of the lane, +sweating at their work. "We're under covering +fire now," our young lieutenant explained, +as we trudged forward, lifting enormous +masses of clay on our boots at every step. +"One battalion is engaged already; hear the shots."</p> + +<p>The rifles were barking on the left front; +in a moment the reports from that quarter +died away, and the right found voice. The +men of the first line were in the trenches dug +by us a fortnight earlier, and there they +would remain, we knew, until their supports +came to their aid. Already we passed +several of them, who were detailed off on the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page96" id="page96"></a>[pg 96]</span> +anticipated casualty list in the morning. These +wore white labels in their buttonholes, telling +of the nature of their wounds. One label bore +the words: "Shot in right shoulder; wound +not dangerous." Another read: "Leg blown +off," and a third ran: "Flesh wounds in +arm and leg." These men would be taken +into the care of the ambulance party when it arrived.</p> + +<p>When within fifteen hundred yards of the +enemy, the command for extended order +advance was given, and the section spread +out in one long line, fronting the knoll, with +five pace intervals between the men. We +were now under rifle-fire, and all further +movements forward were made in short sharp +rushes, punctuated by halts, during which we +lay flat on the ground, our bodies deep in the +soft earth, and the rain, which again commenced to fall, wetting us to the skin.</p> + +<p>Six hundred yards from the enemy's front +we tumbled into the trenches already in +possession of Battalion B, and I found myself +ankle-deep in mire, beside a unit of another +regiment who was enjoying a cigarette and +blowing rings of smoke into the air. Although +no enemy was visible we got the order +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page97" id="page97"></a>[pg 97]</span> +to fire, and I discharged three rounds in rapid succession.</p> + +<p>"Don't fire, you fool!" said the man who +was blowing the smoke rings. "Them blanks +dirty 'orrible, and when you've clean't the +clay from your clothes t'night you'll not +want to muck about with your rifle. There's +a price for copper, and I always sell my cartridge +cases. The first time I came out I fired, but never since."</p> + +<p>Several rushes forward followed, and the +penultimate hundred yards were covered with +fixed bayonets. In this manner we were +prepared for any surprise. The enemy replied +fitfully to our fire, and we could now +see several khaki-clad figures with white +hat-bands—the differential symbols—moving +backwards and forwards amidst the trees. +Presently they disappeared as we worked +nearer to their lines. We were now rushing +forward, lying down to fire, rising and running +only to drop down again and discharge +another round. Within fifty yards of the +coppice the order to charge was given. A +yell, almost fiendish in its intensity, issued +from a thousand throats; anticipation of +the real work which is to be done some day, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page98" id="page98"></a>[pg 98]</span> +lent spirit to our rush. In an instant we +were in the wood, smashing the branches +with our bayonets, thrusting at imaginary +enemies, roaring at the top of our voices, and +capping a novel fight with a triumphant final.</p> + +<p>And our enemies? Having finished their +day's work they were now fifteen minutes' +march ahead of us on the way back to their rest and rations.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page99" id="page99"></a>[pg 99]</span> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h2 class="sc">The General Inspection and the Everlasting Waiting</h2> + + +<p>One of our greatest trials is the general +inspection, which takes place every +month, and once Lord Kitchener inspected the battalion, in company with the +division quartered in our town. But that +was before I joined. It involves much +labour in the way of preparation. On one +occasion, midnight the night before, a Friday, +found us still busy with our work. My +cot-mate was in difficulties with his rifle—the +cloth of the pull-through stuck in the +barrel, and he could not move it, although +he broke a bamboo cane and bent a poker +in the attempt. "It's a case for the armoury," he remarked gloomily. "What a +nuisance that ramrods are done away with! +We've been at it since eight o'clock, and +getting along A1. Now that beastly pull-through!"</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page100" id="page100"></a>[pg 100]</span> + +<p>What an evening's work! On the day +following the brigadier-general was to inspect +us, and we had to appear on parade +spick and span, with rifles spotless, and +every article of our equipment in good +order. Packs were washed and hung over +the rim of the table by our billet fire, web-belts +were cleaned, and every speck of mud +and grease removed. Our packs, when dry, +were loaded with overcoat, mess-tin, housewife, +razor, towel, etc., and packed tightly +and squarely, showing no crease at side +or bulge at corner. Ground-sheets were +neatly rolled and fastened on top of pack, +no overlapping was allowed; rifles were +oiled and polished from muzzle to butt-plate, and swords rubbed with emery paper +until not a single speck of rust remained.</p> + +<p>Saturday morning found us trim and +tidy on the parade ground. An outsider +would hardly dream that we were the men who had ploughed through the muddy +countryside and sunk to the knees in the +furrowed fields daily since the wet week +began. Where was the clay that had caked +brown on our khaki, the rust that spoilt +the lustre of our swords, and the fringes +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page101" id="page101"></a>[pg 101]</span> +that the wire fences tore on our tunics? +All gone; soap and water, a brush, needle +and thread, and a scrap of emery paper +had worked the miracle. We stood easy +awaiting the arrival of the general; platoons +sized from flanks to centres (namely, the +tallest men stood at the flanks, and the +khaki lines dwindled in stature towards +the small men in the middle), and company +officers at front and rear. The officers saw +that everything was correct, that no lace-ends +showed from under the puttees, that +no lace-eye lay idle, and that laces were not +crossed over the boots. Each man had +shaved and got his hair cut, his hat set +straight on his head, and the regimental +badge in proper position over the idle chin-strap. +Pocket-flaps and tunics were buttoned, water-bottles and haversacks hung +straight, the tops of the latter in line with +the bayonet rings, and entrenching tool +handles were scrubbed clean—my mate and I +had spent much soap on ours the night before.</p> + +<p>One of our officers gave us instructions +as to how we had to behave during the +inspection, more especially when we were +under the direct gaze of the general.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page102" id="page102"></a>[pg 102]</span> + +<p>"Not a movement," he told us. "Every +eyelash must be still. If the general asks +me your name and I make a mistake and +say you are Smith instead of Brown, your +real name, you're not to say a word. You +are Brown for the time being. If he speaks +to you, you're to answer: 'Sir,' and 'Sir' +only to every question. If you're asked +what was your age last birthday, 'Sir' +is to be the only answer. Is that clear to every man?"</p> + +<p>It was, indeed, clear, surprisingly clear; +but we wondered at the command, which +was new to us. To answer in this fashion +appeared strange to us; we thought (the +right to think is not denied to a soldier) +it a funny method of satisfying a general's curiosity.</p> + +<p>He came, a tall, well-set man, with stern +eyebrows and a heavy moustache, curled +upwards after the manner of an Emperor +whom we heartily dislike, attended by a +slim brigade major, who wore a rather large +eyeglass, and made several entries in his +notebook, as he followed on the heels of +the superior inspecting the battalion.</p> + +<p>We stood, every unit of us, sphinx-like, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page103" id="page103"></a>[pg 103]</span> +immovable, facing our front and resigned +to our position. To an onlooker it might +seem as if we were frozen there—our fingers +glued on to our rifles and our feet firm to +the earth at an angle of forty-five degrees. +I stood near the rear, and could see the +still platoons in front, not a hat moved, not +a boot shifted. The general broke the spell when he was passing me.</p> + +<p>"Another button. There were forty-seven +the last time," he said, and the man with +the eyeglass made an entry in the notebook. Through an oversight, I had helped +to lower the prestige of the battalion: a +pocket flap of my tunic was unbuttoned.</p> + +<p>Kit inspection was a business apart; +the general picked out several soldiers haphazard +and ordered their packs to be opened +for an examination of the contents—spoons, +shirts, socks, and the various necessaries +which dismounted men in full marching order +must carry on their persons were inspected +carefully. A full pack is judged best by +its contents, and nearly all packs passed +muster. One man was unlucky: his mate +was chosen for kit inspection, but this hapless +individual came out minus a toothbrush +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page104" id="page104"></a>[pg 104]</span> +and comb, and the friend in need took his +place in the freshly-formed ranks. Here, +the helper found that his own kit was inefficient, +he had forgotten to put in a pair of +socks. That afternoon he had to do two hours' extra drill.</p> + +<p>Perhaps an even greater trial than Divisional +Inspection was that of waiting orders +when we were the victims of camp rumours. +But this was as nothing to the false alarms. +There is some doggerel known to the men which runs:</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>"We're off to the front," said the colonel,</p> +<p class="i4">as he placed us in the train,</p> +<p>"And we went at dawn from the station,</p> +<p class="i4">and at night came back again."</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>For months we had drilled and drilled, +all earnest in our labours and filled with +enthusiasm for our new profession, and daily +we await the order to leave for foreign +parts. Where are we going to when we +leave England? France, Egypt, or India? +Rumour had it yesterday that we would +go to Egypt; to-day my mate, the blue-eyed Jersey youth, heard from a friend, +who heard it from a colour-sergeant, that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page105" id="page105"></a>[pg 105]</span> +we are going out to India, where we will +be kept as guardians of the King's Empire +for a matter of four years. Ever since I +joined the Army it has been the same: +reports name a new destination for my battalion daily.</p> + +<p>Afterwards we had to go and help the +remarkable Russians who passed through +England on the way to France; but when +the Russians faded from the ken of vision +and the Press Bureau denied their very +existence, it was immediately reported that +we had been drilled into shape in order to +demolish De Wet and all his South African +rebels. De Wet was captured and is now +under military control, and still we waited +orders to move from the comfortable billets +and crowded streets of our town. Dry eyes +would see us depart, mocking children would +bid us sarcastic farewells, the kindly landladies +and their fair daughters would laugh +when we bade adieu and moved away to +some destination unknown. We had already +taken our farewell three times, and +on each occasion we have come back again +to our billets before the day that saw our departure came to an end.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page106" id="page106"></a>[pg 106]</span> + +<p>The heart of every man thrilled with +excitement when the announcement was +made for the first time, one weary evening +when we had just completed a ten-hour +divisional field exercise. Our officer read it +from a typewritten sheet, and the announcement was as follows:</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"All men in the battalion must stand +under arms until further orders. No +soldier is to leave his billet; boots are +not to be taken off, and best marching +pairs are to be worn. Every unit of +the company who lacks any part of +the necessary equipment must immediately +report at quartermaster's stores, +where all wants will be supplied. Identity +discs to be worn, swords must be +cleaned and polished, and twenty-four +hours' haversack rations are to be carried. +The battalion has to entrain for +some unknown destination when called +upon." +</p></blockquote> + +<p>The news spread through the town: the +division was going to move! On the morrow +we would be sailing for France, in a +fortnight we would be in Berlin! Our +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page107" id="page107"></a>[pg 107]</span> +landladies met us at the doors as we came +in, looks of entreaty on their faces and tears +in their eyes. The hour had come; we +were going to leave them. And the landladies' daughters? One, a buxom wench +of eighteen, kissed the Jersey youth in sight +of the whole battalion, but nobody took +any notice of the unusual incident. All +were busy with their own thoughts, and +eager for the new adventures before them.</p> + +<p>I did not go to sleep that night; booted +and dressed I lay on the hearthrug in front +of the fire, and waited for the call. About +four o'clock in the morning a whistle was +blown outside on the street; I got to my +feet, put on my equipment, fastened the +buckles of my haversack, bade adieu to +my friends of the billet who had risen from +bed to see me off, and joined my company.</p> + +<p>Five or six regiments were already on +the move; transport wagons, driven by +khaki-clad drivers with rifles slung over +their shoulders, lumbered through the dimly-lighted +thoroughfares; ammunition vans +stood at every street corner; guns rattled +along drawn by straining horses, the sweat +steaming from the animals' flanks and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page108" id="page108"></a>[pg 108]</span> +withers; an ambulance party sped through +the greyness of the foggy morning, accompanied by a Red Cross lorry piled high +with chests and stretcher poles, and soldiers +in files and fours, in companies and columns, +were in movement everywhere—their legions seemed countless and endless.</p> + +<p>Ammunition was given out from the +powder magazine; each man was handed +150 rounds of ball cartridge—a goodly weight +to carry on a long day's march! With our +ammunition we were now properly equipped +and ready for any emergency. Each individual carried on his person in addition +to rifle, bayonet (sword is the military +name for the latter weapon) and ball cartridge, +a blanket and waterproof sheet, an +overcoat, a water-bottle, an entrenching +tool and handle, as well as several other +lighter necessaries, such as shirts, socks, a +knife, fork, and spoon, razor, soap, and towel.</p> + +<p>At eight o'clock, when the wintry dawn +was breaking and the fog lifting, we entered +the station. Hundreds of the inhabitants +of the town came to see us off and cheer +us on the long way to Tipperary: and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page109" id="page109"></a>[pg 109]</span> +Tipperary meant Berlin. One of the inhabitants, a kindly woman who is loved by +the soldiers of my company, to whom she +is very good, came to the station as we were +leaving, and presented a pair of mittens to each of fifty men.</p> + +<p>The train started on its journey, puffed +a feeble cloud of smoke into the air, and +suddenly came to a dead stop. Heads +appeared at the windows, and voices inquired if the engine-driver had taken the +wrong turning on the road to Berlin. The +train shunted back into the station, and +we all went back to our billets again, but +not before our officers informed us that we +had done the work of entraining very smartly, +and when the real call did come we would +lose no time on the journey to an unknown destination.</p> + +<p>Later we had two further lessons in entraining, and we came to fear that when +the summons did come dry eyes would +watch us depart and sarcastic jibes make +heavy our leave-taking. Indeed, some of +the inhabitants of our town hinted that +we should never leave the place until the +local undertakers make a profit on our exit. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page110" id="page110"></a>[pg 110]</span> +So much for their gentle sarcasm! But +well they knew that one day in the near +future it would suddenly occur to our commanders +to take us with them in the train to Berlin.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page111" id="page111"></a>[pg 111]</span> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h2 class="sc">Ready to Go—The Battalion Moves</h2> + + +<p>Rumour had been busy for days; the whole division was about to move, +so every one stated, except our +officers, and official information was not forthcoming.</p> + +<p>"You are going between midnight and +five o'clock to-morrow morning," announced +my landlord positively. He is a coal-merchant by trade.</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Because I can't get any coal to-morrow—line's bunged up for the troops."</p> + +<p>"No, he'll be going on Tuesday," said +his wife, whose kindliness and splendid cooking I should miss greatly.</p> + +<p>"Is that so?" I asked, feigning an interest which I did not feel. A sore toe +eclipsed all other matters for the time being.</p> + +<p>"The ration men have served out enough +for two days, and it doesn't stand to reason +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page112" id="page112"></a>[pg 112]</span> +that they're going to waste anything," the +little lady continued with sarcastic emphasis on the last two words.</p> + +<p>Parades went on as usual; the usual +rations were doled out to billets and the +usual grumbling went on in the ranks. We +were weary of false alarms, waiting orders, +and eternal parades. Some of us had been +training for fully six months, others had +joined the Army when war broke out, and +we were still secure in England. "Why +have we joined?" the men asked. "Is +it to line the streets when the troops come home? We are a balmy regiment."</p> + +<p>One evening, Thursday to be exact, the +battalion orders were interesting. One item +ran as follows: "All fees due to billets +will be paid up to Friday night. If any other +billet expenses are incurred by battalion +the same will be paid on application to the +War Office." Friday evening found more +explicit expression of our future movements +in orders. The following items appeared: +"Mess tin covers will be issued to-morrow. +No white handkerchiefs are to be taken by +the battalion overseas. All deficiencies in +kit must be reported to-morrow morning. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page113" id="page113"></a>[pg 113]</span> +Bayonets will be sharpened. Any soldiers +who have not yet received a copy of the +New Testament can have same on application +at the Town Hall 6 p.m. on Saturday.</p> + +<p>"Where are we going?" we asked one +another. Some answered saying that we +were to help in the sack of Constantinople, +others suggested Egypt, but all felt that +we were going off to France at no very +distant date. Was not this feeling plausible +when we took into account a boot parade +of the day before and how we were ordered +to wear two pairs of socks when trying on +the boots? Two pairs of socks suggested +the trenches and cold, certainly not the +sun-dried gutters of Constantinople, or the burning sands of Egypt.</p> + +<p>Saturday saw an excited battalion mustered +in front of the quartermaster's stores +drawing out boots, mess-tin covers, blankets, +ground-sheets, entrenching tools, identity +discs, new belts, water-bottles, pack-straps, +trousers, tunics and the hundred and one +other things required by the soldier on active +service. In addition to the usual requisites, +every unit received a cholera belt (they are +more particular over this article of attire +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page114" id="page114"></a>[pg 114]</span> +than over any other), two pairs of pants, a +singlet and a cake of soap. The latter +looked tallowy and nobody took it further +than the billet; the pants were woollen, very +warm and made in Canada. This reminds +me of an amusing episode which took place +last general inspection. While standing +easy, before the brigadier-general made his +appearance, the men compared razors and +found that eighty per cent. of them had +been made in Germany. But these were +bought by the soldiers before war started. +At least all affirmed that this was so.</p> + +<p>Saturday was a long parade; some soldiers +were drawing necessaries at midnight, and +no ten-o'-clock-to-billets order was enforced +that night. I drew my boots at eleven +o'clock, and then the streets were crowded +with our men, and merry and sad with +sightseers and friends. Wives and sweethearts +had come to take a last farewell of +husbands and lovers, and were making the +most of the last lingering moments in good wishes and tears.</p> + +<p>Sunday.—No church parade; and all men +stood under arms in the streets. The officers +had taken off all the trumpery of war, the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page115" id="page115"></a>[pg 115]</span> +swords which they never learned to use, +the sparkling hat-badges and the dainty +wrist-watches. They now appeared in web +equipment, similar to that worn by the men, +and carried rifles. Dressed thus an officer +will not make a special target for the sniper +and is not conspicuous by his uniform.</p> + +<p>Our captain made the announcement in +a quiet voice, the announcement which had +been waited for so long. "To-morrow we +proceed overseas," he said. "On behalf of +the colonel I've to thank you all for the +way in which you have done your work up +to the present, and I am certain that when +we get out yonder," he raised his arm and +his gesture might indicate any point of the +compass, "you'll all do your work with +the spirit and determination which you have shown up till now."</p> + +<p>This was the announcement. The men +received it gleefully and a hubbub of conversation +broke out in the ranks. "We're +going at last"; "I thought when I joined +that I'd be off next morning"; "What +price a free journey to Berlin!"; "It'll +be some great sport!" Such were the +remarks that were bandied to and fro. But +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page116" id="page116"></a>[pg 116]</span> +some were silent, feeling, no doubt, that +the serious work ahead was not the subject for idle chatter.</p> + +<p>A little leaflet entitled "Rules for the +Preservation of Health on Field Service," +was given to each man, and I am at liberty to give a few quotations.</p> + +<p>"Remember that disease attacks you from +outside; it is your duty to keep it outside."</p> + +<p>"Don't drink unboiled water if you can get boiled water."</p> + +<p>"Never start on a march with an empty stomach."</p> + +<p>"Remember that a dirty foot is an unsound foot. See that feet are washed if +no other part of the body is. Socks should +be taken off at the end of the march, be +flattened out and well shaken. Put on a +clean pair if possible, if not, put the left +sock on the right foot, and vice versa."</p> + +<p>"Remember, on arrival in camp, <i>food before fatigues</i>."</p> + +<p>"Always rig up some kind of shelter at +night for the head, if for no other part of the body."</p> + +<p>At twelve noon on Monday the whistles +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page117" id="page117"></a>[pg 117]</span> +blew at the bottom of the street and we all +turned out in full marching order with +packs, haversacks, rifles and swords. I heard +the transport wagons clattering on the pavement, +the merry laughter of the drivers, the +noise of men falling into place and above +all the voice of the sergeant-major issuing orders.</p> + +<p>Yet this, like other days, was a "wash-out." All day we waited for orders to +move, twice we paraded in full marching +kit, eager for the command to entrain; but +it was not forthcoming. Another day had +to be spent in billets under strict instructions +not to move from our quarters. The orders +were posted up as usual at all street corners, +a plan which is adopted for the convenience +of units billeted a great distance from headquarters, +and the typewritten orders had an air of momentous finality:</p> + +<p>The battalion moves to-morrow.</p> + +<p>Parade will be at 4.30 a.m.</p> + +<p>Entraining and detraining and embarking must be done in absolute silence.</p> + +<p>I rose from bed at three and set about to +prepare breakfast, while my cot-mate busied +himself with our equipment, putting everything +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page118" id="page118"></a>[pg 118]</span> +into shape, buckling belts and flaps, +burnishing bayonets and oiling the bolts of +the rifles. Twenty-four hours' rations were +stored away in our haversacks all ready, +the good landlady had been at work stewing and frying meat and cooking dainty +scones up to twelve o'clock the night before.</p> + +<p>When breakfast, a good hearty meal of tea, +buttered toast, fried bacon and tomatoes, +was over, we went out to our places. The +morning was chilly, a cold wind splashed with +hail swept along the streets and whirled +round the corners, causing the tails of our great +coats to beat sharply against our legs. It +was still very dark, only a few street-lamps +were lighted and these glimmered doubtfully +as if ashamed of being noticed. Men in full +marching order stamped out from every +billet, took their way to the main street, where +the transport wagons, wheels against kerbstones, +horses in shafts, and drivers at reins, +stood in mathematical order, and from there +on to the parade ground where sergeants, +with book in one hand and electric torch +in the other, were preparing to call the roll.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page119" id="page119"></a>[pg 119]</span> + +<p>Ammunition was served out, one hundred +and twenty rounds to each man, and this +was placed in the cartridge pouches, rifles +were inspected and identity discs examined +by torch-light. This finished, we were allowed +to stand easy and use ground-sheets for a +shelter from the biting hail. Our blankets +were already gone. The transport wagons +had disappeared and with them our field-bags. +I suppose they will await us in —— but +I anticipate, and at present all we know +is that our regiment is bound for some +destination unknown where, when we arrive, +we shall have to wear two pairs of socks at our work.</p> + +<p>We stood by till eight o'clock. The day +had cleared and the sun was shining brightly +when we marched off to the station, through +streets lined with people, thoughtful men +who seemed to be very sad, women who wept +and children who chattered and sang "Tipperary."</p> + +<p>Three trains stood in the sidings by the +station. Places were allotted to the men, +eight occupied each compartment, non-commissioned +officers occupied a special carriage, +the officers travelled first-class.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page120" id="page120"></a>[pg 120]</span> + +<p>Soon we were hurrying through England +to a place unknown. Most of my comrades +were merry and a little sentimental; they +sang music-hall songs that told of home. +There were seven with me in my compartment, +the Jersey youth, whom I saw kissing +a weeping sweetheart in the cold hours of the +early day; Mervin, my cot-mate, who always +cleaned the rifles while I cooked breakfast in +the morning; Bill, the Cockney youth who +never is so happy as when getting the best +of an argument in the coffee-shop of which I +have already spoken, and the Oxford man. +The other three were almost complete strangers +to me, they have just been drafted into our +regiment; one was very fat and reminded me +of a Dickens character in <i>Pickwick Papers</i>; +another who soon fell asleep, his head warm +in a Balaclava helmet, was a tall, strapping +youth with large muscular hands, which +betoken manual labour, and the last was a +slightly-built boy with a budding moustache +which seemed to have been waxed at one +end. We noticed this, and the fat soldier +said that the wax had melted from the +few lonely hairs on the other side of the lip.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page121" id="page121"></a>[pg 121]</span> + +<p>Stations whirled by, Mervin leant out of +the window to read their names, but was +never successful. Cigarettes were smoked, +the carriage was full of tobacco fumes and +the floor littered with "fag-ends." Rifles +were lying on the racks, four in each side, +and caps, papers and equipment piled on +top of them. The Jersey youth made a remark:</p> + +<p>"Where are we going to?" he asked. "France I suppose, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe Egypt," someone answered.</p> + +<p>"With two pairs of socks to one boot!" +Mervin muttered in sarcastic tones; and +almost immediately fell asleep. He had been +a great traveller and knows many countries. +His age is about forty, but he owns to twenty-seven, +and in his youth he was educated for +the church. "But the job was not one for +me," he says, "and I threw it up." He +looks forward to the life of a soldier in the field.</p> + +<p>Our train journey neared the end. Bill +was at the window and said that we were +in sight of our destination. All were up +and fumbling with their equipment; and +one, the University man, hoped that the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page122" id="page122"></a>[pg 122]</span> +night would be a good one for sailing to France.</p> + +<p>If we are bound for France we shall be there to-morrow.</p> + + +<center>THE END.</center> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page123" id="page123"></a>[pg 123]</span> + + + + +<h4>JUST PUBLISHED</h4> + + +<h2>THE RAT-PIT</h2> + +<h3>By <span class="sc">Patrick MacGill</span>, Author of +"Children of the Dead End." Crown 8vo. +Price 6/-. Inland Postage 5d. extra.</h3> + +<p>"Children of the Dead End" came +upon the literary world as something +of a surprise; it dealt with a phase of life about which nothing was +known. It was compared with the work of +Borrow and Kipling. Incidentally three editions, +aggregating 10,000 copies, were called for within +fifteen days. In his new book Mr. MacGill still +deals with the underworld he knows so well. +He tells of a life woven of darkest threads, full +of pity and pathos, lighted up by that rare and +quaint humour that made his first book so attractive. +"The Rat-Pit" tells the story of an Irish +peasant girl brought up in an atmosphere of +poverty, where the purity of the poor and the +innocence of maidenhood stand out in simple +relief against a grim and sombre background. +Norah Ryan leaves her home at an early age, and +is plunged into a new world where dissolute and +heedless men drag her down to their own miry +level. Mr. MacGill's lot has been cast in strange +places, and every incident of his book is pregnant +with a vivid realism that carries the conviction +that it is a literal transcript from life, as in fact +it is. Only last summer, just before he enlisted, +Mr. MacGill spent some time in Glasgow reviving +old memories of its underworld. His characters +are mostly real persons, and their sufferings, the +sufferings of women burdened and oppressed with +wrongs which women alone bear, are a strong +indictment against a dubious civilisation.</p> + +<center>HERBERT JENKINS LD., <span class="sc">12 Arundel Place, London, S.W.</span></center> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page124" id="page124"></a>[pg 124]</span> + + + + +<h4>10,000 COPIES CALLED FOR IN 10 DAYS.</h4> + +<h2>CHILDREN OF THE DEAD END</h2> + +<p>The Autobiography of a Navvy. By <span class="sc">Patrick +MacGill</span>. Crown 8vo. Price 6/-. Inland Postage 5d. extra.</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p><span class="sc">Manchester Gdn.</span> "A grand book."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Globe</span> "A living story."</p> +<p><span class="sc">D. Citizen</span> "Still booming!"</p> +<p><span class="sc">Standard</span> "A notable book."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Saturday Review</span> "An achievement."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Bookman</span> "Something unique."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Outlook</span> "A remarkable book."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Bystander</span> "A human document."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Country Life</span> "A human document."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Truth</span> "Intensely interesting."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Ev. Standard</span> "A thrilling achievement."</p> +<p><span class="sc">D. Telegraph</span> "Will have a lasting value."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Pall Mall Gaz.</span> "Nothing can withstand it."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Sphere</span> "The book has genius in it."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Bookman</span> "A poignantly human book."</p> +<p><span class="sc">English Review</span> "A wonderful piece of work."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Graphic</span> "An enthralling slice of life."</p> +<p><span class="sc">D. Sketch</span> "A book that will make a stir."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Athenæum</span> "We welcome such books as this."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Ill. London News</span> "An outstanding piece of work."</p> +<p><span class="sc">D. Chronicle</span> "Tremendous, absorbing, convincing."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Rev. of Reviews</span> "The book is not merely notable—it is remarkable."</p> +<p><span class="sc">La Stampa</span> "Un nuovo grande astro della litteratura inglese."</p> +<p><span class="sc">D. Express</span> "Will be one of the most talked-of books of the year."</p> +<p><span class="sc">Spectator</span> "A book of unusual interest, which we cannot but praise."</p> + </div> </div> + +<center>HERBERT JENKINS, LD. <span class="sc">12 Arundel Place, London, S.W.</span></center> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page125" id="page125"></a>[pg 125]</span> + + + + +<h4><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</i></h4> + +<h2>SONGS OF THE DEAD END</h2> + +<h3 class="sc">POEMS BY PATRICK MacGILL</h3> + + +<p>"Remarkable."—<i>Daily Express</i>.</p> + +<p>"Work of real genius."—<i>Bookman</i>.</p> + +<p>"This is a remarkable book."—<i>Graphic</i>.</p> + +<p>"He can do things, can our navvy poet."—<i>The Clarion</i>.</p> + +<p>"This extraordinary man of the people."—<i>Public Opinion</i>.</p> + +<p>"The greatest poet since Kipling."—<span class="sc">James Douglas</span>, in <i>The Star</i>.</p> + +<p>"Verses of remarkable vigour, variety and ability."—<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>.</p> + +<p>"MacGill's work is taking the literary world by storm."—<i>Morning Leader</i>.</p> + +<p>"His poems show a power of direct observation and of +strong emotion."—<i>Spectator</i>.</p> + +<p>"We are at a loss to understand what manner of youth +he is."—<i>Manchester Guardian</i>.</p> + +<p>"The author has a very considerable gift."—<span class="sc">Andrew +Lang</span>, in <i>Illustrated London News</i>.</p> + +<p>"It is a life which has been an Odyssey, the picturesque +life a tone poet can weather through as Mr. MacGill has +done."—<i>Book Monthly</i>.</p> + +<p>"The traits of an ardent, fearless personality, expressed +in words of fire, are here again in all their lyrical richness.... The +poet says:</p> + +<div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> +<p>'I sing my songs to you—and well,</p> +<p>You'll maybe like them—who can tell?'</p> + </div> </div> + +<p>We do like them."—<i>Daily Chronicle</i>.</p> + +<p>"When, in the terse vernacular of his calling, he gives +voice to the sorrows and impatience, the humour and the +resignation of his workmen comrades, and lets his songs +find their own natural bent, then at length he attains real +lyrical strength and sincerity.... For we need +have no hesitation in hailing Mr. MacGill as a poet."—<i>Sunday Times</i>.</p> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page126" id="page126"></a>[pg 126]</span> + + + + +<h4>40,000 SOLD IN 14 DAYS</h4> + +<h2>QUICK TRAINING FOR WAR</h2> + +<h3>Some Practical Suggestions. Illustrated +by Diagrams by <span class="sc">Lt.-Gen. SIR ROBERT +BADEN-POWELL, K.C.B.</span> Price 1/- +net. Post Free by all Booksellers ½.</h3> + +<h3>FIRST REVIEWS</h3> + +<p><i>Daily Mail</i>.—"B.P. has a reputation which is +second to none, and this little book is so brightly +and cleverly written that it will be read with +advantage by the recruit and studied with infinite +pleasure and profit by the professional soldier."</p> + +<p><i>Lady's Pictorial</i>.—"Ladies who are anxious to +give a practical present which not one of their +soldier men-folk should disdain to accept would certainly find this acceptable."</p> + +<p><i>Globe</i>.—"I advise every young officer, Regular +or Terrier, to get 'Quick Training for War' and +study it.... It is a most sunny and stimulating book."</p> + +<p><i>Sporting Chronicle</i>.—"Great interest is being +taken in Baden-Powell's book 'Quick Training for +War' which is enjoying a tremendous boom."</p> + +<p><i>Daily Chronicle</i>.—"The volume is full of good +things for every officer, N.C.O., and man in the +British Territorial Forces, and rifle club."</p> + +<p><i>Daily Telegraph</i>.—"This little handbook should +be a companion of all officers and men now training or being trained for war."</p> + +<center>HERBERT JENKINS LD., <span class="sc">12 Arundel Place, London, S.W.</span></center> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page127" id="page127"></a>[pg 127]</span> + + + + +<h2>QUICK TRAINING FOR WAR</h2> + +<h3>FIRST REVIEWS (<i>Continued</i>).</h3> + +<p><i>Academy</i>.—"If books were sold on intrinsic +value, Sir Robert Baden-Powell's little volume would be issued at a sovereign."</p> + +<p><i>Sporting Life</i>.—"Should be studied by every +man who is entering the service of his country or contemplates doing so."</p> + +<p><i>Spectator</i>.—"In heartily commending General +Baden-Powell's little book to the trainers of the New Army we should like," etc.</p> + +<p><i>Athenæum</i>.—"Sir Robert's hundred pages teem +with evidence of how common-sense helps."</p> + +<p><i>Truth</i>.—"Will prove a valuable gift to those +who have answered the appeal of the War Office."</p> + +<p><i>Sunday Times</i>.—"The book should be in the +knapsack of every recruit in the New Army."</p> + +<p><i>Daily Express</i>.—"A copy ought to be in the +pocket of every officer and man in the new armies."</p> + +<p><i>Daily Sketch</i>.—"Every young officer, N.C.O. +and private should have a copy."</p> + +<p><i>Morning Post</i>.—"As instructive as it is interesting."</p> + +<p><i>Saturday Review</i>.—"A manual of great good sense."</p> + +<p><i>Daily Graphic</i>.—"It is concentrated wisdom."</p> + +<p><i>Observer</i>.—"Clear and persuasive to a degree."</p> + +<center>HERBERT JENKINS LD., <span class="sc">12 Arundel Place, London, S.W.</span></center> + +<hr /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page128" id="page128"></a>[pg 128]</span> + + + + +<h2>SIR JOHN FRENCH</h2> + +<h3>AN AUTHENTIC BIOGRAPHY By CECIL CHISHOLM, M.A. With a +Portrait of Sir John French by His Son, +J.R.L. French. Cr. 8vo. Cloth. Price 1/- net. Postage 3d. extra.</h3> + +<p>"Capital."—<i>Globe</i>.</p> + +<p>"A very excellent character study."—<i>Daily News</i>.</p> + +<p>"An excellent little book."—<i>Westminster Gazette</i>.</p> + +<p>"An admirable story of the Field-Marshal's life."—<i>Academy</i>.</p> + +<p>"A book which everyone should read at the present moment."—<i>Field</i>.</p> + +<p>"A welcome and admirable little volume in every way."—<i>Observer</i>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>ATKINS AT WAR</h2> + +<h3>As Told in His Own Letters. By J.A. KILPATRICK. With a Cover Design +by SIR R. BADEN-POWELL, K.C.B. +Cloth. Price 1/- net. Postage 3d. extra.</h3> + +<p>"A human document."—<i>Globe</i>.</p> + +<p>"A human document."—<i>Graphic</i>.</p> + +<p>"Sure of a wide circulation."—<i>Nation</i>.</p> + +<p>"A veritable human document."—<i>Bookman</i>.</p> + +<p>"A capital little book."—<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>.</p> + +<p>"A book that throbs with life."—<i>Daily Call</i>.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kilpatrick has performed a public service."—<i>Evening Standard</i>.</p> + +<center>HERBERT JENKINS LD., <span class="sc">12 Arundel Place, London, S.W.</span></center> + +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Amateur Army, by Patrick MacGill + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AMATEUR ARMY *** + +***** This file should be named 16078-h.htm or 16078-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/0/7/16078/ + +Produced by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries +(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto), Suzanne Lybarger, +William Flis, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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