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diff --git a/32051-h/32051-h.htm b/32051-h/32051-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..09064e5 --- /dev/null +++ b/32051-h/32051-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6430 @@ +<!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" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of On the Right of the British Line, by Captain Gilbert Nobbs. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + p { margin-top: .5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .5em; + text-indent: 1em; + } + h1 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + h5,h6 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + h2 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + h3 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + h4 { + text-align: center; font-family: garamond, serif; /* all headings centered */ + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + body{margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15%; + } + a {text-decoration: none} /* no lines under links */ + div.centered {text-align: center;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */ + div.centered table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 2 */ + + .cen {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em;} /* centering paragraphs */ + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} /* small caps */ + .fakesc {font-size: 80%;} /* fake small caps, small font size */ + .noin {text-indent: 0em;} /* no indenting */ + .title {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;} /* margins for wide title headers */ + .block {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* block indent */ + .right {text-align: right; padding-right: 2em;} /* right aligning paragraphs */ + .totoc {position: absolute; right: 2%; font-size: 75%; text-align: right;} /* Table of contents anchor */ + .totoi {position: absolute; right: 2%; font-size: 75%; text-align: right;} /* to Table of Illustrations link */ + .img {text-align: center; padding: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} /* centering images */ + .tdr {text-align: right; padding-right: .5em; vertical-align: top;} /* right align cell */ + .tdl {text-align: left;} /* left align cell */ + .tdlsm {text-align: left; font-size: 80%; margin-top: -.25em;} /* left align cell */ + .tdlsc {text-align: left; font-variant: small-caps;} /* aligning cell content and small caps */ + .tr {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 1em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} /* transcriber's notes */ + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; right: 2%; + font-size: 75%; + color: gray; + background-color: inherit; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0em; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal;} /* page numbers */ + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's On the right of the British line, by Gilbert Nobbs + +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: On the right of the British line + +Author: Gilbert Nobbs + +Release Date: April 19, 2010 [EBook #32051] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE RIGHT OF THE BRITISH LINE *** + + + + +Produced by Jeannie Howse and The Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> + +<div class="img"> +<img border="0" src="images/cover.jpg" width="35%" alt="book cover" /> +</div> + +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> + +<div class="tr"> +<p class="cen" style="font-weight: bold;">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<br /> +<p class="noin">Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has been preserved.</p> +<p class="noin" style="text-align: left;">Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. +For a complete list, please see the <span style="white-space: nowrap;"><a href="#TN">end of this document</a>.</span></p> +<p class="noin">Click on the images to see a larger version.</p> +</div> + +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h2>ON THE RIGHT<br /> +OF THE BRITISH LINE</h2> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<div class="img"><a name="frontis" id="frontis"></a> +<a href="images/frontis.jpg"> +<img border="0" src="images/frontis.jpg" width="48%" alt="Captain Gilbert Nobbs." /></a><br /> +<p class="right" style="margin-top: .2em; margin-right: 25%; font-size: 75%;"><i>From a photograph by Aylett.</i></p> +<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">Captain Gilbert Nobbs.<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h1>ON THE RIGHT<br /> +OF THE BRITISH LINE</h1> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h3>CAPTAIN GILBERT NOBBS</h3> + +<h4>(LATE L.R.B.)</h4> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h5>NEW YORK<br /> +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS<br /> +1917</h5> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h4><span class="sc">Copyright, 1917, by</span><br /> +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS<br /> +<br /> +Published September, 1917</h4> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> + + + +<h4>BESIDES THE MAN WHO FIGHTS<br /> +THERE IS THE WOMAN WHO WAITS, AND<br /> +IN HUMBLE TRIBUTE TO HER SILENT HEROISM<br /> +I DEDICATE THIS BOOK</h4> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a><hr /> +<br /> + +<h3>PREFACE<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> +<br /> + +<p>This is my first book. It is also my last. But I have a record to make +and a duty to perform. I was five weeks on the firing line; four weeks +mourned as dead; and three months a prisoner of war.</p> + +<p>I have attempted to make a true record of all that happened. The names +alone are fictitious (all except that of Saniez), for those days were +too full of stirring events which will long live in my memory to need +the aid of fiction. If I have dwelt at some length upon my experience +in Germany, it is with the hope that the information may be of +interest to those who have relatives and friends still in the hands of +the enemy and burn to know the truth.</p> + +<p>I do not deplore the loss of my sight, for I can say in all sincerity +that I was never happier in my life than I am to-day.</p> + +<p class="right">G.N.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="toc" id="toc"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<br /> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="70%" summary="Table of Contents"> + <tr> + <td class="tdr" width="10%" style="font-size: 80%;">CHAPTER</td> + <td class="tdl" width="70%"> </td> + <td class="tdr" width="20%" style="font-size: 80%;">PAGE</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">I.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Fovant</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">ORDERLY ROOM. OFF TO THE FRONT.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">1</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">II.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">The Silent Heroes</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">THE WOMAN WHO WAITS—AND SUFFERS IN SILENCE.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">III.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Departure for the Front</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">WATERLOO STATION. LUNCHEON ARGUMENTS. THE BAGGAGE PROBLEM.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">9</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">IV.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Crossing the Channel</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">THE DOCK PORTER. A WHIFF OF BOND STREET.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">15</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">V.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Going up the Line</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">PERFIDIOUS GANG-PLANKS. D'ARCY STRANDED. GUIDES WHO CANNOT GUIDE. A HEATED ARGUMENT.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">24</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VI.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Rations</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">I LEARN TO HATE FOOD. MATHEMATICAL PROBLEMS.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">33</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VII.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">St. Amand</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">I REPORT AT HEADQUARTERS. THE PROBLEM OF VENTILATION.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">37</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VIII.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Early Impressions</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">BILLETS. A STARTLING INCIDENT. REST CAMP.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">41</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">IX.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Departure for the Somme</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">CORBIE. HAPPY VALLEY. PASSING THROUGH THE GUNS.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">48<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">X.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">Arrival on the Somme</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">FEEDING THE GUNS. SEPTIMUS D'ARCY ARRIVES. A CURIOUS KIT.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">57</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XI.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Death Valley</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">MOVING OVER BATTLE-FIELDS. —— BATTALION, LONDON REGIMENT, IN POSSESSION. THE MYSTERY TRENCH. FALFEMONT FARM.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">66</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XII.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Out in No Man's Land</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">SUDDEN ORDERS. THE BEGINNING OF A GREAT ADVENTURE. DIGGING IN.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">71</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIII.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">A Night of Alarm</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">SEPTIMUS IN A NEW RÔLE. SAVING THE AMMUNITION. THE LAST CARTRIDGE.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">82</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIV.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Next Morning</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">A COUNCIL OF WAR. OPERATION ORDERS. A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">87</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XV.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">The Advance through Leuze Wood</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">NEW OPERATION ORDERS. "AT ANY COST." LIKE RATS IN A TRAP.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">91</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVI.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">The Attack</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">A DESPERATE SITUATION. BATTLE FORMATION. "FOR ENGLAND."</span></td> + <td class="tdr">101</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVII.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">At Any Cost</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">OVER THE TOP. MAD, FIGHTING MAD. THE FINAL ASSAULT.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">110</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">Left on the Field</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">THE MYSTERY OF DEATH. THE SECRET CODE. TWO TERRIBLE DAYS.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">116<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIX.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">The Jaws of Death</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">LONELINESS, DARKNESS, AND SILENCE. A LAST EFFORT. I PREPARE FOR DEATH.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">123</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XX.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">At the Mercy of the Hun—and After</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">A BASIN OF SOUP. HOSPITAL AT ST. QUENTIN. THE "OPEN SESAME."</span></td> + <td class="tdr">130</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXI.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">Alive</a></td> + <td class="tdr">143</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXII.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">Blindness</a></td> + <td class="tdr">147</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIII.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">The Woman Who Waits</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">THE TELEGRAPH BOY'S RAT-TAT. KILLED IN ACTION. WEEKS OF MOURNING.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">151</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIV.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">Ward 43, Reserve Lazarette 5, Hanover</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">OCCUPANTS OF THE WARD. CHIVALRY OF THE AIR.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">156</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXV.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">Saniez</a></td> + <td class="tdr">160</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVI.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">Life in Hanover Hospital</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">HOSPITAL DIET. INTERVIEWED BY A GERMAN DOCTOR. DISCHARGED FROM HOSPITAL.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">166</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVII.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">Observations and Impressions</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">EMPLOYMENT OF PRISONERS. PARCELS. MEN OF MONS.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">176</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">Stories of the Heroes of Mons</a></td> + <td class="tdr">187</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIX.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">Osnabruck</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">ARRIVAL IN CAMP. THE CANTEEN. DAILY ROUTINE. RATIONS. PARCELS. NEWS.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">199<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXX.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">Comedy and Drama</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">I SALUTE THE WALL. THE STORY OF AN EGG. A NOVEL BANQUET. JOY RIDE ON A LORRY. THE SWISS COMMISSION.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">215</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXI.</td> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">Free</a><br /><span class="tdlsm">I BLUFF THE GERMAN SERGEANT. AACHEN. TWO BOTTLES OF WINE. ACROSS THE FRONTIER. GREAT SCOTT! I AM CHARGED FOR MY OWN DEATH EXPENSES.</span></td> + <td class="tdr">227</td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="toi" id="toi"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> +<br /> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="70%" summary="List of Illustrations"> + <tr> + <td class="tdl" width="70%"><a href="#frontis">Captain Gilbert Nobbs</a></td> + <td class="tdr" width="30%"><i>Frontispiece</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#imagep164">Captain Nobbs after his release from the German prison</a></td> + <td class="tdr"><i>Facing page 164</i></td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h2>ON THE RIGHT<br /> +OF THE BRITISH LINE</h2> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER I<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>FOVANT</h3> + +<h4 class="title">ORDERLY ROOM. OFF TO THE FRONT</h4> +<br /> + +<p>"The C.O. wants to see you."</p> + +<p>"What for?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, but he is in the orderly room."</p> + +<p>It was the adjutant who was speaking, and his manner led me to think +there was something in the wind which he did not like to tell me. I +left the mess, and a few moments later I was standing before the C.O.</p> + +<p>"I have just received a telegram from the War Office; you are included +in the next reinforcements for France."</p> + +<p>"I am glad, sir."</p> + +<p>"You've only forty-eight hours' notice. You are to report at +Southampton at 4. <span class="fakesc">P.M.</span> the day after to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, as your time is so short, you had better go home and get things +ready. The adjutant <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>will have your papers ready for you within half +an hour."</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir."</p> + +<p>The C.O. stood up, and in his cordial military manner, which seemed to +take you straight from the orderly room into the mess, held out his +hand to bid me good-bye.</p> + +<p>There is quite a difference between a C.O. in the orderly room and a +C.O. in the mess. I mean those C.O.'s who are made of the right stuff, +and our C.O. was certainly one of them.</p> + +<p>In the orderly room his presence keeps you at arm's length and makes +you feel that you want to keep clicking your heels and coming to the +salute. You are conscious of the terrible crime you would commit if +you permitted your body to relax from the position of attention; your +conversational powers are restricted; you fancy you have a voice at +the back of your head, saying:</p> + +<p>"Don't argue, listen; digest, and get out."</p> + +<p>It's a feeling which does not make the orderly room a very pleasant +place to go to; yet you have an instinctive feeling of confidence.</p> + +<p>The same C.O. in the mess, however, is a different man and creates +quite a different <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>atmosphere. In the orderly room he holds you from +him; in the mess he pulls you to him. You have the feeling that you +can sit in an armchair, with your feet on the coal-box, and talk to +him round the corner of your newspaper, like the very ordinary human +being he really is.</p> + +<p>"Well, good-bye, and good luck." We shook hands, I came to the salute, +and the next moment I found myself once more outside the orderly room +door.</p> + +<p>Have you ever experienced the feeling? Yes, thousands have, for the +despatch of reinforcing officers to the front in this abrupt manner +was taking place daily throughout the empire. You remember the feeling +quite well; amazement at its suddenness; eagerness for the adventure; +the prospect of the home parting; the sudden change in the daily +routine; the mystery of the future—all swirling through your brain in +a jumble of thoughts.</p> + +<p>Then the hasty despatch of telegrams, the examination of time-tables, +and the feverish packing of a kit which has grown to enormous +proportions and hopelessly defies the regulations for weight.</p> + +<p>An hour later and I had made a quick sale of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>my bicycle, distributed +odds and ends of hut furniture which I should no longer need, and was +sitting in a motor-car, outside the mess, grabbing at hands which were +outstretched in farewell.</p> + +<p>Those who lived in camp at Fovant can remember what an uninteresting, +dreary place it seemed at the time, and how we cursed its monotony. +Rows upon rows of uninteresting and uninviting looking huts; the +large, barren square; the heart-breaking trudge to the station; the +little village with the military policeman, who stood at the fork of +the roads, and whose job seemed so easy, while ours seemed so hard; +and who always seemed so clean and cool, while we seemed so hot and +dusty.</p> + +<p>The city of Salisbury, our one ray of hope, but which was too far to +walk to, and too expensive to ride to—all these things we used to +look upon as sufferings which had to be put up with. But we can look +upon the picture now, and there are few of us who can do so without a +feeling of affection, for there was a spirit of comradeship there +which links up the dreariness into pleasant recollections.</p> + +<p>Now that I have been through the mill I can <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>look back at that parting +scene, and as the car whirls away and my brother officers walk back +into the mess, I fancy I can hear the comment of those who had not yet +been out and those who had:</p> + +<p>"Lucky brute."</p> + +<p>"Poor devil!"</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER II<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>THE SILENT HEROES</h3> + +<h4 class="title">THE WOMAN WHO WAITS—AND SUFFERS IN SILENCE</h4> +<br /> + +<p>I was soon comfortably settled in a first-class compartment and +whirling towards Waterloo, with the worst ordeal of all still before +me: the breaking of the news at home and the parting while the shock +is still fresh.</p> + +<p>Who are the true heroes of the war?</p> + +<p>Our fighting men are cheered in the streets; every newspaper and +magazine sings their praise; every shop-window reflects their needs; +in theatre, pulpit, and workshop their praises are sung.</p> + +<p>But are they the real heroes of the war?</p> + +<p>Ask the fighting man himself. Speak to him of his wife or mother, and +the expression on his face will answer your question.</p> + +<p>There is no one to sing her praise, no one to paint the picture of her +deeds; no one to tell of that lonely feeling when her hero departs and +the door is closed behind him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>The fighting man looks upon his share of the war with a light heart. +Events come too rapidly upon him to feel depressed. He does not feel +the gnawing hunger of the lonely wait; the emptiness of the world when +the parting is over; the empty chair at the table, and the rooms made +cheerless by his absence.</p> + +<p>There is no one to describe the terrors of the morning casualty list; +the hourly expectation and frozen fear of the telegraph boy's "rat +tat," bringing some dreadful news.</p> + +<p>There are no crowds to cheer her; no flags or trumpets to rouse her +enthusiasm and occupy her thoughts. No constant activity, thrilling +excitement, desperate encounter.</p> + +<p>Hers is a silent patriotism. She is the true hero of the war. And in +hundreds of thousands of homes throughout the empire, her silent +deeds, her wonderful fortitude, are making the womanhood of Britain a +history which medals will not reward, nor scars display.</p> + +<p>The fighting men know it, and when you cheer them, they know that +there is still one at home who deserves your cheers, yet will not hear +them; and who will seek no greater reward than the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>safe return of her +own hero amid the applause which greets their homecoming.</p> + +<p>Fighting men acknowledge it! And when your ears are no longer deafened +by the cheers of others, take off your caps, fill your lungs, and +cheer to the echo the real heroes of the war.</p> + +<p>All honour to the woman who waits.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER III<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>DEPARTURE FOR THE FRONT</h3> + +<h4 class="title">WATERLOO STATION. LUNCHEON ARGUMENTS. THE BAGGAGE PROBLEM</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Waterloo Station in war time presents a picture of unending interest. +Here it is that a thousand dramas are acted daily. It is one huge +scene of bustle and excitement. The khaki of the soldier, the blue of +the sailor; the mother, the wife, the sweetheart; the sad partings, +the joyful greetings. The troops entraining, spick and span in their +new war kit; the war-worn soldier home on leave, bespattered with the +soil of France; troops from the near-by camps on week-end leave, +tumbling out of the carriages with the spirits of schoolboys, or +looking for standing-room in the overcrowded compartments on the last +train back.</p> + +<p>The scene is inspiring, depressing, historical.</p> + +<p>Hear the noise and babble of the throng; the sobs and the cheers; the +last look, the last hand-shake, the cheery greeting and the boyish +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>laughter—whilst out in the street, London continues its unaltered +ways, indifferent to the greatest war in the world's history reflected +within a stone's throw, in Waterloo Station.</p> + +<p>The Southampton train was rapidly filling, and I just managed to +secure a seat and take a last look round. It needed a minute before +the train was due to depart. Every window was filled with soldiers, +and small groups were standing round each carriage door.</p> + +<p>Porters were hurrying backward and forward, trying to find seats for +late arrivals. Women were sobbing, men were talking earnestly. +Presently the shrill whistle of the guard; hurried farewells, +spontaneous cheers, and the slowly moving train gradually left the +station, carrying its human freight to an unknown destiny.</p> + +<p>I turned from the window and settled myself down in a corner. With me +was Lieutenant Collins of our regiment, and Second Lieutenants Jones +and Bailey of the London Regiment, while between us was a table laid +for lunch.</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Collins, packing his kit which had been dangling in a +threatening manner from the rack, "that's one job over. I'm not sorry +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>it's over, either. I wish we were coming back instead of going. I +wouldn't mind getting a blighty wound in about a month's time. That +would suit me down to the ground."</p> + +<p>"Looking for trouble already," said Jones.</p> + +<p>"You don't call that trouble, a nice little blighty wound, and then +home."</p> + +<p>"Don't be an idiot," I interrupted. "If every one felt the same way, +who do you think is going to carry on the war?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know. Never thought of it. But all the same a blighty wound in +about a month's time will suit me down to the ground."</p> + +<p>The conversation drivelled on in this way for a few miles, and finally +turned into a heated discussion of the wine-list at the back of the +menu.</p> + +<p>Luncheon was served, and we were soon heavily engaged in a fierce +attack on chicken and ham, intermingled with joke and arguments. The +cause of the war and the prospect of its finish.</p> + +<p>"Here's to a safe return," said Bailey, when his ginger ale had ceased +to erupt its displeasure at being released from the bottle.</p> + +<p>"And here's to an early blighty wound," said Collins.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>"Hang it all," said Jones. "Can't you forget it?"</p> + +<p>The conversation was bursting out afresh, and fortunately did not +drift into politics or religion; and arguments easily turned to jokes, +and jokes into a fresh onslaught on the chicken and ham.</p> + +<p>There are some men who can argue best when armed with a knife and +fork, and a good meal indisputably in their possession. There are +others whose oratorical powers show greater promise when liquid +refreshment is within easy grasp. In others yet again, the soothing +influence of the twisted weed develops extraordinary powers. And +before we arrived at Southampton town station the gift of each had +full play.</p> + +<p>We soon found ourselves scrambling amongst the heap of luggage which +had been thrown in confusion on to the platform, and commenced an +anxious search for our kits.</p> + +<p>It is always the same at English railway stations, and our cousins +from America and Canada scorn our system, or rather lack of system, +for those who travel with baggage in England have always the +possibility in front of them of a free fight to regain their +possessions.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>There seems to be only one thing to do if you are going to travel with +a trunk, and that is either to paint it in rainbow colours, so that it +will stand out in striking contrast to the mountainous heap of baggage +thrown topsyturvy out of the wagon on arrival at a terminus. Or, if +not provided with this forethought of imagination, it is best to +arrive at the starting station some hours ahead of time, and sit down +on the platform and study the peculiarities of your trunk, its +indentations and scratchings, and other characteristics, and +committing all these details securely to your memory, so that when you +arrive at the other end, and you jostle among the crowd gathered +around the baggage-car, you can grab the collar of a porter and +frantically shout: "There it is!" as it tumbles out of the wagon, to +be finally submerged at the extreme bottom of the heap.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, all military kit bags are exactly the same. It is true +you have your name painted on the outside, but so has everybody, and +when fifty or sixty bags come tumbling out, they all look exactly +alike.</p> + +<p>That is how it was at Southampton town station, but we were all in +good spirits, thanks to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>the wine-list before mentioned; and as all +the owners of the kit bags were carrying an uncomfortable amount of +ordnance stores on their backs, the heap of luggage soon became +submerged beneath a still greater heap of energetic and perspiring +humanity, until the scene looked not unlike a very much disturbed +ant-hill.</p> + +<p>But I am exaggerating. Yet, the exaggeration of my words, written in a +calm moment of thought is far less vociferous than the exaggerated +words used at the time during the frantic endeavour to seek one's +solitary kit bag, and extricate it in such a scramble.</p> + +<p>But at last the four of us, bent double by our packs, and freely +perspiring in the heat of an August day, could be seen rolling, +pushing, kicking, and dragging our worldly belongings off the platform +towards the station entrance, to seek the hospitality of an ancient +hack. And then we drove away, our kit and our equipments stacked high +around us at precarious angles, and completely submerging the +occupants, to the delight of the people who stood and watched us in +open-mouthed amazement.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER IV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>CROSSING THE CHANNEL</h3> + +<h4 class="title">THE DOCK PORTER. A WHIFF OF BOND STREET</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Arriving at the dock we reported to the embarkation officer, and were +given a pass to leave the dock, but bearing the strict injunction that +we must embark at 6 <span class="fakesc">P.M.</span></p> + +<p>When you cross to France for the first time you are so nervous about +missing the boat and running the risk of a court-martial, or some +other such dreadful suggestion, that you hardly dare to leave the dock +gates, and you are certainly waiting at the gang-plank a full fifteen +minutes before the appointed time.</p> + +<p>But those who are no longer novices to the mysterious calculation of +those who regulate our army traffic, would, on receiving such +instruction, immediately repair to the best hotel, there to regale +themselves in a glorified afternoon tea, and afterwards seat +themselves in the front row at <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>the local Empire; subsequently rolling +up at the ship's side shortly after 9 o'clock, to find that the +troop-ship is not due to sail for another hour at least.</p> + +<p>Having enjoyed all the pleasure of such disregard to orders, and +arriving in due course at the ship's side, I searched around for my +baggage and for means of getting it on board. I had not far to look, +for there were a number of soldiers standing about, whose evident duty +it was to do the necessary fatigue work.</p> + +<p>I call them soldiers because they were dressed in khaki; but the +King's uniform could not disguise the fact that they were the old-time +dock porters. There is something about the earnest, anxious look of +the dock porter, as he tenders you his services, which even the +martial cut of a military uniform cannot hide. His adopted profession +in peace, inscribed so deeply in his face and bearing, cannot be +hidden so easily by the curtain of war.</p> + +<p>A lance corporal approached me, and, assuring me that nothing would go +astray that was left in his charge, slung my kit over his shoulder +with professional skill and followed me up the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>gang-plank, placing my +belongings carefully down in what may once have been the cabin of the +ship. He crossed his legs, leaned heavily with one arm on my baggage, +and tipping his cap on the back of his head to enable me to see the +exact amount of perspiration upon his forehead, and breathing heavily, +so that I might form an exact estimate of the fatigue he had +undergone, he waited in hopeful expectancy.</p> + +<p>I gave him a tip.</p> + +<p>It is against all regulations to tip a soldier; but it seemed such a +natural thing to do, for his khaki uniform could not hide the habit of +years.</p> + +<p>He did not salute, but touched his cap. I smiled to myself as I +watched him depart. He was a soldier now; but the uniform could not +disguise the fact that he was still a dock porter.</p> + +<p>We had a splendid crossing, and I shall not readily forget the +romantic atmosphere of that night.</p> + +<p>The sea was calm, and a full moon cast a silvery, shimmering pathway +across the water.</p> + +<p>All lights on board the troop-ship were extinguished, and with black +smoke belching from the funnels, and the vibrations of the engines +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>trembling through the ship, we made our dash across the Channel.</p> + +<p>Who but those whose duty it is to perform the arduous task of +protecting our troop-ships can understand and appreciate what it means +to live the life of the sailor on those comfortless-looking +destroyers.</p> + +<p>Night after night, week after week, throughout the years, tearing +frantically up and down, seeking a hidden foe; daring the treacherous +mines; safeguarding their trust with apparent disregard for their own +safety.</p> + +<p>The men who perform such duties are hidden heroes; and the safe +transportation of our fighting millions across the seas is a silent +tribute of their bravery.</p> + +<p>This work goes on, and will go on until the end of the war, and the +men who perform this great task do so with the knowledge that only +failure can bring their names before the public.</p> + +<p>I met many old friends on board, and several new ones. But one man in +particular attracted my attention, for his appearance seemed so +strangely out of place with the surroundings.</p> + +<p>Standing near the companionway, and looking <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>upon the scene with a +bored expression, was a young man in the thirties, in a brand-new +uniform, with a single star on his shoulder-strap, which proclaimed +him to the world as a second lieutenant.</p> + +<p>He was rather tubby in appearance, with a round, chubby face, which +was screwed up in a frantic effort to retain within its grasp a +monocle, through which he viewed his fellow beings in mute +astonishment; and what is more, he wore new kid gloves. It was +Septimus D'Arcy, dressed in immaculate neatness, radiating the +atmosphere of Bond Street; indifferent to everybody, yet with a +horrified look of discomfort at finding himself in such unusual +surroundings.</p> + +<p>I had hardly turned from the strange scene when Collins caught hold of +my arm.</p> + +<p>"Come over here; I want to introduce you to a friend of mine, who, I +believe, is coming out to be attached to us," he said.</p> + +<p>We walked along the deck, and, to my embarrassment, a few moments +later I found myself shaking the limp paw of Septimus D'Arcy, glove +and all.</p> + +<p>I am not quite sure that Septimus, on my <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>introduction, did anything +more than open his mouth, while I raised and lowered his right +forearm. Septimus would have spoken, I am quite sure, as the movement +of his mouth indicated that such was his intention; although the +expression, or rather lack of expression, on his face, bore no proof +that his remarks, if uttered, would be very interesting. In fact, +Septimus needed encouragement.</p> + +<p>"We are having a very pleasant crossing," I ventured.</p> + +<p>"Ye-s," he drawled, "but a demned overcrowded one—what?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so, but troop-ships are always overcrowded."</p> + +<p>"I say, though, where does one sleep?"</p> + +<p>I rather suspected that what Septimus really wanted to know was +whether there was such a thing to be had as a private cabin, where he +could disrobe his tubby figure in seclusion.</p> + +<p>"There seems to be two places to sleep," I replied; "either in the +boiler-room or on deck."</p> + +<p>"On deck! Rather uncomfortable—what?"</p> + +<p>"Well not nearly so uncomfortable as it may be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>later. I am just going +down to get my kit and lay it out on deck," I said. "Hadn't you better +get yours, too?"</p> + +<p>I went down below, leaving Septimus with his mouth still open, and his +round nose wrinkled up with an expression of discomfort. But he made +no move to accept my invitation.</p> + +<p>I unrolled my kit on the deck by the side of a long row of officers +who were already comfortably settled for the night. On either side of +each officer were his war kit and a life-belt.</p> + +<p>I got into my sleeping-bag, and not feeling very sleepy, I lit a +cigarette and looked upon my surroundings.</p> + +<p>The scene was a very inspiring one, and I could not help dreaming of +the future. What had destiny in store for us? Who would return in +glory? And who would be called upon to pay the great price—to come +back bleeding and disabled, dependent for future existence upon the +benevolence of a nation's gratitude?</p> + +<p>The ship sped onward, carrying its human freight. Greater and greater +grew the distance from loved ones left behind. Nearer and nearer we +sped towards the unknown future.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>How many of those lying around, silent companions of their thoughts, +were thinking the same as I?</p> + +<p>What was the future? Horror, anxiety, success, failure, mutilation, +death; which was it to be? And what a change this was to the times we +had had in the past.</p> + +<p>We were all civilian soldiers: lawyers, merchants, bankers, and +tradesmen. Fighting was not our profession nor desire.</p> + +<p>Whose power was it to transform these lives so ruthlessly from the +habits of peace to become instruments of war? Whose was the hand which +plucked us from homes and families, to hurl us into the caldron of +hell? Was it the ambition of a nation, guided by the despotic +direction of a tyrant?</p> + +<p>We knew it and believed it. We could not remain idle to see our homes +and families suffering the destruction and barbarities inflicted on +Belgium. The fire of hell blazed by the petrol of German fury must not +be wafted in the direction of our beloved country.</p> + +<p>The call had been answered, and these silent forms of England's sons +were speeding through <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>the night in the direction of danger, at the +bidding of a nation in peril.</p> + +<p>My cigarette was finished, and I was becoming sleepy. I turned over to +settle myself comfortably, and turning my eyes in the direction of the +companionway, I saw the tubby figure of an officer standing near the +rail, immaculately dressed, and in strange contrast to his +surroundings.</p> + +<p>It was Septimus D'Arcy, immaculate and indifferent. Septimus was at +war; but Septimus was still in Bond Street.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER V<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>GOING UP THE LINE</h3> + +<h4 class="title">PERFIDIOUS GANG-PLANKS. D'ARCY STRANDED. GUIDES WHO CANNOT GUIDE. A +HEATED ARGUMENT</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Next morning we were disturbed early, and rolled up our kits ready for +disembarkation.</p> + +<p>About 7 <span class="fakesc">A.M.</span> we pulled alongside the wharf, and a +light-hearted, jostling crowd struggled for the gang-plank.</p> + +<p>I have not yet been able to find out why gang-planks are made so +narrow, so that only one person at a time dare undertake the passage.</p> + +<p>Chaos seemed to prevail. The deck suddenly became a struggling mass of +humanity, struggling, tugging, and dragging at valises and kit bags.</p> + +<p>Officers were manfully shouldering their "marching order," and +struggling with their valises, hoping that their turn would come to +find a footing on the gang-plank.</p> + +<p>The gang-plank was long and narrow, bending and squeaking under its +burden. There were two <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>gang-planks: one to go down and one to come +up.</p> + +<p>But we were not sailors, and did not know the system; the inevitable +result being that those going up met those coming down, until they +became an unwieldy medley of men, baggage, protests, and apologies.</p> + +<p>Gang-planks at the best of times appear structures of absurdity. They +either appear to be placed at an angle so dangerous that the only safe +way of getting ashore appears to be to sit down and slide. At other +times the gang-plank has an unhappy knack of sagging in a precarious +manner as you approach the middle, while a couple of sailors hold +desperately on to the end to prevent its slipping off the dock.</p> + +<p>Here we reported to the landing officer, who was making frantic +endeavours to create order from chaos.</p> + +<p>In circumstances of this kind the best thing to do with the landing +officer is to keep clear of him. So we seized the only hack available +and drove to one of the leading hotels, which had the reputation of +being popular.</p> + +<p>I am not quite sure if these conveyances are called hacks, but the +name seems very <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>appropriate; for carriage seems too dignified a term +for such dilapidated vehicles.</p> + +<p>We were, however, too glad to get away as rapidly as possible from the +dusty deck, and it was already getting very hot.</p> + +<p>Turning into one of the side streets, we beheld the immortal Septimus, +looking like one who is hopelessly lost in the middle of the Sahara +Desert.</p> + +<p>Now Septimus was not a born soldier, and he had made no attempt to +carry his equipment on his back; neither would it seem right for +Septimus to carry any greater burden on his podgy form than his +well-polished Sam Brown. So his equipment lay on the pavement beside +him. He had evidently dragged it some little distance, and looked upon +it as a beastly nuisance, and was standing there vainly hoping that a +taxi would come to his rescue and help him carry the beastly thing +away.</p> + +<p>We gave Septimus a lift, as he evidently needed looking after.</p> + +<p>Arriving at the hotel, we all tumbled into the dining-room for +breakfast, all except Septimus D'Arcy, who made straight for the +nearest bar, and was last heard of that day tapping a coin <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>vigorously +on the counter, and with the perspiration standing in beads on his +nose, frantically screeching for a whisky and soda.</p> + +<p>Two days later I received a slip of paper which warned me that I was +to proceed up the line that evening.</p> + +<p>I was a senior officer, and would have charge of all the troops +departing that evening. If you have never had that job, take my tip +and avoid it; for of all the thankless tasks the poor devil who +suddenly finds himself O.C. train, has the most difficult one of all.</p> + +<p>I reported to the camp adjutant, an awfully decent sort of chap, and +as a farewell gift he placed in my hands a pile of documents and +several sheets of printed instructions.</p> + +<p>"There you are, old chap, you will find everything there."</p> + +<p>"Why, what is all this about?" said I, holding on to the mysterious +bundle of papers which he thrust into my hands.</p> + +<p>"That is a complete record, in duplicate, of all the troops in your +charge. When you get to the station hand those papers over to the +R.T.O."</p> + +<p>"How many men have I charge of?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>"Rather a big crowd going to-night—38 officers and 1,140 other +ranks."</p> + +<p>"What regiments do they belong to?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I think you have got men who belong to nearly every regiment +serving in France. There are reinforcement draughts going to various +units, and numerous men returning from leave. You've got English, +Scotch, Canadians, and Australians. You've got cavalrymen, +artillerymen, engineers, and infantrymen. Believe me, you've got your +hands full to-night.</p> + +<p>"You will find a guide at the head of the column who knows the way to +the station. It's a good five miles from here."</p> + +<p>When I got outside I found the column nearly a quarter of a mile long, +formed up ready to march off.</p> + +<p>I gave the order to move to all those within reach of my voice, and +trusted to the remainder to follow on.</p> + +<p>It was quite dark as the long column moved slowly down the long +boulevards. I had not the faintest notion where the station was. +Wherever I went that long, unwieldy column would slowly follow me, and +trust blindly to my direction. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>I pinned my faith to the guide, and on +we went.</p> + +<p>Before we had got half-way it became evident that the guide had a very +remote idea which was the direction to take; and he began to make +anxious inquiries of passers-by as to the right way.</p> + +<p>I was beginning to feel anxious and lose patience.</p> + +<p>"What are you fussing about for? Are you taking us the right way?" I +demanded.</p> + +<p>"I think so, sir. I don't know."</p> + +<p>"You don't know! But you are the guide, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. But I've never been to the station before."</p> + +<p>"But you are supposed to be the guide. Do you mean to tell me that you +are not sure of the way?"</p> + +<p>"Not quite, sir. But I am doing my best."</p> + +<p>"Well, you are a fine sort of guide! Who detailed you?"</p> + +<p>"The adjutant, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, did he know you had never been down to the station before?"</p> + +<p>"He never asked me, sir. I was not doing any <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>other duty, so he +detailed me to act as your guide."</p> + +<p>What staff work! But it served me right; and we muddled along, and +finally, to my great relief, we entered the station yard.</p> + +<p>I walked into the R.T.O.'s office and laid my pile of papers on his +desk.</p> + +<p>The railway transport officer is an individual who is prominent in the +memory of all those who have passed up the line; and many of us have +reason to remember at least one of them with indignation.</p> + +<p>There are two kinds of R.T.O.'s, and you have met them both.</p> + +<p>There is the one who has earned his job at the front by hard work. He +has been through the thick of the fighting, and after months in the +trenches has been sent back to act as R.T.O. at the rail-head or the +base, to give him a well-earned rest beyond the sound of the guns. We +have no unpleasant memories of him. He is a man; he is human; he +treats you as a comrade; he is helpful and considerate. And you can +spot such men in a moment.</p> + +<p>But R.T.O. No. 2 carries no sign of war on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>his features. He has never +heard the sound of guns, and never intends to, if he can help it.</p> + +<p>Look back upon the time when you left the base, and you find him +prominent in your memory. When you are huddled up in your dugout, how +you wish he could be transferred to you for a tour of duty in the +trenches.</p> + +<p>What a delight it would be to send him in his immaculate uniform; his +highly polished leggings and boots, along the muddy communication +trenches. You know what the feeling is, for oftentimes you have said +to yourself in those lonely night-watches: "How I wish I had him +here!"</p> + +<p>It is 2 o'clock in the morning; the rain is coming down in torrents; +danger lurks in every fire-bay; the loneliness and the weirdness give +you the creeps.</p> + +<p>How you wish you could wake him up by digging him in the ribs, and +telling him that it is time to go on his tour of duty up and down +those clay-sodden trenches at the hour of the night when his courage +(if he ever had any) would be at its lowest.</p> + +<p>What a delight it would be if we only had him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>with us when we take +over our trenches, to show him that foul-smelling, rat-ridden dugout, +and tell him to curl himself up to sleep there.</p> + +<p>How sweet would be the joy to see him in his pale-coloured breeches, +huddled up in a saphead, trying to get a little comfort on a cold, raw +December morning, from a drop of tea in a tin mug, well smudged with +the wet clay of numerous fingers.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER VI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>RATIONS</h3> + +<h4 class="title">I LEARN TO HATE FOOD. MATHEMATICAL PROBLEMS</h4> +<br /> + +<p>We arrived at Rouen at 7.30 the following morning. I had to report to +the R.T.O. by 9.30, and in the meantime 3,534 rations had to be cut up +and distributed on the station platform among 1,178 officers and men.</p> + +<p>Have you ever had such a problem as that? If not, then avoid it, if it +ever comes your way.</p> + +<p>The train was about twice the length of the platform, so on arrival it +was broken in half, and the rear half shunted on to another line.</p> + +<p>The rations were contained in two trucks, attached to the rear half of +the train, so the contents had to be carried by hand across several +sets of rails, to the end of the platform.</p> + +<p>I had a fatigue party of 60 men at work, and presently a huge quantity +of provisions began to pile up. There were chests of tea, cases of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>biscuits, cases of jam, cases of bully beef, sugar, and bacon +sufficient to fill the warehouse of a wholesale provision merchant.</p> + +<p>Three days' rations for 1,178 officers and men, in bulk; and 1,178 +officers and men began to gather around the stack, in hungry +expectancy of breakfast.</p> + +<p>Now to issue rations to a battalion straight from bulk is quite +difficult enough, but to issue rations from bulk to units of various +strengths, belonging to over fifty regiments is enough to drive any +one crazy.</p> + +<p>Each man was entitled to two and one-fourth ounces of tea, one-fourth +ounce of mustard, two and one-fourth pounds of biscuits, three-fourths +pound of cheese, twelve ounces of bacon, one tin of bully beef, nine +ounces of jam.</p> + +<p>Each unit had to be dealt with separately, so that each unit presented +a mathematical problem of the most perplexing kind. Each unit sent up +its fatigue party to draw rations, whilst I and several officers who +had volunteered to assist me made a bold attempt at distribution.</p> + +<p>"Come along, first man, what's your regiment?"</p> + +<p>"Manchester, sir; 59 men."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>I looked through my volume of papers to check his figures.</p> + +<p>"Quite right! Fifty-nine men."</p> + +<p>Fifty-nine men meant fifty-nine times two and one-fourth ounces of +tea, one-fourth ounce of mustard, two and one-fourth pounds of +biscuits, three-fourths pound of cheese, twelve ounces of bacon, one +tin of bully beef, and nine ounces of jam. My brain whirls when I +think of those problems.</p> + +<p>The next unit consisted of 9 men; the next of 1; then came a long list +of 2's, 5's, and 7's, and so on; and in each case the mathematical +problem had to be worked out; and when the figuring was finished, the +stuff had to be cut up.</p> + +<p>Seventy-nine pounds of cheese for the Manchesters; does any one know +what seventy-nine pounds of cheese looks like? No one did; we had +never seen so much cheese before in our lives.</p> + +<p>"Give him a whole cheese and chance it. And now tea; the Manchesters +want one hundred and thirty-two and three-fourths ounces of tea. Give +him about three handfuls and chance it."</p> + +<p>The next party consisted of 2 men.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>"Six ounces of jam for the 19 Canadians; how much is that?"</p> + +<p>"Nearly half a pot."</p> + +<p>"What are you going to put it in?"</p> + +<p>"Got nothing."</p> + +<p>"Can't have any, then?"</p> + +<p>"Come on, next man."</p> + +<p>When I saw the last of that stack of food it was 11.30. We were hungry +and tired, and we made our way to the nearest hotel, fervently hoping +that we might never see food in bulk again.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER VII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>ST. AMAND</h3> + +<h4 class="title">I REPORT AT HEADQUARTERS. THE PROBLEM OF VENTILATION</h4> +<br /> + +<p>We made our way back to the station and secured a very luxurious +compartment; and to my intense relief on this occasion I found there +was an officer senior to me present, who succeeded to the duties of +O.C. train.</p> + +<p>The duties of O.C. train are a new sensation to most officers; and it +is particularly difficult to know just what to do, and how to do it, +when you have an unorganised body of men made up of sundries from +every part of the British army.</p> + +<p>Our new O.C. train evidently felt the difficulties of his position, +and came to me for assistance.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," he said, "but were you in charge of the train last +night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I'm sorry to say I was."</p> + +<p>"Well, what does one have to do?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>"Nothing."</p> + +<p>"Well, but how does one keep order?"</p> + +<p>"One doesn't keep order. But they've given me a pile of printed +instructions, and I don't see how they can possibly be carried out. +How can I keep order in a train half a mile long with men I know +nothing about?"</p> + +<p>He was getting worried. I knew the feeling.</p> + +<p>"Do you want a tip," I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you can give me one."</p> + +<p>"Well, just walk along the train until you find a very comfortable +compartment marked, 'O.C. train.' Get inside, lock the door, pull down +the blinds and go to sleep."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, awfully. I think I'll take that tip."</p> + +<p>"By the way," I shouted after him, "what is our destination?"</p> + +<p>"Haven't the faintest idea."</p> + +<p>"Does anybody know?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, awfully."</p> + +<p>The train journey was uneventful, save for alternatively eating and +sleeping, and two days later I reported at battalion headquarters.</p> + +<p>The battalion was in rest billets at St. Amand; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>and I was posted as +second in command to B Company.</p> + +<p>The officers of B Company were just about to begin their midday meal +when I put in an appearance at the company mess.</p> + +<p>Captain George commanded the company. He was a splendid type of the +fighting man of the present day—young, active, and clear-cut, boyish, +yet serious. Captain George was made of the right stuff, and we became +chums on the spot.</p> + +<p>The other officers of the company were Second Lieutenant Farman, who +had just received his commission in the field, Second Lieutenant +Chislehirst, and Second Lieutenant Day.</p> + +<p>They were all splendid fellows, the type you meet and take to at once; +all as keen as ginger when there is serious work to be done; and when +work is over are as light-hearted as schoolboys.</p> + +<p>The mess consisted of a dilapidated kitchen, with a stone floor, and +ventilated by the simple method of broken windows and a door removed +from the hinges.</p> + +<p>In those northern farmhouses of France it is purely a matter of +opinion as to whether ventilation is really an advantage; for from the +yard <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>in front of the house the odour from the refuse and manure of +the farm, piled up in a heap outside your window, becomes very acute +when the wind is in the wrong direction, as it usually is.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER VIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>EARLY IMPRESSIONS</h3> + +<h4 class="title">BILLETS. A STARTLING INCIDENT. REST CAMP</h4> +<br /> + +<p>I shall never forget the day I made my first inspection of billets.</p> + +<p>While walking through the village street I noticed a structure which +appeared to be inviting some stray breath of wind to cause it to +surrender its last resistance by collapsing into a heap of rubbish.</p> + +<p>Many years ago, in days of prosperity, it had served the purpose of a +covering for cattle, for I believe cattle are not very particular in +northern France.</p> + +<p>It is quite within reason to suppose that, with a view of misleading +his cattle into a false sense of security, the farmer may have called +it a barn. It had never been an expensive structure, nor did it give +any evidence of having ever laid claim to architectural beauty.</p> + +<p>But its simplicity of construction was a marvel <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>of ingenuity. Yes, it +was a barn, but who but a genius of modern arts would have thought it +possible to build even a barn by the simple but equally economical +method of erecting a number of props and simply sticking mud between?</p> + +<p>But the stability of the barn was, as might reasonably be supposed, +subject to "wind and weather permitting," and was now sorrowfully +deploring its advancing years, and anxiously waiting an early +opportunity to rest its weary limbs in a well-earned rest in a +shapeless heap on the ground that gave it birth.</p> + +<p>How very strange! Out of the numerous holes in the wall I saw familiar +faces, while inside a score of men were laughing and joking, playing +cards or lounging about in loose attire, as though they were enjoying +the freedom and comfort of a West End club.</p> + +<p>"But what are you men doing here?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"This is our billet, sir," answered a lance corporal.</p> + +<p>"Your billet? Do you mean you sleep here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, this was allotted to half my platoon."</p> + +<p>"Comfortable?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Quite a treat after the trenches."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>"A bit draughty, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; but, like everything else, we have to get used to it."</p> + +<p>"But can't you find a better place than this, and with more room? You +seem to be almost on top of each other."</p> + +<p>"There is no other place available. The men are quite satisfied, sir."</p> + +<p>I turned away thoughtfully. What magnificent chaps! And yet, when they +were in comfortable billets at Haywards Heath, or in well-built huts +at Fovant, they were far more particular; when they were recruits and +spent their first night in the army, they looked with dismay at the +prospect of sleeping on a clean straw mattress in a well-built modern +English house.</p> + +<p>War makes men, and hardships breed content!</p> + +<p>I will pass over our life in the trenches in this part of the line, +but an incident worth recording occurred while we were marching back +after five days amongst the rats and mud of the trenches facing +Gommecourt Wood.</p> + +<p>It is interesting, by the way, to watch the men leaving the trenches +for their rest billets, for, in addition to their packs, they carry +many <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>an additional article of private belongings to add to their +comfort during these tedious days of duty, and they emerge with all +kinds of curious packages and extra articles of clothing strapped or +tied to their equipment. They were covered with mud and clay before +they left the front-line trenches, but the long journey along endless +communication trenches on their way out, gathered up an additional +covering of clay and mud through their bulky attire, until they +resembled a curious assembly of moving débris.</p> + +<p>But the incident I have referred to occurred just as we were +approaching a village.</p> + +<p>An observation balloon was being drawn down, but when within a hundred +feet of the ground suddenly broke away and began to rise rapidly and +drift towards the German lines.</p> + +<p>I halted the men, and we watched in breathless suspense the tragedy +which was about to take place before our eyes. There was some one in +the basket of the balloon.</p> + +<p>It rose higher and higher. Nothing could save it! Presently the +occupant was seen to lean over the side and throw out a quantity of +books and papers.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>Still upward it went, and seemed to reach a great height before the +next sensation caused us to thrill with amazement.</p> + +<p>Something dropped like a stone from the basket and then, with a sudden +check, a parachute opened, and a man was seen dangling from it. When +he dropped, the balloon must have been many thousand feet in the air, +and both balloon and parachute continued to drift towards the German +lines.</p> + +<p>Then a flight of four or five British aeroplanes went up and soared +around the balloon, evidently bent on its destruction.</p> + +<p>As we watched we saw a flash and a puff of smoke! A bomb had struck +the balloon, but seemed to have no effect.</p> + +<p>The aeroplanes withdrew, and a minute later we heard the boom of the +anti-aircraft guns.</p> + +<p>The second shot was a dead hit, for we saw a flash of fire clean +through the centre, a volume of blue smoke, and then it buckled in the +middle. The flame spread, and the blue smoke increased in volume until +the balloon resembled a curious shapeless mass, twisting and turning +and shrinking as it quivered and fell to earth; meantime, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>anxious +eyes were also turned to the parachute, which by this time had +approached to within a few hundred feet or so of the earth.</p> + +<p>Both armies must have watched the spectacle in silent wonder, for no +shot was fired at the falling figure from the German lines.</p> + +<p>It was difficult to tell from where we were just where it might fall. +It seemed to me from where I stood that the odds were in favour of it +reaching the ground in No Man's Land.</p> + +<p>As it neared the earth it began to sway to and fro, in ever-increasing +violence, and finally disappeared from view behind a clump of trees. +So far as I could observe, it did not seem in any way possible for the +parachute to have delivered its human freight safely to the earth.</p> + +<p>Next day we began a three days' march to a village some thirty-eight +miles back of the line.</p> + +<p>We were to be rested and fattened for the Somme.</p> + +<p>The mention of rest camps to men at the front generally raises a +smile, for if there is one thing more noticeable than anything else +during a rest period, it is the hard work which has to be done.</p> + +<p>The long days of training, the unlimited fatigue <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>work, and the +never-ending cleaning of tattered uniforms and trench-soiled boots are +equalled only by the fastidiousness of an Aldershot parade.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER IX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>DEPARTURE FOR THE SOMME</h3> + +<h4 class="title">CORBIE. HAPPY VALLEY. PASSING THROUGH THE GUNS</h4> +<br /> + +<p>On Sunday, September 2, our so-called rest came to an abrupt finish, +and we entrained for an unknown destination. Destinations are always a +mystery until the train pulls up with a jerk, and peremptory orders +are given to get out.</p> + +<p>The difference in travelling as a civilian and travelling as a soldier +is that in the former case you choose your time of departure or +arrival at a convenient hour; while in the latter case the most +unearthly hour is selected for you.</p> + +<p>We arrived at Corbie at 2 <span class="fakesc">A.M.</span> Not that we knew it was Corbie +at the time, or cared; and even if we had known, we should have been +little the wiser. Still, I will say this about Corbie, that it is +pronounced in the way it is spelled, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>that relieves one of a sense +of uneasiness. For, as a general rule, no matter how you pronounce the +names of a French town, you will find some one with an air of superior +knowledge, or gifted with a special twist of the tongue, who will find +a new pronunciation.</p> + +<p>However, we detrained onto the line. The night was as black as pitch. +Sleepy soldiers, struggling with their equipments, dropped out of the +carriages; and after a great deal of shouting we got into some kind of +formation, and the long column slowly moved off into the night.</p> + +<p>I dropped into position in the rear of the column, feeling very tired, +and wondering where I should find a place to sleep. The long column +wended its way through narrow streets and along cobbled roads, and +gradually seemed to melt into mysterious doorways under the guiding +influence of quartermaster sergeants.</p> + +<p>This process went on until I suddenly realised that the whole column +had disappeared, and I was left alone in the streets of Corbie at 3 +<span class="fakesc">A.M.</span> in a steady downpour of rain, without the faintest +notion of where I was, or where my billet was. I walked a little +farther down the street, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>being very tired, wet, and sleepy, had +almost decided to lie in the street until the morning, when I tumbled +across Farman, Chislehirst, and Day following the faithful +quartermaster-sergeant to an unknown billet.</p> + +<p>The billet consisted of a bathroom in one of the outbuildings of a +large estate. The door of the bathroom had been locked, and the water +had been turned off. However, we scrambled through the window. The +floor was hard, but we had a roof above our heads, and we were all +soon snoring on the floor, fast asleep.</p> + +<p>Next morning I took a walk around the estate and found myself in a +lovely orchard. It was deserted. An abundance of most delicious fruit +met my gaze wherever I went. I wandered up and down, picking the +apples and the pears, biting the fruit and throwing it away. I felt +like a bad boy in an orchard; but the orchard was deserted and the +fruit was going to waste; so if I was looting, I consoled myself with +the thought that I was preventing waste.</p> + +<p>It was about 1.30 in the afternoon, and I had just settled myself down +in a comfortable seat under an apple-tree, and had pulled a Sunday +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>newspaper out of my pocket; it was a hot September day, and I was +feeling lazy.</p> + +<p>I was bound for the Somme. There was a mysterious air about the place +that seemed unnatural. These beautiful gardens were deserted, but the +sound of the guns could be heard in the distance.</p> + +<p>I had settled myself comfortably, trying to imagine with the aid of +the Sunday paper and a cigar that I was really sitting in my own +gardens, when I noticed a man filling his water-bottle.</p> + +<p>"What are you filling your water-bottle for?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"We have got orders to parade at 2 o'clock, to move off."</p> + +<p>"Good Lord! Who told you that?"</p> + +<p>"Captain Wilkie, sir. The orders have just come down."</p> + +<p>I never had such a scramble in my life. With an appetite oversatisfied +with apples; my kit spread all over the floor; my company half a mile +away in all sorts of holes and corners—to move out of the village in +twenty minutes.</p> + +<p>It's the same old thing in the army; you say to yourself it can't be +done; but it is done. And <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>at five minutes past two the whole brigade +was moving out of Corbie, and was once more facing towards the Somme.</p> + +<p>Our destination was in Death Valley; but before going into the line we +rested a few days in Happy Valley. Happy Valley and Death +Valley—there is a touch of sarcasm about the names, but they are, +nevertheless, very appropriate.</p> + +<p>Happy Valley is a peaceful spot where we would sit contentedly in the +afternoon puffing at our pipes, listening to the sound of the guns; +watching the shrapnel bursting in the air some two or three miles +away, and thanking our lucky stars that we were watching it from a +distance. But we were resting. It was a lull before the storm, and we +were soon to march towards the storm.</p> + +<p>Death Valley was three miles away, and to-morrow the storm would break +upon us! We were thinking; men everywhere were writing. Why were they +biting their pencils and thinking so hard? The padre was a busy man. +Everything was so quiet and mysterious: there was no joking, no +laughing, men were thoughtful and pulled hard at their pipes. +To-morrow the storm would break! To-morrow! And what after?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>The following afternoon, after struggling across a sea of shell-holes, +we arrived at Death Valley and halted by Trones Wood. Here hundreds of +our guns of all sizes were massed, wheel to wheel, and row upon row; +and every gun was being worked as hard as possible.</p> + +<p>A bombardment was taking place. And in the midst of all these guns we +were halted for two hours until our trenches could be located. The +sight was wonderful. It was impressive. The might of Britain was +massed and belching forth its concentrated fury.</p> + +<p>As darkness came on the roar of the guns was accentuated by the flash +of the discharge. We did not speak, for speaking was out of the +question; the noise was too terrific; and we lay on the ground +silenced by wonder and bewilderment.</p> + +<p>What was happening over yonder where those shells were dropping? What +was that droning, whistling noise far overhead? They were the big +guns: the 15-inch, five miles back; 16-pounders, 4·9-inch, 6-inch, +9-inch, 12-inch, and 15-inch. Guns here, guns there, guns everywhere; +all belching and flashing; all concentrating in a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>stupendous effort +to pound some part of the German line into confusion.</p> + +<p>Ammunitions workers in England, and those who should be munition +workers, come right over here; creep with us along the edge of Trones +Wood, and watch this amazing sight. You miners, you tramway men, you +boiler-makers! You, who would throw down your tools and strike, look +upon this sight!</p> + +<p>This is the voice of England. This is the stupendous effort which is +protecting you. On your right, that dark, creepy, silent place, is +Trones Wood. Look across to your left, those sticks showing on the +sky-line, across the valley. In those woods, churned up in the soil, +lie the rotting bodies of your comrades, your brothers, your sons. +They have sacrificed all; they have suffered untold deaths.</p> + +<p>The contrast between that thundering voice of England and the silent +mystery of those woods causes a shudder. Bring out those strikers and +let them get a glimpse of this and realise their danger, and the +horrors which will come upon them, their wives, their children, their +homes, if those guns fail.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>What is their quarrel to this? Shall we stop those guns for a penny an +hour? Shall we leave unprotected those desperate men across the +valley, who are hanging on tooth and nail to those last trenches +gained? Shall we do these things for a penny an hour? Shall we do +these things so that we can stand up for these so-called rights in +England?</p> + +<p>No! Our mines must be worked; our boilers must be made; and our +munition machinery must be run to its utmost capacity, or we are +traitors to those guns and our fighting men; our brothers, our own +sons, who are depending upon the might of England for victory and +their lives.</p> + +<p>Throw down your tools, slacken your machinery, and High Wood and +Trones Wood will become blacker still with the mutilated bodies of a +thousand men. A penny an hour! You, who are being coddled under the +protection of these guns, what is your quarrel to this?</p> + +<p>If those desperate fellows on the other side of the hill were to leave +their tasks, they would be called traitors. Yet, when men in England, +whom these fighters are dependent upon, and whose work is just as +necessary for the success <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>of the war, throw down their tools, they +are only called strikers.</p> + +<p>The crime is the same; the punishment should be the same.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER X<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>ARRIVAL ON THE SOMME</h3> + +<h4 class="title">FEEDING THE GUNS. SEPTIMUS D'ARCY ARRIVES. A CURIOUS KIT</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Late that evening orders came to move into the trenches on the far +slope of the Valley of Death. Trenches here, trenches there, trenches +everywhere, while we groped around without knowing where the trenches +led to, or the position of the German lines.</p> + +<p>We spent an anxious night, the uncertainty of our position and mystery +of those massed guns, thundering their wrath into the darkness of the +night, caused a tension which defied any desire to sleep.</p> + +<p>What was the meaning of it all? What was happening over yonder, where +the iron of England's anger was falling, bursting, tearing, killing? +What was happening over there? Would we receive a similar reply? The +signs were significant: we were at last on the Somme; we were in for +it with a vengeance.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>The next morning broke bright and fair, and found us still awake with +eyes peering anxiously through the rising mist. We were evidently not +in the front line, but were there on the Somme; and that sea of +shell-holes which everywhere surrounded us told its own story of what +had been, and what was yet to be.</p> + +<p>At about 11 o'clock all eyes were turned towards High Wood, on the +crest of the hill to the left. A burst of shells from the enemy's guns +told that a target had been found. We watched, and presently we could +faintly see a column slowly moving along the road through the wood.</p> + +<p>Three ammunition wagons moved slowly towards our guns. Crash! A 5.9 +fell in front of the leading horses; a cloud of dense, black smoke +arose and blotted the picture from view. The smoke cleared, and the +little column was still moving slowly forward, undisturbed and +indifferent. Crash! Crash! Two more shells burst by the side of the +second wagon; the smoke cleared; the horses were startled and giving +trouble, but once again the defiant little column moved slowly +forward, indifferent and undismayed.</p> + +<p>We continued to watch the plucky little column, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>now obscured by the +black smoke of the bursting shells, then again emerging from the +smoke, heedless of danger.</p> + +<p>Those men were human. How could they stand it with such calm and +determined indifference? The answer was the guns: the guns must be +fed; and British grit and discipline were unconquerable. The army is +wonderful.</p> + +<p>At this moment I received a message calling me to headquarters, and I +at once went to find my C.O.</p> + +<p>"Well, had a good rest?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Not much, sir."</p> + +<p>"Stuff and nonsense; get your map out."</p> + +<p>I spread my map out on my knees and took a note-book out of my pocket.</p> + +<p>The C.O. pointed on the map with his pencil:</p> + +<p>"We are here; the —— Regiment is there."</p> + +<p>"Front line, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Right bang up in the front line."</p> + +<p>"What are the trenches like, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No time to dig trenches; they're hanging on to a few shell-holes, +though they may have connected them up by now. See, there's Combles, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>and that's Leuze Wood. We shall be on the extreme right of the British +army. B Company will be on the right; C Company in the centre, and A +Company on the left with D Company in support. Headquarters will be +close by Falfemont Farm."</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir."</p> + +<p>"You won't find any farm left; been blown to dust. Men are to go in +battle order; packs are to be parked just outside here, by companies. +No. 5 platoon will move off at 7 <span class="fakesc">P.M.</span>, the remainder +following in succession at fifty yards' interval."</p> + +<p>I understood, and turned to go.</p> + +<p>"By the way, I am not sure whether the Germans are in that trench or +the —— Battalion, London Regiment. Anyhow, that's where we've got to +be to-night."</p> + +<p>Half an hour later and the men were laying out their packs in long +rows, by companies. Strange sight, all these packs laid out in neat +rows. The reason did not need explaining. There was work at the other +end of that Valley of Death; there lay the pit of the Great Adventure. +Perhaps to-night we should look into it; but how many would come back +to claim their packs.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>We are in the soup with a vengeance! Well, who cares?</p> + +<p>Early that afternoon I went to my dugout, and was just trying to get a +little rest, when I was disturbed by a voice outside, which sounded +strangely familiar.</p> + +<p>"Sergeant, excuse me, but is this the beastly hole where B Company is +to be found?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, this is B Company's line."</p> + +<p>"'Pon me word, extraordinary place! Demned hot; walked nearly five +miles. Where's the captain?"</p> + +<p>"In his dugout, sir, near that shell-hole."</p> + +<p>"I've got to report to him; will you tell him I'm here?"</p> + +<p>"Hadn't you better go to him, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Is that the thing to do?"</p> + +<p>At that moment, unable to restrain my curiosity, I came out of my +dugout, and there, sure enough, was none other than the irresistible +pattern of Bond Street, Septimus D'Arcy, by all that was wonderful!</p> + +<p>There he was, with his monocle riveted in his right eye, between the +frown of his eyebrow and the chubby fatness of his cheek, with the +bored <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>expression of one who saw no reason for the necessity of the +fatigue which caused the undignified beads of perspiration to assemble +on an otherwise unruffled countenance. A pair of kid gloves, buttoned +together, were hanging from the belt of his Sam Brown, and four inches +of a blue-bordered silk handkerchief dangled from his sleeve. As he +approached he half carried on his arm and half dragged along the +ground, the burden that was known as his full marching order.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Septimus!" I said, as he came along, dragging his things +behind him.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Hellow! Well, I'm demned! Never expected to find you here; +awfully glad to meet you again."</p> + +<p>"What are you doing here?"</p> + +<p>"I'll be demned if I know! Uninteresting spot this—what?"</p> + +<p>"Well, what have you come here for?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing much. I saw a fellow in that big dugout in the valley, and he +told me to report to you. The fact is, you know, you are attached to +me, or I'm attached to you, or something of that sort."</p> + +<p>"Well, you are not in Havre now; there are <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>snipers about, and if you +stand up there like that, you'll get hit."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say so; that seems perfectly safe."</p> + +<p>"Well, get down, and don't be a fool."</p> + +<p>He carefully got down into the trench, leaving his equipment behind, +probably hoping it would get lost, and we entered the dugout.</p> + +<p>"I must tell you, captain, I am horribly fatigued. I came through the +guns; very interesting and all that, but it's made my head ache."</p> + +<p>"Have some water. It's rather muddy, but better than nothing these +days."</p> + +<p>"No, thanks; doctor warned me against drinking dirty water; dysentery +and all that, don't you know. Any whisky and soda?"</p> + +<p>"Look here, Septimus, now you are here, you must drop that nonsense."</p> + +<p>"All right, old thing. I rather doubted the soda, but thank Heaven +I've got a flask; a sort of emergency ration. Help yourself and let's +drink it neat."</p> + +<p>"How long have you been in the army, Septimus?"</p> + +<p>"Three months. Why?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>"Like it?"</p> + +<p>"Not bad. Saluting seems rather absurd; but it seems to please some. I +longed to come out; thought it would be interesting and all that sort +of thing. But so far I've had nothing to do but get from place to +place, carrying a beastly load with me."</p> + +<p>"Probably your own fault. I have never seen a pack or haversack +crammed so full. What have you brought with you?"</p> + +<p>"Necessaries; but not half what I shall need. Has my kit arrived?"</p> + +<p>"My dear chap, you will never see your kit up here; and what is more, +you will have to leave most of those things you have brought with you +behind, before you go up the front line. Dump your things out here, +and I will tell you what to take."</p> + +<p>We emptied his pack and haversack. I have never in all my life seen +such a lot of rubbish in the war kit of a soldier. There seemed to be +nothing there he would really need; but a curious mixture of strange +articles which would fill a fancy bazaar. There were hair-brushes with +ebony backs and silver monograms, silk <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>handkerchiefs with fancy +borders, a pinky tooth-paste, oozing out of a leaden tube; and crushed +between a comb and a pair of silk socks, a large bottle of reddish +tooth-wash, sufficient to last him three years; and half of which had +leaked through the cork to the destruction of about a dozen silk +handkerchiefs, spotted and bordered in fanciful shades. There was a +box of cigars, a heavy china pot of massage-cream, a pot of +hair-pomade, a leather writing-case, a large ivory-backed mirror, +which had lost its usefulness for ever, a bottle of fountain-pen ink, +two suits of silk pajamas, one striped with pink and the other blue, a +huge bath-towel, a case containing seven razors, one for each day in +the week, and a sponge as big as his head. Poor Septimus! in his +simplicity and ignorance, for the first time in his life he had packed +his own kit.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>DEATH VALLEY</h3> + +<h4 class="title">MOVING OVER BATTLE-FIELDS. —— BATTALION, LONDON REGIMENT, IN +POSSESSION. THE MYSTERY TRENCH. FALFEMONT FARM</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The final preparations completed, the first platoon began to move off; +other platoons followed at intervals, the column slowly wending its +way through the Valley of Death to its mysterious destination.</p> + +<p>We seemed to be going into the unknown; the air was full of mystery; +it was uncanny, unnatural. We were moving over battle-fields. The +ground was a mass of shell-holes; progress could only be made by +walking in single file along a narrow footpath, which twisted in +tortuous persistency between the shell-holes, causing innumerable +halts and starts, until the column tailed off into an endless line of +shadowy figures.</p> + +<p>Here and there the men became lost to view in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>some gun-ridden cavity; +whilst there again they appeared silhouetted against the moonlit sky, +as man by man they appeared and disappeared from view over a rise in +the ground.</p> + +<p>Those who had fallen in the desperate struggle of the previous week +lay yet unburied. Friend and foe alike shared the shelter of the +heavens, clutching at the soil of France in the agonies of death. +There are times when the sight of death excuses the quivering step and +the irrepressible sob from the hearts of those who pass onward to +brave a similar fate.</p> + +<p>The Valley of Death was a silent tomb of the wrath of nations, that +long, winding Valley of Death, where the bodies of friend and foe lay +side by side, or clutched in a desperate embrace, marked the line +where the fury of nations found its expression, like the scar of a +devil's vengeance.</p> + +<p>As I looked on the bodies of the dead, twisted and mutilated, limbless +and torn, some half buried in débris—here and there lying doubled in +unnatural positions, while others yet, seemed to be clutching at some +mortal wound—I felt like one who fearfully treads into the vortex of +Dante's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>inferno. Yes, this was the devil's own hell, but a hell far +more dreadful than I had ever imagined it to be.</p> + +<p>After a tiring, disheartening trudge, we found the spot we were to +occupy, and, to our intense relief, the —— Battalion, London +Regiment, were in possession.</p> + +<p>After the usual formalities of the relieving and taking over of the +line of shell-holes which marked the position, I stopped for a final +word with one of the —— officers:</p> + +<p>"How many casualties?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"About fifty in two days—bit tough, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Been attacked, then?"</p> + +<p>"No; shelled like billyho. They've got the range nicely."</p> + +<p>"Where's the Boche?"</p> + +<p>"Don't quite know; somewhere in front. About eight hundred yards away +there's a trench which forms three sides of a square, each side about +three hundred yards, with the open side resting on Leuze Wood, and the +lower end extending into the wood."</p> + +<p>"Fritz there?"</p> + +<p>"In the upper part, yes; but the lower part is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>a bit of a mystery. +The part that extends into the wood the —— Regiment are holding; but +the rest of it the Boche seems to have. At least, that's what I think. +Awkward position! Well, cheer oh!"</p> + +<p>After a sleepless night I anxiously waited the rising mist to take a +view of my surroundings. There, on the right, was a high table-land, +with a frowning bluff overlooking the town of Combles, which slowly +emerged, house by house, from the rising mist.</p> + +<p>In the trench the right man of my company was vigorously shaking the +hand of a French soldier, who marked the left of the French army.</p> + +<p>There, straight in front, could be faintly seen the trench formed in +the shape of a square, and left of it Leuze Wood. But what were those +peculiar stumps to the left of our trenches? They looked like the +remains of a copse which had been shelled until only the stumps of a +few trees remained. And where was Falfemont Farm? There was no sign of +it anywhere. I was not sure of my position on the map; it was +puzzling.</p> + +<p>I went over to consult the French officer on my right:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>"Morning, monsieur," I said, approaching a smart young officer.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Good morning; you relieve the —— Battalion, London Regiment, +already—yes?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; last night. I came to ask you what those stumps are over there; +they are not marked on the map. Do you happen to know?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! Oui; zat is Falfemont Farm. Nothing left now; very bad place that +farm. Zay say one whole brigade of infantry was lost in storming that +farm. Yes, nasty place, that farm, M. le Capitaine."</p> + +<p>I went back to my trench. I didn't like the look of things. If +Falfemont Farm got blown to smithereens like that, what chance did I +stand? Whew! I was getting the wind up.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>OUT IN NO MAN'S LAND</h3> + +<h4 class="title">SUDDEN ORDERS. THE BEGINNING OF A GREAT ADVENTURE. DIGGING IN</h4> +<br /> + +<p>After a strenuous day's work, during which I had only time to take a +mouthful of bread and cheese, which I carried in my pocket, I espied +an orderly making his way towards me.</p> + +<p>"The C.O. sent me, sir; you're wanted at once."</p> + +<p>"Oh! any news?"</p> + +<p>"I think we are in for a binge, sir."</p> + +<p>"Which is the way to headquarters?"</p> + +<p>"About two hundred yards back. Follow that narrow little track which +winds around the shell-holes, and you can't miss it. Don't leave the +track, or you will lose your way."</p> + +<p>On arriving at H.Q. I found a small group of officers bending +anxiously over a map. The C.O. turned to me as I approached:</p> + +<p>"Ah! There you are. Get your books out, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>and take down your +orders—ready! You are to take command of B Company. Well, now, here's +our position; there's Combles and there's Leuze Wood. Take your +company out into 'No Man's Land,' and extend along a line facing half +right to our present position, with your left resting on the wood. C +Company will be in the wood on your left; and A Company will be on +your right—understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"You'll dig in to-night, and to-morrow we are going to take that +trench that's formed like a square, to prepare the way for a frontal +attack on Combles by the French. You'll take the upper portion of that +perpendicular trench, passing the wood on your left."</p> + +<p>"Then, I shall have to cross over the lower trench; isn't that +occupied, sir?"</p> + +<p>"The battalion bombers will clear that out for you during the night."</p> + +<p>"When is zero hour, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know; I've told you all I know at present. Take ten flares, and +send up two when you arrive at your objective, and send up another two +at 6 o'clock the following morning."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>"What about ammunition and water, sir?"</p> + +<p>"The water you've already got is supposed to last forty-eight hours. I +don't know about ammunition; I think there's an ammunition dump in the +wood, but I will find that out and let you know. All right; it's dark +enough now."</p> + +<p>Sch!—Crash!—Zug! A 5·9 burst on the parapet a few yards away. The +thud of an awky bit was felt in our midst, and the sergeant-major +jumped up, holding his foot. The C.O. looked up without turning a +hair:</p> + +<p>"Any one hurt?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Only my boots, sir," replied the sergeant-major, suspiciously feeling +his heel.</p> + +<p>I took my departure and began to grope around in the dark in search of +the narrow track which would guide me back to my company. I searched +for about ten minutes, but in vain, and I became for a while +hopelessly lost in a mass of shell-holes. I knew the direction +roughly, but direction was of little use in that wild confusion of +broken ground and débris.</p> + +<p>What if I should be lost all night? What would they think? It would be +put down to funk. A cold perspiration came over me. I felt <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>an +overwhelming sense of loneliness amidst that gruesome scene of +destruction; and to crown it all, a feeling of responsibility and +anxiety which made the craters seem deeper as I frantically scrambled +out of one and into another. At last, to my intense relief, I found +the little footpath and reached my trench safely.</p> + +<p>Time was getting on. I gave orders for the men to dress and lie flat +on the parados, ready for the word to move. When all preparations were +completed, and bombs, picks, and shovels issued to each man, I +signalled the advance, and with a few scouts in front and on the +flanks, we slowly moved in single file into the unknown.</p> + +<p>It was a pitch-black night, intensified by a slight fog, and I took my +direction by compass bearing, wondering all the while if it would lead +me right.</p> + +<p>The men marched in silence. Nothing could be heard but the muffled +footsteps over the soft ground, and occasional jingling of a spade or +pick against the butt of a rifle.</p> + +<p>Distance became exaggerated, and fifty paces seemed like five hundred, +until I began to get a horrible fear that my compass had misled me, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>and that countless German eyes were watching me leading my men into +the midst of their guns. Where were we going? When would we get back, +and how many of us? Call it funk or what you like, but whatever it is, +it's a devilishly creepy feeling; and when at last I found myself +close to the edge of the wood, I felt as if I were arriving home.</p> + +<p>But the real job had not yet begun. I signalled the halt to the +leading file, and passed the word to turn to the right and extend two +paces to the right and lie down. I next ordered a sentry group, +consisting of one section to be sent out by each platoon to occupy +shell-holes fifty yards in front as a protection against surprise.</p> + +<p>The platoon on the left was to bend its flank to face the edge of the +wood, and get in touch with C Company in the wood; while the platoon +on the right secured connection with A Company. One Lewis-gun section +took up position on the left flank at the corner of the wood, whilst +the other Lewis gun protected my right.</p> + +<p>These precautions against surprise being completed, I ordered the men +to dig for all they were worth; rifles with bayonets fixed, and +magazines <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>charged to be placed within arm's reach at the back of the +trench, the earth to be thrown in front until the parapet became +bullet-proof.</p> + +<p>I spotted one man leaning on his shovel, and looking vacantly into the +darkness.</p> + +<p>"Dig, man! Don't stand looking about you," I whispered hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"The ground's hard, sir; it's all chalk here."</p> + +<p>"Don't be a fool! Dig! I tell you we may be discovered any minute. If +we get shelled you'll be glad enough of a hole to lie in."</p> + +<p>Passing along the line, I overheard two men talking in an undertone:</p> + +<p>"How do you like it, Timmy?"</p> + +<p>"Fed to the teeth. It's all very well for the skipper to say: 'Dig +like hell!'—Seems quiet enough here."</p> + +<p>"Heard about Bill? Went balmy just after we started. He began by +laughing and crying; he was as mad as a hatter. He nearly put the wind +up us in the rear. The skipper sent him back with a couple of +stretcher-bearers."</p> + +<p>"Poor old Bill, hard luck. Thought he couldn't stand much. Got any +water?"</p> + +<p>"Not a drop; I'm as dry as a brick."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>"Shut up; there's the skipper standing there."</p> + +<p>The conversation stopped; but the latter part worried me not a little. +Water-bottle empty, good Lord! and no more water for forty-eight +hours.</p> + +<p>All of a sudden the sky was illuminated. Half a dozen Very lights went +up in rapid succession: we were discovered!</p> + +<p>A moment or two later from two different points, three reds and a +green light went up, falling in our direction. Every man stopped work +and looked up in amazement. We were in for it; we wanted no telling.</p> + +<p>"Dig like hell!" I whispered hoarsely, hurrying along the line of +wondering men.</p> + +<p>But they wanted no urging this time, and every man set to work with +feverish energy.</p> + +<p>Then the bombardment commenced, and in a few minutes the air was +filled with whistling shells, screeching through the night and making +the darkness hideous.</p> + +<p>We were only a foot below the surface of the ground. Once again I +hastened along the line:</p> + +<p>"Dig like hell!"</p> + +<p>Lights were going up in rapid succession, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>the German line whence +they came appeared only a couple of hundred yards in front, and seemed +to form a semicircle around my left flank.</p> + +<p>Clack! Clack! Clack! What was that?—Rifles! My sentry groups were +firing. Again the rattle of rifles, this time all along the line of +sentry groups.</p> + +<p>"Stand to!"</p> + +<p>Every man seized his rifle and crouched in the pit he had dug and +faced his front. We waited: the bombardment had stopped, and the crack +of the rifles alone disturbed the night.</p> + +<p>I drew my revolver and waited in breathless suspense for the sudden +rush which seemed imminent.</p> + +<p>Were our preparations to be nipped in the bud, after all? Would it be +a sudden rush; a desperate hand-to-hand fight?—and then, what then?</p> + +<p>The minutes passed like hours in an agony of suspense, and then, +unable to bear the strain any longer, I crept cautiously forward into +the inky darkness towards one of the sentry groups to find out what +was amiss.</p> + +<p>"Halt! Who is there?"</p> + +<p>"O.C., B Company."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>"Advance!"</p> + +<p>"What's up?" I asked, sliding into the shell-hole beside the corporal.</p> + +<p>"There seemed to be a patrol moving about in front; it's all quiet +now, sir."</p> + +<p>"All right; double the sentries for the next hour."</p> + +<p>I returned to the line and ordered the men to continue digging.</p> + +<p>The bombardment continued, but by and by we began to grow accustomed +to the din. Several casualties occurred; but still the work of digging +in continued.</p> + +<p>Time was getting on, and I must make my plans for to-morrow's attack.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later I chanced to notice a figure sitting leisurely in +a shell-hole.</p> + +<p>"Why, Septimus, is that you?"</p> + +<p>"I think so; I say, I think so. Unearthly row; devilishly dangerous +place, this—what?"</p> + +<p>"But what are you doing in there?"</p> + +<p>"I was just coming to talk to you about ammunition. A shell burst, and +my face is simply covered with dust. Has the ammunition arrived yet?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>"No; there's an ammunition dump in the wood somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Like me to go and find it?"</p> + +<p>I looked at him in amazement. It wasn't funk then, that made him seek +safety in that shell-hole. Was it possible that dear old Septimus, +this bland, indifferent tubby, blasé old thing of Bond Street, was +anxious to go into that creepy, mysterious wood to look for +ammunition?</p> + +<p>"All right; take a corporal and 12 men, and bring back six boxes. +Don't take unnecessary risks; we shall need every man to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Septimus sprang out of the shell-hole, saluted in the most correct +manner—something quite new for him—and disappeared in the darkness.</p> + +<p>This was a new side of Septimus's character which had not shown itself +before. Only the stoutest heart would have chosen to wander about in +that wood at midnight, with enemy patrols lurking about. Septimus was +a man, after all.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later he passed me, leading his men. He gripped my hand +as he passed, with the remark: "Well! Ta-ta, old thing."</p> + +<p>"Cheer oh!"</p> + +<p>And Septimus was gone. We may call men <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>fops, simple vacant fools, or +what we like; but the war has proved over and over again that the man +within the man is merely disguised by his outer covering. Many a Bond +Street Algy, or ballroom idol has proved amidst the terrors of war +that the artificial covering of a peace-time habit is but skin-deep; +and the real man is underneath.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>A NIGHT OF ALARM</h3> + +<h4 class="title">SEPTIMUS IN A NEW RÔLE. SAVING THE AMMUNITION. THE LAST CARTRIDGE</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Just then a movement in the rear of my position attracted my +attention. A number of men were approaching; then halting, they sat on +the ground, while two figures continued on towards me.</p> + +<p>They were Second Lieutenant Wade, the intrepid scout officer, and +Second Lieutenant Brady, in command of the battalion bombers. It was +Brady who spoke first:</p> + +<p>"Hullo! Getting peppered pretty hot, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Rather lively! Where are you off to?"</p> + +<p>"I've got orders to bomb out that mysterious trench you've heard so +much about, in order to clear the way for your attack to-morrow. I'm +going in front of your line and along the edge of the wood."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>I despatched a runner to warn the sentry groups, and presently the +little group of bombers disappeared round the edge of the wood into +the darkness on their adventurous errand, the success of which would +mean so much to me on the morrow.</p> + +<p>All this time the work of digging is continued with unabated anxiety, +shells dropping around unceasingly.</p> + +<p>All of a sudden I was startled by a rattle of musketry in the +direction of the wood. There was silence; then several more shots +followed by a rushing, tearing noise, and yells.</p> + +<p>Almost at the same moment the ammunition party emerged breathlessly +from the wood.</p> + +<p>I ran forward to where the men were dropping the ammunition boxes on +the ground, and falling exhausted. For a moment or two they were too +breathless to speak. I counted the men: there were 12 of them, and the +six boxes of ammunition had safely arrived.</p> + +<p>But where were Septimus and the corporal? All was silent in the wood. +I turned to the nearest man who was by this time sitting up, holding +his head in his hands.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>"Where is Mr. D'Arcy and Corporal Brown?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"God knows, sir! They stayed to cover our retirement."</p> + +<p>"What happened?"</p> + +<p>"We found the ammunition dump, sir, and were just beginning to move +the boxes when we heard some one moving. We grabbed our rifles and +waited. There seemed to be quite a number crawling around us. Mr. +D'Arcy ordered us to retire at once, and get the ammunition away at +any cost; he said he would stay behind and cover our retreat, and +Corporal Brown offered to stay with him. We hadn't got far, sir, when +they opened fire; bullets hit the trees and whizzed over our heads. +Then we heard a rush and some yells. I distinctly heard something in +German, and Mr. D'Arcy's voice shout back: 'Kamarade be damned!' Then +there was a scuffle; that's all I know."</p> + +<p>My heart beat wildly as I listened to this story. Good God! what did +that silence mean? There was no further time to be lost.</p> + +<p>I ordered a relief party and led the way into the wood. There was not +a sound to be heard <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>as we crept forward on our hands and knees +towards the spot where the ammunition had been found.</p> + +<p>What was that? We listened breathlessly, and again we heard a low +groan almost in our midst. There was a shell-hole just in front, and +crawling along on all fours, I found Septimus D'Arcy, wounded and +helpless, with his left leg almost blown away, and bleeding from the +head.</p> + +<p>"What's up, D'Arcy? What has happened?" I whispered hoarsely.</p> + +<p>A faint smile of recognition came over his pale face as I supported +him in my arms. His words came painfully:</p> + +<p>"The ammunition—is it—safe?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite safe."</p> + +<p>"But what happened after they left?"</p> + +<p>"I stayed behind—with the corporal—to protect their retirement. We +opened rapid fire—to draw German fire on to us. I saw six creeping +forward. They called to us—to surrender. I refused—demn them! They +threw bombs—killed the corporal—dirty dogs! smashed my leg—nothing +much. I picked off three—with my revolver—never used beastly thing +before; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>two bolted—last one jumped at me—with bayonet. That's him +there—just got him—last cartridge."</p> + +<p>Septimus was lying heavily on my arms. Nothing could be done for him; +I saw the end was at hand.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, captain! Knew you'd come. Don't know much about +soldiering—good sport; shan't have to carry that—demned pack again."</p> + +<p>A placid smile came over his chubby face as he gasped out the last +words. His monocle was still firmly fixed between his fat cheek and +his eyebrow. Once more he seemed indifferent to his surroundings.</p> + +<p>In front of him, the silent evidence of his plucky stand, were the +dead bodies of four Germans. By his side lay a revolver. I picked up +and examined the chamber; the last cartridge had been fired!</p> + +<p>The men had gathered around; their caps were off. Septimus seemed to +be looking up smilingly into their faces.</p> + +<p>Septimus was dead! But Septimus was still in Bond Street!</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XIV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>NEXT MORNING</h3> + +<h4 class="title">A COUNCIL OF WAR. OPERATION ORDERS. A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Three <span class="fakesc">A.M.</span> Heavy shell-fire still continues. I have just +ordered the men to cease work and take rest. Trench is about two feet +deep; men are dead beat.</p> + +<p>4 <span class="fakesc">A.M.</span> Have just received three pages of operation orders. We +are to attack at 4.45 <span class="fakesc">P.M.</span> in four ways, starting from the +trenches we have been digging, and advancing diagonally from the +corner of the wood across the open; passing over the mystery trench +and taking the central trench.</p> + +<p>I have only a vague idea at present where that is. Am fervently hoping +that the battalion bombers have solved the mystery trench and cleared +it. No news from them yet. God knows what has been happening there +during the night.</p> + +<p>5 <span class="fakesc">A.M.</span> Have just held a council of war with my officers and +N.C.O.'s, and explained in detail my plans for the attack. Very +impressive sight, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>seeing them all crouching around me in a +shell-hole, with shells bursting around us, while they listened +intently to my orders.</p> + +<p>"Each officer is to carry his papers in lower right-hand hip pocket; +and if he fails, the nearest man is to search the pocket and hand the +contents on to the next senior. I intend to attack in the following +order:</p> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" width="50%" summary="Attack Plan"> + <tr> + <td class="tdl" width="50%">First wave</td> + <td class="tdl" width="50%">No. 5 Platoon</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Second</td> + <td class="tdl">No. 6 "</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Third</td> + <td class="tdl">No. 7 " and</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Fourth wave</td> + <td class="tdl">No. 8 "</td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p class="noin">Eighty yards interval between each wave. Bombing sections of Nos. 5 +and 7 to be on the right, and Nos. 6 and 8 on the left of their +respective platoons.</p> + +<p>"No. 1 Lewis Gun to be on the right of the second wave; No. 2 Lewis +Gun to be on the left of the fourth wave.</p> + +<p>"Two runners from each platoon to report to me five minutes before +zero hour. My position, accompanied by the runners, will be between +the third and fourth wave.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>"On arrival at objective Lewis Gunners to establish strong points, +assisted by bombers at each end of objective. Each man to carry two +hundreds rounds of ammunition and three bombs; also three sand-bags in +his belt, and a pick or shovel tucked through his belt behind. Bombers +to carry each a sack, containing twelve bombs, but no tools."</p> + +<p>Strange warfare this, going into a fight like a navvy.</p> + +<p>5.30 <span class="fakesc">A.M.</span> Plans have been explained in detail to every man, +and orders given that if all officers and N.C.O.'s are knocked out, +the men are to carry on and finish the job themselves.</p> + +<p>Very foggy morning; we are able to finish digging trench.</p> + +<p>6 <span class="fakesc">A.M.</span> Astounding news. The battalion bombers have failed. A +few survivors, after fighting all night, have been driven into the +wood. The mystery trench over which I must cross is in the hands of +the Boches. Could we hope to accomplish the double task?</p> + +<p>The men heard the news in silence.</p> + +<p>7 <span class="fakesc">A.M.</span> Breakfast consists of some dirty bread and cheese, and +a little water.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>8 <span class="fakesc">A.M.</span> Fog lifted. Our position is correct. Can see objective +plainly about four hundred yards off. We can also be seen plainly, and +snipers are busy trying to pick us off.</p> + +<p>Have made a reconnaissance, and find intervening ground a mass of +shell-holes. Looks like a rough sea. The advance will be difficult; +the ground is so churned up. Not a square yard of unbroken ground.</p> + +<p>2 <span class="fakesc">P.M.</span> Everything is now in readiness, with nearly three +hours to spare.</p> + +<p>Have ordered men to eat their dinners, which consists of bread and +cheese at 3 <span class="fakesc">P.M.</span>, so that they will go into the fight on full +stomachs.</p> + +<p>I have had no sleep or proper food for nearly two days. Will lie down +and get an hour's rest before the attack.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>THE ADVANCE THROUGH LEUZE WOOD</h3> + +<h4 class="title">NEW OPERATION ORDERS. "AT ANY COST." LIKE RATS IN A TRAP</h4> +<br /> + +<p>I had hardly closed my eyes when a runner from headquarters came +hurrying along the line, and was directed to where I was dozing at the +bottom of a trench.</p> + +<p>"Message from the C.O., sir, very urgent."</p> + +<p>I signed the receipt and tore the envelope open. Good heavens! new +operation orders! I was astounded. I looked again, hardly daring to +believe my eyes. Sure enough, there was no mistake about it, three +pages of closely written operation orders. The head-line seemed to be +mocking me:</p> + +<p>"Fresh operation orders, cancelling those issued this morning."</p> + +<p>I read on: "You are to advance on through <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>Leuze Wood, and attack from +that part of the wood which forms the fourth side of the square-shaped +trench, thus attacking the inside of the square; B Company taking the +lower half, and C Company the upper half; A Company to be in support."</p> + +<p>A cold shiver ran down my back. What a calamity! and after all the +pains I had taken to work out the details of the attack, and that +dreadful night spent in digging these trenches to jump off from. Every +man knew what to do, and now at the eleventh hour the whole plan was +altered.</p> + +<p>I glanced again at the new orders:</p> + +<p>"You are to be at the new place of assembly by 3.30 <span class="fakesc">P.M.</span>; +zero hour is 4.45."</p> + +<p>I looked at my watch—Great Scott! it was already 2.15; at 3 +<span class="fakesc">P.M.</span> I must commence the advance through the wood.</p> + +<p>The men had not yet commenced their dinners. What time was there? and +how was it possible to sit down quietly and digest those three pages +of new orders and understand their meaning? What time had I to make +new plans and explain to each man his new task?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>There was not a moment to be lost; I turned to my two runners:</p> + +<p>"Dinners to be eaten at once. Platoon commanders wanted at the +double."</p> + +<p>I waited, and by and by the platoon commanders, Second Lieutenant +Farman and Chislehirst, and Sergeants Blackwell and Barnes, came +running along the top, snipers shooting at them as they ran along. +They halted on the parados, saluting as they came up, and, still +standing up, awaited orders, seemingly indifferent to the excellent +target which they presented.</p> + +<p>"Lie down flat," I ordered.</p> + +<p>They did as I directed, their faces turned anxiously toward me, +wondering what was up.</p> + +<p>"New operation orders just arrived from headquarters; previous orders +cancelled. We are to advance through the wood and attack from the +inside of the square."</p> + +<p>I hurriedly read the whole of the orders over to them, and they +listened silently.</p> + +<p>"Go back to your platoons. The men are to be dressed in battle order +by 2.50—it's now 2.30—by 3 <span class="fakesc">P.M.</span> the platoons are to be +closed up along the trench, and the leading platoon will <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>enter the +wood in single file, other platoons following."</p> + +<p>As I glanced up I noticed their faces were pale; they were listening +intently, but uttering no sound. They were receiving orders; they +realised their responsibility, and they knew their duty.</p> + +<p>The last paragraph was underlined. I hurriedly read it and looked up +at them again:</p> + +<p>"Just one more thing," I said. "These are my orders underlined:</p> + +<p>"<span class="sc">You must reach your objective at any cost. If driven back, you +are to make a stand at the edge of the wood, and hold out till the +last man falls.</span>"</p> + +<p>It sounded like a death sentence, a forecast of the hour of trial +which we were to face. Only those who have received such orders on the +field of battle can realise what it feels like.</p> + +<p>In those few dramatic moments we counted our lives as lost. We +recognised how desperate was our task. Success we might hope for; but +failure we must pay the price of. We must fight till the last man +falls—and yet we were merely civilian soldiers.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>I looked into their faces; our eyes met. I understood; I could trust +them; they could trust me.</p> + +<p>"That's all; return to your platoons and prepare to move."</p> + +<p>They had not uttered a word through all this; no words were necessary. +They jumped to their feet; saluted as though we were back on Salisbury +Plain, and the next moment ran along the parados to their platoons.</p> + +<p>I watched them, and saw them kneel down on the top of their trench, +indifferent to the snipers' bullets whistling about their heads, +hurriedly explaining the situation to their men.</p> + +<p>By 3 <span class="fakesc">P.M.</span> the men were ready and had closed along the trench +to the wood.</p> + +<p>The movement had been seen by the enemy, and a terrific burst of +firing commenced; although, at the time I could not see what effect it +was having.</p> + +<p>I waited several minutes, but there was no further movement along the +trench to indicate that the first platoon had entered the wood. I sent +forward the message, "Carry on," but still no movement resulted.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>At last, feeling something was wrong and unable to restrain my +impatience any longer, I jumped out of the trench and ran along the +parados.</p> + +<p>What I saw there appalled me for the moment; the wood in front of me +was filled with bursting shells; a continuous pr-r-r-r-r seemed to be +moving backward and forward, and bullets were whistling in all +directions.</p> + +<p>Good God! what a hell! No wonder the men hesitated! What was to be +done? My orders left me no alternative. I must advance through the +wood. My brain kept repeating the words, "At any cost!" What a cost it +would be to enter that hell! It was now, or never!</p> + +<p>We were hesitating; something must be done, and done quickly. I looked +at Farman, and I knew I could count on him.</p> + +<p>The next moment I leaped into a newly made shell-hole, about five +yards in the wood; called upon Farman to follow, and a moment later he +came jumping after.</p> + +<p>The noise was terrific. We yelled at the top of our voices for the +next man to follow.</p> + +<p>The next man to take the leap was the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>company sergeant-major. A piece +of shell struck him in the side, and he rolled over on the ground, +clutching at his tunic.</p> + +<p>Again we yelled for the men to come along; and one by one they took +the leap.</p> + +<p>When six of us were in the shell-hole it was time for us to empty it +to make room for others. Farman and I took it in turns to lead the +way, and this process went on through the wood, leaping from hole to +hole, and yelling at the top of our lungs for the others to follow us.</p> + +<p>By this time the scene inside the wood was indescribable. Machine-gun +bullets were spraying backward and forward; 6-inch shells were +exploding in all directions; and the din was intensified by the +crashing of trees uprooted by the explosions, and the dull thud of the +missiles striking the ground.</p> + +<p>Through the dull light of that filthy wood we frequently cast an +anxious glance towards the red rockets being sent up from the German +lines, directing the fire of their artillery towards us.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, in leaping forward, we would land beside the dead and +mutilated carcass of a German soldier who had fallen a week before. +It <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>was ghastly, terrible; and the millions of flies sucking at his +open wounds would swarm about us, seemingly in a buzz of anger at our +disturbance. But sickly and ghastly as the scene was, farther and +farther into this exaggerated hell we must go.</p> + +<p>By this time the cries of the wounded added to the terrors of the +scene. Each time we jumped into a shell-hole, we turned to watch the +men leap in. Each time it seemed that a new face appeared, and the +absence of those who had jumped into the last shell-hole was only too +significant.</p> + +<p>But, undaunted by their falling comrades, each man, in his turn, +leaped forward and would lie gasping for breath until his turn came +for another effort.</p> + +<p>Farman was the first to speak. It was his turn to take the next leap:</p> + +<p>"I don't think it really matters. There's a hole about thirty yards +away; I think I'll go straight for that."</p> + +<p>He got up and walked leisurely across, as though inviting the death +which seemed inevitable. He stopped at the shell-hole, and for a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>moment seemed to be looking down undecided whether to jump in or not.</p> + +<p>I shouted at him:</p> + +<p>"Don't be a damned fool; jump!"</p> + +<p>The next moment a shell burst between us, and I fell back into the +shell-hole. When I again looked out and my eyes could penetrate the +smoke, I saw no sign of Farman. I yelled, and to my intense relief I +saw his head appear. He was safe!</p> + +<p>Again and again the last paragraph of my orders seemed to be blazing +in front of me, and like a hidden hand from that dark inferno of +horrors, kept beckoning me forward, "<span class="sc">At any cost! At any +cost!</span>"</p> + +<p>Yes; this must be the end; but it's hell to die in a wood.</p> + +<p>The men used to call it Lousy Wood. What do they call it now? They +were brave fellows; and they were only civilian soldiers, too! They +used to be volunteers once. People would laugh, and call them Saturday +afternoon soldiers.</p> + +<p>Reviews in Hyde Park used to be a joke, and the comic papers +caricatured these men, and used them as material for their jests.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>They were only Territorials! That man, panting hard at the bottom of +the shell-hole, and still clutching at his rifle, is a bank clerk; +that man who fell at the last jump, with his stomach ripped up, was a +solicitor's clerk.</p> + +<p>Look at the others. Their faces are pale; their eyes are bulging. But +they are the same faces one used to see in Cornhill and Threadneedle +Street.</p> + +<p>Yes, they are only Territorials! But here in this filthy wood they are +damned proud of it.</p> + +<p>And what is taking place in England to-day?</p> + +<p>Is it really true that while all this is going on in Leuze Wood, +orchestras are playing sweet music in brilliantly lighted restaurants +in London—while a gluttonous crowd eat of the fat of the land? Is it +really true that women in England are dressing more extravagantly than +ever? Is it really true that some men in England are unable or +unwilling to share the nation's peril—are even threatening to strike?</p> + +<p>No! No! Do not let us think that this is the true picture of England. +If it is, then, Territorials, let us die in Leuze Wood!</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XVI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>THE ATTACK</h3> + +<h4 class="title">A DESPERATE SITUATION. BATTLE FORMATION. "FOR ENGLAND"</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Joy! The last leap I took landed me in a trench, and I found to my +great relief that it was the lower part of the square which ran +through the wood. A few yards along this trench it emerged into the +open, where it was in possession of the Germans.</p> + +<p>Farman and I sat down, side by side, breathing heavily from our +exertions.</p> + +<p>"That was hell, Farman," I said, hardly daring to trust my voice.</p> + +<p>"Awful!"</p> + +<p>"I hope the men are still following."</p> + +<p>"Those that are left."</p> + +<p>"Have a cigarette; it will buck the men up to see us smoking."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, I will, though I'm as dry as a bone."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>"Save your water; we've still got the attack to do. We've got an hour +yet; that will give the men time to recover."</p> + +<p>By this time, one by one, the men began to jump into the trench. As +the men arrived, their faces pale and eyes started, we called them by +name. They looked up and smiled with relief at seeing us sitting +there, side by side. They recognised that the last jump had been made, +and for the time being, at any rate, they were safe.</p> + +<p>We had started through the wood, about one hundred and thirty strong, +and barely eighty mustered for the final attack.</p> + +<p>Some men of C Company appeared, threading their way along the trench. +Farther in the wood, the commander, Lieutenant Barton, came up to +arrange details for the attack.</p> + +<p>"You got your new orders in time, then," I remarked.</p> + +<p>"Just in time. It's hell, isn't it? I've lost heavily already, and +we've still got to go over the top."</p> + +<p>"I've got orders to take half the battalion bombers from you; where +are they?"</p> + +<p>"I would like to keep them; there are not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>many left, and they are +badly broken up—been fighting all night."</p> + +<p>"All right, you keep them. I'm going to form up between here and that +broken tree. Will you form up farther to the left?"</p> + +<p>"All right. Well, I'll be off; cheer oh! old chap."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Barton. Good luck!"</p> + +<p>I never saw Barton again! I heard some months afterwards that he fell, +riddled with machine-gun bullets whilst leading his men into the +subsequent attack.</p> + +<p>"Pass the word for No. 8 Platoon commander," I ordered, wishing to +ascertain if the last platoon had arrived.</p> + +<p>A young sergeant came up at the double, and saluted.</p> + +<p>"I am in command, sir."</p> + +<p>His tone and manner inspired me immensely. Notwithstanding all the +danger we had passed through, he seemed to be full of ginger and pride +at finding himself in command of the platoon.</p> + +<p>"Where is Mr. Chislehirst, then?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Wounded, sir, in the wood; shot through the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>chest. The last I saw of +him he was giving another wounded man a drink from his water-bottle."</p> + +<p>"All right; do you understand your orders?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, quite."</p> + +<p>"Return to your platoon, and await orders to form up."</p> + +<p>He saluted and doubled back to his men. I forget his name, but he was +a fine fellow, that sergeant; quite cool, and evidently pleased at his +new responsibility.</p> + +<p>So poor old Chislehirst was hit; fine fellow; very young, only about +twenty; good company in the mess; reliable in the field. Just like him +to give his water-bottle to some one else when he could go no farther.</p> + +<p>Farman was my only subaltern left. Suddenly he gripped my arm and +pointed into the wood:</p> + +<p>"Look over there. Who are those fellows creeping along that trench?"</p> + +<p>I looked in the direction he was pointing, and there, to my +astonishment, on the very ground just vacated by C Company, about a +dozen figures in bluish grey were creeping along a shallow <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>trench. I +thought at first they were coming in to surrender; but they made no +signs, but were evidently making the best of cover.</p> + +<p>What were they up to? There were only about 12 of them, and I had +between 70 and 80 men. For such a small number to come out alone and +attack us seemed absurd, and I waited, expecting them to throw up +their hands and come in. Perhaps they thought they had not been seen. +I picked up a rifle, and taking aim, fired at the last man but one; I +missed.</p> + +<p>Still they kept creeping on. I fired a second time at the same man, +and he dropped. The thing didn't seem real, seeing those heads bobbing +along a trench; I felt for a moment as though I were shooting rabbits.</p> + +<p>The next moment I realised their object. By this time they had worked +well round my flanks. They were evidently a few daring men, who were +trying to creep up unnoticed, with the intention of throwing bombs +while we were in a congested area, occupied in forming up for the +attack. A daring ruse, but a clever one; for a dozen men throwing +bombs at close quarters could wipe us off the map, or, at any rate, +could do enough <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>damage by shock action of this kind to prevent our +attack starting.</p> + +<p>I dared not give any order to fire for fear of hitting the men of C +Company. The situation was desperate. I had no time to spare, for zero +hour was close at hand. The same thoughts were running through +Farman's mind.</p> + +<p>"Shall I have a go at them?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes; form up your platoon, and stick them with the bayonet; then join +the attack as a fourth wave."</p> + +<p>I watched Farman and his platoon with bayonets fixed, creeping on all +fours towards the German bombers. That was the last I saw of them, as +it was within 10 minutes of zero hour, and we were not yet in battle +formation.</p> + +<p>I heard afterwards that they did the job well. But to part with the +platoon and my only remaining officer at this critical moment was a +great loss to me; for I could not count upon them in the attack for +which I had now only three platoons left—about sixty men.</p> + +<p>Half my strength had gone, and the real attack had not yet begun. I +sent for the remaining platoon commanders and explained the +situation:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>"No. 6 Platoon will now become the first wave. Form up and extend +along the edge of the wood and await my signal to advance into the +open. No. 7 Platoon, form up immediately in rear; and No. 8 Platoon, +assemble in the trench close up. Bombing section of No. 6 will proceed +along the trench parallel with the advance, bombing it out as they go +along."</p> + +<p>The men formed up. The minutes seemed to be like hours. We were facing +the inside of the square trench, which was a mass of shell-holes, and +as though anticipating our intention, shells were bursting and bullets +whistling on all sides.</p> + +<p>How peaceful England must be at this moment; how pretty the villages! +And how wicked this hell seemed in front of us! And these were the men +of England—nice chaps, only Territorials.</p> + +<p>One used to meet them in the city every day. Some were awful nuts. See +them at lunch; watch them pouring out of Liverpool Street Station +between 9 and 10 o'clock in the morning, with newspaper and +walking-stick; see them in the banks, bending over ledgers. You could +hardly believe it; but these were the same men.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>They were not very trim just now; their hands are grimy as they clutch +at their rifles, undaunted by the terrors they have already passed +through and the sight of their fallen comrades left groaning in the +wood.</p> + +<p>There they are, extended and lying flat on the ground, waiting further +orders. They have come through one hell by the skin of their teeth, +and are patiently looking into another hell; their lives were counted +by minutes, these office men. But their eyes were fixed on the far +side of the square trench which was to be their objective; unless by +God's will, and for the sake of England, they found an earlier one.</p> + +<p>London men! Some may call you "only Territorials." Training has been +your hobby; but fighting was never your profession.</p> + +<p>What will England think of this? England may never know.</p> + +<p>Who ever heard of Leuze Wood before? If a man is killed in England +there is an inquest. People read about it in the papers.</p> + +<p>Are the people left behind in England suffering hardships +uncomplainingly, and gritting their teeth like you are? You are only +getting a bob <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>a day. England needs you; you are masters. Why don't +you strike at this critical moment?</p> + +<p>No, my lads; you are made of different stuff. You are men! There are +those in England this day who work for England's cause; there are +others who are enriching themselves by your absence; there are homes +which will feel your sacrifice.</p> + +<p>You have seen the wasted homes and the ghastly outrages in France; and +between that picture and the green fields of England you must make +your stand; those in England will depend upon you this day.</p> + +<p>Zero hour is at hand. Agonies, mutilation, and death are within a few +yards of you. There will be no pictures of your deeds; there are no +flags or trumpets to inspire you; you are lying on the dirty ground on +the edge of Leuze Wood, with hell in front of you, and hell behind +you—hell in those trenches on the left, hell in those trenches on the +right.</p> + +<p>One more minute and you will stand up and walk into it. My lads! It's +for England!</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XVII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>AT ANY COST</h3> + +<h4 class="title">OVER THE TOP. MAD, FIGHTING MAD. THE FINAL ASSAULT</h4> +<br /> + +<p>At last the thunder of our guns towards the German lines confirmed the +hour. Zero hour had arrived; the barrage had begun.</p> + +<p>"No. 6 Platoon will advance."</p> + +<p>The front line jumped up and walked into the open. Wonderful! Steady +as a rock! The line was perfect.</p> + +<p>On the left the front line of C Company has also emerged from the +wood; the bombers of No. 6 Platoon disappeared along the mystery +trench.</p> + +<p>The tut-ut-ut-ut of machine-guns developed from several parts of the +square, while the crack of rifles increased in intensity.</p> + +<p>No. 7 Platoon jumped up and advanced into the open, followed by the +third wave.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>I extended my runners and followed.</p> + +<p>What followed next beggars description. As I write these lines my hand +hesitates to describe the hell that was let loose upon those men. No +eye but mine could take in the picture so completely.</p> + +<p>Will the world ever know what these men faced and fought +against—these men of the City of London? Not unless I tell it, for I +alone saw all that happened that day; and my hand alone, weak and +incapable though it feels, is the only one that can do it.</p> + +<p>Barely had I emerged from the wood with my ten runners when a perfect +hurricane of shells were hurled at us, machine-guns from several +points spraying their deadly fire backward and forward, dropping men +like corn before the reaper. From all three sides of the square a +hurricane of fire was poured into the centre of the square upon us, as +we emerged from the wood.</p> + +<p>In far less time than it takes to record it, the attacking waves +became a mere sprinkling of men. They went on for a yard or two, and +then all seemed to vanish; and even my runners, whom I had extended +into line, were dropping fast.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>The situation was critical, desperate. Fearful lest the attack should +fail, I ran forward, and collecting men here and there from +shell-holes where some had taken refuge, I formed them into a fresh +firing-line, and once more we pressed forward.</p> + +<p>Again and again the line was thinned; and again the survivors, +undaunted and unbeaten, reformed and pressed forward.</p> + +<p>Men laughed, men cried in the desperation of the moment. We were +grappling with death; we were dodging it, cheating it; we were mad, +blindly hysterical. What did anything matter? Farther and farther into +the inferno we must press, at any cost, at any cost; leaping, jumping, +rushing, we went from shell-hole to shell-hole; and still the fire +continued with unrelenting fury.</p> + +<p>I jumped into a shell-hole, and found myself within ten yards of my +objective. My three remaining runners jumped in alongside of me. They +were Arnold, Dobson, and Wilkinson.</p> + +<p>Arnold was done for! He looked up at me with eyes staring and face +blanched, and panted out that he could go no farther, and I realised +that I could count on him no more.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>I glanced to the left, just in time to see three Germans not five +yards away, and one after the other jump from a shell-hole which +formed a sort of bay to their trench, and run away.</p> + +<p>Wishing to save the ammunition in my revolver for the hand-to-hand +scuffle which seemed imminent, I seized the rifle of Arnold and fired. +I missed all three; my hand was shaky.</p> + +<p>What was I to do next? The company on my left had disappeared; the +trench just in front of me was occupied by the Boches. I had with me +three runners, one of whom was helpless, and in the next shell-hole +about six men, the sole survivors of my company.</p> + +<p>Where were the supports? Anxiously I glanced back toward the wood; why +did they not come?</p> + +<p>Poor fellows, I did not know it at the time, but the hand of death had +dealt with them even more heavily in the wood than it had with us.</p> + +<p>My position was desperate. I could not retire. My orders were +imperative: "You must reach your objective at any cost." I must get +there somehow. But even if we got there, how long could I hope to hold +out with such a handful of men?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>Immediate support I must have; I must take risks. I turned to brave +Dobson and Wilkinson:</p> + +<p>"Message to the supports: 'Send me two platoons quickly; position +critical.'"</p> + +<p>Without a moment's hesitation they jumped up and darted off with the +message which might save the day.</p> + +<p>Dobson fell before he had gone two yards; three paces farther on I saw +Wilkinson, the pet of the company, turn suddenly round and fall on the +ground, clutching at his breast. All hope for the supports was gone.</p> + +<p>At this moment the bombing section, which by this time had cleared the +mystery trench, arrived on the right of the objective; and to my +delirious joy, I noticed the Germans in the trench in front of me +running away along the trench.</p> + +<p>It was now, or never! We must charge over that strip of land and +finish them with the bayonet. A moment's hesitation and the tables +might again be turned, and all would be lost. The trench in front must +be taken by assault; it must be done. There were six or seven of us +left, and we must do it.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>I yelled to the men:</p> + +<p>"Get ready to charge, they are running. Come on! Come on!"</p> + +<p>I jumped out of the shell-hole, and they followed me. Once again I was +mad. I saw nothing, I heard nothing; I wanted to kill! kill!</p> + +<p>Pf—ung!</p> + +<p>Oh! My God! I was hit in the head! I was blind!</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XVIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>LEFT ON THE FIELD</h3> + +<h4 class="title">THE MYSTERY OF DEATH. THE SECRET CODE. TWO TERRIBLE DAYS</h4> +<br /> + +<p>I was wounded! I was blind! But the moments that followed are clear in +my memory. The brain shocked by a blow works quickly and actively in +its excited effort to hold its own.</p> + +<p>I was quite conscious and thinking clearly: I knew what had happened +and what would happen; I remembered every detail.</p> + +<p>My head at the moment was inclined to the right, for I was shouting to +the men. Like a flash I remembered that about fifty yards to the left +of me there was a "German strong point" still occupied by the Germans. +A bullet had entered my left temple; it must have come from a sniper +in that strong point. The bullet had passed clean through my head; I +thought it had emerged through my right temple. I was mistaken on that +point, for I found some days later <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>that it had emerged through the +centre of my right eye.</p> + +<p>I remember distinctly clutching my head and sinking to the ground, and +all the time I was thinking "so this is the end—the finish of it all; +shot through the head, mine is a fatal wound."</p> + +<p>Arnold jumped up, and catching me in his arms, helped me back into the +shell-hole.</p> + +<p>I hesitate to tell what followed. But as I am trying to record the +sensations experienced at the time of receiving a head wound, I will +describe the next experience simply, and leave the reader to form his +own conclusions.</p> + +<p>I was blind then, as I am now; but the blackness which was then before +me underwent a change. A voice from somewhere behind me said: "This is +death; will you come?"</p> + +<p>Then gradually the blackness became more intense. A curtain seemed to +be slowly falling; there was space; there was darkness, blacker than +my blindness; everything was past. There was a peacefulness, a +nothingness; but a happiness indescribable.</p> + +<p>I seemed for a moment somewhere in the emptiness looking down at my +body, lying in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>shell-hole, bleeding from the temple. I was dead! +and that was my body; but I was happy.</p> + +<p>But the voice I had heard seemed to be waiting for an answer. I seemed +to exert myself by a frantic effort, like one in a dream who is trying +to awaken.</p> + +<p>I said: "No, not now; I won't die." Then the curtain slowly lifted; my +body moved and I was moving it. I was alive!</p> + +<p>There, my readers, I have told you, and I have hesitated to tell it +before. More than that, I will tell you that I was not unconscious; +neither did I lose consciousness until several minutes later, and then +unconsciousness was quite different.</p> + +<p>I have told you how clear was my brain the moment I was hit, and I +tell you also that after the sensation I have just related, my brain +was equally clear, as I will show you, until I became unconscious.</p> + +<p>Call it a hallucination, a trick of the brain, or what you will. I +make no attempt to influence you; I merely record the incident—but my +own belief I will keep to myself.</p> + +<p>Whatever it was, I no longer feel there is any mystery about death. +Nor do I dread it.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>Arnold was busy tearing open the field dressing which I carried in a +pocket of my tunic.</p> + +<p>"Use the iodine first, Arnold; it's in the pocket in a glass phial."</p> + +<p>"The glass is broken, sir."</p> + +<p>"In a piece of paper there are two morphia tablets—quick, better give +them to me."</p> + +<p>"They are not here, sir." And he bound the dressing round my eyes as +the blood trickled down my face.</p> + +<p>"Quick, Arnold, my right pocket—feel in it; some papers there—a +secret code—take them out—tear them up—quickly; tell me have you +done it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I have done it."</p> + +<p>I was sinking; I felt myself going; I felt that the end was at hand. I +clutched his shoulder and pulled him towards me:</p> + +<p>"Arnold, I'm going. If you get back—tell my—wife—" But the message +that was on my lips was not finished; I could speak no more. I was +dropping into space, dropping, dropping; everything disappeared, I +remembered no more.</p> + +<p>I do not know how long I remained in this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>condition. I remember +gaining consciousness and finding Arnold by my side.</p> + +<p>Something terrible was happening. I gradually began to realise that +another attack was taking place over my head. This time the fire was +coming from both sides. A stream of bullets seemed to be pouring over +the shell-hole. The meaning was obvious: a machine-gun had been placed +in the trench ten yards away, and its deadly fire was pouring over the +shell-hole in which we lay. Loud explosions were taking place all +round us, and with each explosion the earth seemed to upheave, and I +felt the thug, thug of pieces of metal striking the earth close by; +whilst showers of earth kept falling on my body. I couldn't last long. +The guns of both sides seemed to be searching for us; we must soon be +blown to pieces.</p> + +<p>How long this lasted I cannot say. I was weak; my shattered nerves +could not stand such a terrible ordeal. I lay huddled and shivering at +the bottom of the shell-hole, waiting for the jagged metal to strike +my body, or be hurled, mutilated, into the air.</p> + +<p>Again I became unconscious. When I next <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>recovered my senses Arnold +was trying to lift me, to carry me away, but his strength was not +equal to it. He laid me down again.</p> + +<p>The firing had ceased. He seemed to be peering out of the shell-hole +and talking to me. I think he was planning escape. It must have been +dark, for he seemed uncertain about the direction.</p> + +<p>Then I began to vomit; I seemed to be vomiting my heart out, while +Arnold seemed to be trying to comfort me.</p> + +<p>I again became unconscious. When I regained consciousness for the +third time it seemed to me that I had been insensible for a great +length of time. But I seemed to be much refreshed, although very weak.</p> + +<p>Everything was silent, uncanny; I could see nothing, hear nothing. +Yes, I remembered; I was shot blind, and I was still in the +shell-hole. I felt my head; there was a rough bandage round it, +covering my eyes. The bandage over my right eye was hardened with +blood, and dried blood covered my left cheek. My hair was matted with +clay and blood; and my clothes seemed to be covered with loose earth.</p> + +<p>But what did this uncanny silence <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>mean?—Arnold, where was he? I +called him by name, but there was no response. I remembered the firing +I had heard: yes, he must be dead.</p> + +<p>In my blindness and despair I groped on my hands and knees around the +shell-hole to find his body. He was not there. <i>I was alone!</i></p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XIX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>THE JAWS OF DEATH</h3> + +<h4 class="title">LONELINESS, DARKNESS, AND SILENCE. A LAST EFFORT. I PREPARE FOR DEATH</h4> +<br /> + +<p>I did not know at the time, of course, what had become of Arnold; but +I found out later.</p> + +<p>Fearing I was dying when I lapsed into unconsciousness again, after my +fit of vomiting, he decided under cover of darkness to try and find +his way back to the British lines to bring me aid.</p> + +<p>After stumbling about in and out of shell-holes, he suddenly saw the +barrel of a rifle pointing at him from a trench close by, and +following him as he moved; and a moment later he was a prisoner.</p> + +<p>Understanding German, he told his captors that I was lying out in No +Man's Land, and begged them to send me medical aid; and they answered +that stretcher-bearers would be sent to make a search.</p> + +<p>Whether the stretcher-bearers were sent or not I do not know; but if +they were, they were not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>successful in finding me; for to the best of +my belief it was on the Monday morning that I again regained +consciousness, to find myself alone—two days after I had been shot.</p> + +<p>It is difficult for me to describe my feelings when I found myself +alone. I had no pain, I seemed to feel very small and the world very +large. I sat up and felt my head; my face felt twice its usual size, +and seemed sticky and clammy with earth and blood.</p> + +<p>Everything was so silent.</p> + +<p>There was a great lump of hardened blood where the rough field +dressing covered my right eye; my left cheek, nose, and lips were +swollen tremendously.</p> + +<p>Whether it was night or day I did not know. But I knew I was blind. I +tried to collect my thoughts and to reason out my position.</p> + +<p>Where was the German line, and where was the British? I knew that I +must be a considerable distance from the British line; but which +direction it was in, I could not tell.</p> + +<p>If I were to crawl, which way should I go and where should I find +myself? Better to make the attempt and take my chance, than lie where +I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>was. On my hands and knees I tried to crawl up the side of the +shell-hole. But I had not reckoned on my weakness; the world was so +large and I was so small.</p> + +<p>Before I could reach the top my strength gave out, and I slid to the +bottom. Again and again I tried, and with each attempt I kept slipping +back, each time, bringing with me a pile of loose earth.</p> + +<p>At last I realised how hopeless it all was, with so little strength. +And unable even to reach to the top of the shell-hole, how could I +hope ever to reach the British line across the sea of shell-holes +which intervened? I seemed so far from everything; though little did I +dream at the time that German soldiers were within a few yards of me +in the trench from which I had driven them by such desperate efforts +two days before—two days! Surely it was two years!</p> + +<p>Then my fate dawned upon me. Of course the end was quite logical. This +was the end; it could not be otherwise. Had I not made up my mind it +would come? Surely I did before I started? Was I not shot through the +head and left to die? Well, this was the proper place to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>die. But +what surprised me was that the thought of dying seemed so comforting. +I was so weary, and death seemed so peaceful.</p> + +<p>I have heard people say that when a person is drowning, after the +first frantic struggles are over, a delightful sensation of +peacefulness comes over him, and he ceases to desire to help himself. +That was how I felt at that moment. This shell-hole was my grave. +Well, it seemed quite right and proper.</p> + +<p>The idea of getting back to life after suffering so many deaths seemed +very unreasonable. My sensations were those of one who had awakened to +find himself buried alive. To be alive at all was cheating death, +which held me firmly in its grip. Better to accept it and wait calmly +for the end.</p> + +<p>The life of the world seemed so far away from me. My family, my home, +my friends and scenes that I used to know so well seemed in a misty +past, a long, long way away—a different age.</p> + +<p>After all, it did not matter very much. It was all so very long ago. +It had all happened long ago. My absence was an accepted fact; I was +now a memory.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>Now, I have already said that I awoke refreshed. I will say, further, +that I was never so clear-headed in my life. I had little power in my +limbs. My brain was never more calm and calculating and indifferent to +the death which I knew was at hand.</p> + +<p>It was not nerve, because I had none. It had nothing to do with the +question of pluck or cowardice. It was simply the state of the brain +before its last kick. I had ceased to resist my fate; I accepted it. I +was not dead yet—but I was to die there, and that was to be my grave.</p> + +<p>I began to think out calmly in what way my life would flicker out, and +I concluded that it would come as a result of my wound during a period +of unconsciousness, or by the slower process of thirst, starvation, +and exposure. In the latter case I should probably have violent spasms +or struggles. I had better prepare myself.</p> + +<p>I was lying in a very uncomfortable position. There was a pile of +loose earth, which stuck against my body awkwardly. With my hands and +feet I scooped it out until my body lay comfortably in a hollow, with +the loose earth forming a sort of bed. In doing this I found a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>water-bottle. Arnold must have left it behind for me. There was only a +drain in it, which I drank, and threw the bottle away.</p> + +<p>I next searched my pockets for food and found a small crust, the +remains of what had been my food the day before the attack. I placed +this carefully in my pocket for use at the time when I should +experience the final pangs of starvation. My own water-bottle still +contained about half a pint of water. I placed this on the ground, +close to where my face would be, so that I could clutch it readily.</p> + +<p>These preparations over, my brain began to get tired. There was +nothing else to be done; everything was ready. I would lie down now +and wait for the end. I laid my head on the ground, using the side of +the shell-hole as a pillow.</p> + +<p>I was very comfortable, the soft earth seemed almost like a bed. After +all, I was a lucky fellow to be able to die in a comfortable way like +this. I wondered how long it would really be—days more, perhaps, but +still I could wait. Yes, the life of the world was a very long way +away; after all, it did not matter.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>How long I waited in this position I do not know, but it suddenly +occurred to me that I was passing away, and for a moment all the old +scenes came closer. They were passing by in a sort of procession.</p> + +<p>A sudden impulse caused me to raise myself into a sitting position. I +waved my hand above my head and shouted out, "Good-bye." The +procession was over. I lay down again and waited for the end.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>AT THE MERCY OF THE HUN—AND AFTER</h3> + +<h4 class="title">A BASIN OF SOUP. HOSPITAL AT ST. QUENTIN. THE "OPEN SESAME"</h4> +<br /> + +<p>A moment or two later something occurred which caused my wearied brain +to be roused again into activity. What could it mean?</p> + +<p>I was again thinking hard, listening intently; something undefinable +had happened to suddenly revive my mental condition. Had I passed +away, and was this the next life? I felt like one who had awakened out +of a dream in the dead of night, conscious that some one or something +was moving near him.</p> + +<p>"Englishman! Kamarade!"</p> + +<p>Great God! I was found!</p> + +<p>Had I the strength I should probably have screamed with joy, for that +was my impulse at hearing a human voice. A second later and my feeling +was to shrink from discovery. Surrender? Was it then to come to this, +after all?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>I did not answer; it was not necessary.</p> + +<p>He must have heard me shout; he must know where I am. I was unarmed +and helpless; what need to answer such a call? He would probably seek +me, and I should be found without need to foul my lips with an answer.</p> + +<p>And then I felt that it was not my life that was being saved, but a +lingering death avoided by a murderous, but quick despatch. Well, +perhaps it was better it should come that way.</p> + +<p>Presently I heard some one crawling towards me. A few pebbles rolled +down the slope, and there was silence again. I felt that he was +looking down at me. Again a shuffle, and a quantity of loose earth +rolled down the slope, and he was sliding down towards me.</p> + +<p>The supreme moment had arrived. Would it be a bullet or a bayonet +thrust; and where would it strike me?</p> + +<p>I lay perfectly still. He seemed to be bending over me undecidedly. I +thought he might believe me dead and go away without finishing me off, +to seek the cause of the shout elsewhere.</p> + +<p>I raised myself on my elbow and turned my face towards him. Then, to +my astonishment he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>put his arms around my body and raised me up. What +strange wonder was this? He put my arm around his neck, and with his +own arm around my body, he raised me to my feet. But I could not +stand. Then, placing both arms firmly around me, he dragged me out of +the shell-holes. I felt myself being dragged several yards, and then +he stopped.</p> + +<p>I heard many voices talking below me. What would happen next. Then +several hands caught hold of me, and I was lifted into a trench.</p> + +<p>Some one gave an order, and I was dragged along the trench and around +a corner. More voices seemed to come from still farther below. Some +one picked hold of my feet, and I was carried down several steps. I +was in a dugout.</p> + +<p>It seemed warm and cosy. There were officers around me. Here must be +the company commander whom I had driven away two days before. Now he +could take his revenge. What mercy could I hope from him?</p> + +<p>A voice asked me a question in English. But by this time I had +collapsed completely. I tried to speak, but no sound would come from +my throat. My head seemed to be an enormous <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>size; my jaw would not +move. I felt some one examine my tunic and examine my pockets. No, +there were no papers there. I heard some one say "Hauptmann." Then +more talking.</p> + +<p>A cigarette was put in my mouth. I held it between my swollen lips, +but could not inhale. A sharp command was given, and once more I was +lifted up on to some one's back, and was being dragged down a long +communication trench.</p> + +<p>I was able presently to realise that I was in a dressing-station, for +I was laid on a stretcher. Some one bent over me, evidently a medical +officer.</p> + +<p>My throat was parched. Oh, how thirsty I was! He was saying something +to me in English in a very kindly manner. He opened a bottle of +Seltzer water, and, lifting me up, placed it to my lips. Oh, how +thirsty I was! I held out my hand for more. Bottle after bottle of +Seltzer water was opened, and I drank one after the other. In my +haziness I seemed to be wondering how they came to be supplied with +such quantities of Seltzer water so close up to the front line.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>He opened up my tunic and rubbed something on my chest. I heard him +say, very gently:</p> + +<p>"Injection against tetanus. It won't hurt you"; and then I felt a very +slight pin prick. He laid me down again. My head was throbbing.</p> + +<p>How hot and stuffy it was! I heard some groans, voices were speaking +in a low tone. I again heard the word, "Hauptmann."</p> + +<br /> +<hr style='width: 15%;' /> +<br /> + +<p>Of the days which followed I have only a hazy recollection. My brain +and body sustained during the period of danger and strain, collapsed +completely, and during the next six days I had only occasional periods +of sensibility.</p> + +<p>I can, therefore, only recall the facts between the time of my being +picked up and my arrival at Hanover, six days later, in a disjointed +manner.</p> + +<p>Telling only of incidents, which stand out here and there in my +memory, it must be borne in mind that during the operations of +September the 8th and 9th I had felt the weight of my responsibility; +and the great shock caused by my wound and the two days' exposure and +suffering that followed, imposed a great strain upon my system, and +reaction had now set in.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>My wound had received no attention, and my right eye was hopelessly +mutilated. The optic nerve of my left eye was damaged beyond repair, +and the eye itself was obscured by an enormous swelling. My sense of +smell was gone, and my cheeks, nose, and mouth were swollen and numbed +to a painful degree.</p> + +<p>I had lost power in my lower jaw, which would barely move. My nerves +were completely shattered, and the mere touch of a hand would make me +shrink with fright.</p> + +<p>I had lost my voice, and during the occasional periods of sensibility, +I could only speak in a startled whisper, while my brain in hideous +delirium would constantly take me back to the scenes through which I +had just passed.</p> + +<p>I remember my stretcher being lifted and being placed in a horse-drawn +ambulance with several others. Before leaving, the M.O. gave me a +bottle of water, and so great was my thirst that for several days I +kept this tightly gripped in my hand, and would not part with it +except to get it refilled.</p> + +<p>I have a hazy idea of being transferred from one ambulance to another, +and several journeys. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>The ground was very rough, and the shaking of +the wagon seemed to cause great pain to other occupants. The bumping +to my own head compelled me to raise it from the pillow and resist the +jolts by resting it on my hand.</p> + +<p>Where I spent Monday night I do not know, but on Tuesday night I found +myself in what must have been a small hospital in a town I do not +remember.</p> + +<p>It seemed to me that I was in a sort of basement of a private house, +and that a man and woman were watching over me, exhibiting very great +kindness and compassion.</p> + +<p>I seemed to awaken from my stupor, and remember some snatches of +conversation, as they bent over me, for they could both speak a little +English.</p> + +<p>Blood and clay were still caked on my face and hair; and my uniform +was sticky with blood and grime. Oh, how I wished I could take it off +and be put into clean clothes and a bed!</p> + +<p>The man was taking off my boots:</p> + +<p>"Dese very goot boots, yah?"</p> + +<p>I assented in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"You have dem give you, yah?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>"No," I whispered, "bought them myself."</p> + +<p>"Where do you buy such goot boots?"</p> + +<p>"London."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yah. I thought you would not get such goot boots for nothings. +Look after dem well; we don't get goot boots like dat here."</p> + +<p>I whispered to him:</p> + +<p>"What is that noise?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, it is a pity. Ze English zey have been firing ze long-range guns +here, big guns. Zay carry twenty-seven miles. Ve moved dis hospital +two times, yah."</p> + +<p>The woman came up to my stretcher with a basin of soup. I shall never +forget that basin of soup. It was probably very ordinary soup, but +when I tasted the first spoonful I devoured it ravenously, for all +this time I had not realised that I was suffering from starvation. For +the past three days not an atom of food had passed my lips, and for +two days previous to that an occasional bite of bread and cheese was +my only ration. Even now I was not destined to receive the nourishment +my body craved for; for one basin of soup per day was all I received +during the remainder of that week.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>Still grasping my bottle of water under my blanket, I was removed next +morning and placed in a freight truck with two others, one a sergeant +in the Guards, and the other a private in the ——, London Regiment. +We were locked in the truck, and kept there for many hours without +food or conveniences of any kind, and finally arrived at St. Quentin.</p> + +<p>Some one removed the blanket from my face and examined my +shoulder-straps. I heard him say "Hauptmann," and after that I seemed +to be treated with some consideration.</p> + +<p>I did not understand a single word of German, and the repetition of +this word puzzled me. It must have been some connection with my rank. +I would try it on the next person who came near me and see what +happened.</p> + +<p>I had not long to wait, for by and by the stretchers were lifted and +we were carried into the hospital at St. Quentin. I was placed +alongside a large number of others, and the place created a very +unpleasant impression of the attention I was likely to receive.</p> + +<p>The place seemed like Bedlam. All round me I heard the groans and +cries of the wounded. How long would I be left here unattended? How <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>I +longed to have my clothes removed! And what of my wound—how much +longer must I go before it was attended to? And what was happening to +it all this time?</p> + +<p>I heard some voices near me speaking in German. Now was the time I +would test that magic word, and see what would happen. Removing the +blankets from my face, and lifting my arm to attract attention, I +whispered hoarsely:</p> + +<p>"Hauptmann!"</p> + +<p>Some one stooped down over me, examined my shoulder-strap, and said, +"Huhzo!" He then gave an order, and my stretcher was again picked up, +and I was carried up-stairs to a room reserved for officers.</p> + +<p>That "Open Sesame" served me in good stead on several occasions.</p> + +<p>But the hospital at St. Quentin was a horrible place. There was a +Frenchman in the ward who was raving mad, and between his yells and +shrieks of laughter, the moaning of the wounded, and the fitful +awakenings from my own delirium I spent a most unhappy time. I think I +must have been there about two days, and on the morning after my +arrival I was sensible for a while.</p> + +<p>Adjoining the ward and only separated by an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>open doorway was the +operating-room, where first operations were taking place hurriedly. +The scene was something I can never forget. One by one we were being +taken in, and the shrieks of pain which followed were too shocking for +description. To hear strong men howl with pain is agonising enough; +but to hear them shriek, and for those shrieks to fall upon the ears +of nerve-broken men awaiting their turn just outside the open door was +terrifying, appalling.</p> + +<p>As the shrieks subsided into weakened groans the stretcher would come +back into the ward, and the next man be moved in; and so we waited in +an agony of suspense, horror, and dread as nearer and nearer we came +to our turn.</p> + +<p>I do not wish to harrow my readers' feelings any more by describing +how I felt when my stretcher was at last lifted and I was laid on the +operating-table. I could not see the bloodiness of my surroundings, +but I murmured to myself, as I had occasion to do on subsequent and +similar occasions:</p> + +<p>"Thank God I'm blind."</p> + +<p>There was a nurse at St. Quentin whose devotion and humanity will be +long remembered by <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>the many British and French wounded officers who +have passed through that ward. In my half-dazed condition I seemed to +have an idea that she was some sort of angel, whose gentle voice and +comforting words were so soothing to the wounded, and inspired us with +confidence in our painful conditions and surroundings.</p> + +<p>On Friday, still greedily hugging my bottle of water, I was removed +from St. Quentin and placed in a hospital-train bound for Hanover. I +was told it was a splendidly appointed train, with every modern +appliance.</p> + +<p>The journey to Hanover occupied two days and two nights, but I +remember nothing of it, as I believe I was unconscious the whole time.</p> + +<p>I do remember just before leaving being presented with a haversack +from the French Red Cross Society, and it was full of things which +were extremely useful: a sleeping-shirt, handkerchiefs, biscuits, and +similar articles. I have the haversack still. I carried it wherever I +went in Germany, and never allowed it to leave my possession.</p> + +<p>On Sunday morning, September 17, the train pulled into Hanover, and +the wounded were carried out and left for a time on the platform.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>Some girls seemed to be busy giving refreshment to the wounded. A girl +came to my stretcher, pulled down the blanket which covered my face, +and clumsily pushed the spout of a drinking-cup, containing coffee, +into my mouth. I thought she was trying to feed me from some kind of +teapot. The pot fell out of my mouth, and the coffee ran down my neck.</p> + +<p>A man picked it up, and holding it to my lips, enabled me to sip it. I +felt very grateful to him, for I was badly in need of sustenance. He +spoke to me very kindly.</p> + +<p>I thanked him in a whisper, and asked him if he was an officer.</p> + +<p>He replied in English: "No, I am a waiter."</p> + +<p>I think I became unconscious again. Rather unfortunate, for had I been +stronger the humour of the remark would have amused me.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>ALIVE</h3> +<br /> + +<p>It was the first night after my arrival at Hanover that I really fully +recovered a state of consciousness.</p> + +<p>Although I have recorded several incidents of the week which had just +passed, they were only occasional glimpses from which I would relapse +again into unconsciousness, and it only comes back to me in a hazy +sort of way, like dreams through a long night of sleep.</p> + +<p>But I remember well the moment when I finally awoke and took in my +surroundings. It was early in the morning. I seemed to have had +frightful dreams; the horror of what I had passed through had been a +frightful nightmare, mocking at me, laughing at me, blowing me to +pieces.</p> + +<p>I turned over on my side. Strange place this shell-hole; it seemed +very comfortable. What was this I was touching—a pillow, bedclothes. +Good God! I was in a bed! As my thoughts <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>became clearer I lay +perfectly still, almost in fear that any movement I might make would +awaken me from this beautiful dream.</p> + +<p>A long, long time ago something frightful had happened from which +rescue was impossible. Yet, surely this was a bed.</p> + +<p>Then I remembered the attack which had taken place over my body while +I lay out in No Man's Land; of the shells which had burst around me in +violent protest to my presence. I could not possibly have escaped; I +must be maimed.</p> + +<p>Cautiously I began to feel my limbs, my arms, my body, my feet, my +fingers; they were all there, untouched. The whole truth dawned upon +me: My God! I was alive!</p> + +<p>I sat up in my bed; I wanted to shout and dance for joy. There was a +bandage round my head: I was blind! Yes, I knew that, but there was +nothing really the matter with me except that. The mere fact of being +only blind seemed in comparison a luxury.</p> + +<p>I was blind! But joy indescribable—what was that triviality—I was +alive! alive!</p> + +<p>Oh, my! I never knew before that life was so wonderful. Did other +people understand what <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>life was? No; you must be dead to understand +what life was worth. I must tell every one how wonderful it all is.</p> + +<p>But where was I? I could hear no guns—a bed? There were no beds at +the front. I couldn't have dreamed it all; it must have been true; +otherwise I should have been able to see.</p> + +<p>Where then could I be? Oh, God! Yes, I know—I am a prisoner of war!</p> + +<p>But even this knowledge, which for the moment quieted me, could not +suppress my exaltation. I was saved! I was alive! No pain racked my +limbs; no terror prodded my brain.</p> + +<p>But I was weak and wasted. Oh, how weak I was! How hungry! But what of +that, I was alive!</p> + +<p>And where was England—such a long, long way off. I must go there at +once, this minute. No, I can't; I'm a prisoner.</p> + +<p>How miserable some people are who have no right to be. They cannot +know how wonderful life is. Oh, how wonderful it is to die, and then +to come to life again.</p> + +<p>I'm only blind! Just imagine it! What is that?—it's nothing at all, +compared with life; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>and when I get well and strong I won't be a blind +man.</p> + +<p>I may not recover my sight, but that doesn't matter a bit, I will +laugh at it, defy it. I will carry on as usual; I will overcome it and +live the life that has been given back to me.</p> + +<p>I will be happy, happier than ever. I'm in a bed alive. Oh, God! I am +grateful!</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>BLINDNESS</h3> +<br /> + +<p>How reckless we are in referring to death! There are many people who +would say they would prefer death to blindness; but the nearer the +approach of death, the greater becomes the comparison between the +finality of the one and the affliction of the other.</p> + +<p>Those men, however, who have faced death in many frightful forms, and +dodged it; suffered the horrors of its approach, yet cheated it; who +have waited for its inevitable triumph, then slipped from its grasp; +who have lived with it for days, parrying its thrust, evading its +clutch; yet feeling the irresistible force of its power; men who have +suffered these horrors and escaped without more than the loss of even +the wonderful gift of sight, can afford to treat this affliction in a +lesser degree, holding the sanctity of life as a thing precious and +sacred beyond all things.</p> + +<p>Even the loss of God's great gift of sight ceases to become a burden +or affliction in comparison <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>with the indescribable joy of life +snatched from death.</p> + +<p>There are men, and we know them by the score, who are constantly +looking out on life through the darkened windows of a dissatisfied +existence; whose conscience is an enemy to their own happiness; who +look only on the dark side of life, made darker by their own +disposition.</p> + +<p>Such men, and you can pick them out by their looks and expression, who +build an artificial wall of trouble, to shut out the natural paradise +of existence; these men who juggle with the joy of life until they +feel they would sooner be dead, do not know, and do not realise the +meaning of the life and death with which they trifle.</p> + +<p>Let us think only of the glory of life; not of the trivial penalties +which may be demanded of us in payment, and which we are so apt to +magnify until we wonder whether the great gift of life is really worth +while.</p> + +<p>Let us think not of our disadvantages, but of these great gifts which +we are fortunate enough to possess; let us school ourselves to a high +sense of gratitude for the gifts we possess, and even an affliction +becomes easy to bear.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>Here I am, thirty-six years of age, in the pride of health, strength, +and energy, and suddenly struck blind!</p> + +<p>And what are my feelings? Even such a seeming catastrophe does not +appall me. I can no longer drive, run, or follow any of the vigorous +sports, the love for which is so insistent in healthy manhood. I shall +miss all these things, yet I am not depressed.</p> + +<p>Am I not better off, after all, than he who was born blind? With the +loss of my sight I have become imbued with the gift of appreciation. +What is my inconvenience compared with the affliction of being +sightless from birth.</p> + +<p>For thirty-six years I had become accustomed to sights of the world, +and now, though blind, I can walk in the garden in a sunny day; and my +imagination can see it and take in the picture.</p> + +<p>I can talk to my friends, knowing what they look like, and by their +conversation read the expression on their faces. I can hear the +traffic of a busy thoroughfare, and my mind will recognise the scene.</p> + +<p>I can even go to the play; hear the jokes and listen to the songs and +music, and understand what <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>is going on without experiencing that +feeling of mystery and wonder which must be the lot of him who has +always been blind.</p> + +<p>And the greatest gift of all, my sense of gratitude, that after +passing through death, I am alive!</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>THE WOMAN WHO WAITS</h3> + +<h4 class="title">THE TELEGRAPH BOY'S RAT-TAT. KILLED IN ACTION. WEEKS OF MOURNING</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Meanwhile, what was transpiring at home? What interpretation had been +put upon my absence?</p> + +<p>Many weeks later, after my first letter had reached home like a +message from the dead, a post-card was handed to me from my father, +which seemed to echo the sob of a broken heart. It was the first +message to arrive from the England I loved so much, and my home, which +I yearned for.</p> + +<p>Letters from every member of my family were hastening towards me; but +all were delayed except the single post-card, which told me only too +plainly of the tragedy at home which was the result of my absence.</p> + +<p>The message, written in a shaky hand, ran <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>briefly, thus: "My son, for +four weeks we have mourned you as dead; God bless you!"</p> + +<p>In the despair of my heart my blindness and my bonds of captivity +seemed to grow greater. In that simple message I realised the terrible +truth, the full significance of the tragedy which had followed my +fall.</p> + +<p>What had been my suffering to theirs? After all I was a soldier, and +mine was a duty. But those who wait at home—what of them?</p> + +<p>The letters which followed confirmed my worst fears. I trembled and +cried like a child.</p> + +<p>How brave they had all been! How unworthy seemed my life to warrant +the heroic fortitude and silent suffering which these letters +unfolded! What were a few bullets compared with the pluck and silent +self-sacrifice of the women of Britain, who were untrained to bear +such shocks? What physical pain could compare with such anguish as +theirs?</p> + +<p>The first intimation reached my home by a letter returned from France, +undelivered, and bearing a slip containing these words, type-written: +"Killed in action September 9."</p> + +<p>Three days later a knock at the door, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>a telegraph boy handed in a +telegram which read:</p> + +<div class="block"><p>"Most deeply regret inform you Cap. H.G. Nobbs —— London +Regiment, Killed in Action Sep. 9."</p></div> + +<p>and also another telegram:</p> + +<div class="block"><p>"The King & Queen deeply regret loss you and the Army have +sustained by the death of Cap. Nobbs, in the service of his +Country. Their Majestys deeply sympathise with you in your +sorrow.</p> + +<p class="right sc">"Keeper of the Privy Purse."</p></div> + +<p>Next morning my name appeared in the official casualty list under the +heading: "Killed in Action."</p> + +<p>Letters followed from the front confirming my death, and even +describing the manner of my death.</p> + +<p>Such things are unavoidable in modern warfare; and only those who +understand the conditions and the difficulties can appreciate the +possibility of avoiding occasional errors. It is surprising to me that +the errors in reporting casualties are not more frequent, and it +speaks <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>well of the care given by those responsible for this task.</p> + +<p>It is extremely difficult, and occasional mistakes are only too apt to +be widely advertised and give a wrong impression. Think of the task of +the hundreds and thousands of casualties; and the errors, terrible +though the suffering entailed may be, are comparatively insignificant.</p> + +<p>But I have led the reader away from my story.</p> + +<p>They thought me dead. Yes; killed in action. There was no getting away +from it; no need for me to describe the tears and sorrow. Those who +suffer must bear their sorrow in silence—more honour to them.</p> + +<p>Obituary notices appeared in the newspapers, and letters and telegrams +of condolence poured in.</p> + +<p>My solicitors took possession of my belongings and explained their +contents to my family.</p> + +<p>A firm of photographers who generously invite officers to have their +portraits taken free of charge, now offered the plate for a +consideration to the illustrated papers; and even as I write these +lines many months later, my picture is dished up again in this week's +issue of an illustrated magazine as among the dead.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>In short, during those few weeks which followed my fall, I became as +dead and completely buried as modern conventions demanded.</p> + +<p>It is expensive to die and not be dead, for clothes of mourning cannot +afterwards be hidden under any other disguises; and it is a peculiar +feeling to be called upon to pay for your own funeral expenses.</p> + +<p>And when once you are officially dead it is very difficult to come +officially to life again. Months have passed, and I am still waiting +for the official correction to appear.</p> + +<p>As I walk through the streets of London my friends stare at me as +though I were a ghost. I feel as though I am a living apology for the +mistake of others.</p> + +<p>To the illustrated magazine I have just referred to I wrote assuring +the editor that I had every reason to believe he was wrong in his +contention. He replied, enclosing my photograph, and asking me if I +was sure I was not some other person, as the picture referred to an +officer who was surely dead.</p> + +<p>Perhaps even now I am wrong. Yet, I ought to know.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXIV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>WARD 43, RESERVE LAZARETTE 5, HANOVER</h3> + +<h4 class="title">OCCUPANTS OF THE WARD. CHIVALRY OF THE AIR</h4> +<br /> + +<p>Before the war Reserve Lazarette 5 at Hanover was a military school. +It is now used for wounded military prisoners, and for German soldiers +suffering from venereal disease.</p> + +<p>The same operating-room is used for all patients; the wounded +prisoners receiving treatment in the morning, and the Germans in the +afternoon.</p> + +<p>There is a fair-sized garden, not unattractive, and the wounded are +permitted to take the fresh air, and to walk about freely, if they are +able to do so. So are the German patients, and so are their visitors, +on Tuesdays and Saturdays, from 2 till 4 in the afternoon. There is no +separation of the two classes of patients, and honour must share the +company of disgrace in her captivity.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>Ward 43 was a billiard-room in the old days, and the small-sized +billiard-table is pushed against the wall and used as a table. There +were nine beds in the ward; and four British and four French officers +lay side by side in captivity.</p> + +<p>The friendship of the two great nations was reflected in the maimed +and pain-ridden bodies of these soldiers lying side by side, helpless, +uncomplaining, but still champions of Anglo-French unity. Their cause +is the same; their pain is the same; and side by side they lay, as +side by side they had fallen.</p> + +<p>Of the French officers I got to know but little, for they could speak +no English, and the English could speak no French.</p> + +<p>On my left was an officer of the Royal Flying Corps, Lieutenant +Donelly. He had been brought to earth after a fight thirteen thousand +feet in the air, against five German planes. With his left arm +disabled and three fingers shot off his right hand, and his engine out +of action, he nose-dived to the ground. A German aeroplane nose-dived +after him, all the while firing as it dropped.</p> + +<p>With only a finger and thumb to manipulate his machine, he managed to +effect a landing. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>The moment earth was struck the firing ceased, and +the Germans landing from their machines approached him and treated him +courteously.</p> + +<p>There is a spirit of chivalry among those who fight in the air, as +both sides can testify. The air alone is their arena, and neither side +will continue a combat on terra firma.</p> + +<p>On my right was Lieutenant Rogan of the Royal Irish Regiment, a sturdy +fellow, who had been in the Guards.</p> + +<p>He was attacking some Germans, who were putting up a stout resistance +during the fight for Guinchy; and as he was rushing forward, a German +threw a hand-grenade, which exploded in his face. His right eye was +removed at St. Quentin, and he was slowly recovering the sight of the +left.</p> + +<p>In the bed next to his was another young officer of the Royal Flying +Corps, a boy about eighteen, very small, and only weighing about eight +stone. Mabbitt was his name, Second Lieutenant Mabbitt; and he, too, +had fought many thousand feet in the air against desperate odds, +fracturing his leg in the fall.</p> + +<p>German airmen seem to make a practice of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>waiting until a single +English aeroplane appears in sight; then they ascend in a flight of +five to attack, and woe betide the English airman who happens to be +soaring above in a slow machine.</p> + +<p>Deeds of pluck are common on land and sea; but the heroic combats in +the air are a new sensation, with unknown terrors realised in a single +gasp; and the youth of our country defy it. Yet, who is there to tell +their deeds if they fall?</p> + +<p>Shortly after I arrived two British officers were brought in, +Lieutenant Wishart of the Canadians, who had a bullet wound through +his leg; and Second Lieutenant Parker, who had a hole in his leg as +big as an apple, and who spent most of the day in declaring that he +was as fit as a fiddle.</p> + +<p>But the occupant of the remaining bed was one who endeared himself to +the hearts of all. He was <span class="sc">Saniez</span> (pronounced Sanyea), our +orderly. But Saniez must have a chapter to himself.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXV<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>SANIEZ</h3> +<br /> + +<p>Reserve Lazarette 5, Hanover, boasted of no hospital nurses. There was +no tender touch of a feminine hand to administer to the comfort and +alleviate the distress of the wounded. There was no delicate and +nourishing diet to strengthen the weak; neither did we expect it. We +were prisoners of war, and though our sufferings were great, we were +still soldiers.</p> + +<p>But those who have passed through Ward 43 will always look back with +gratitude and admiration on one whose unselfish devotion, tender care, +and magnificent spirit was an example and inspiration to all of us.</p> + +<p>His name was Saniez, the orderly in charge of the ward; a Florence +Nightingale, whose unceasing attention day and night, whose tender +watchfulness and devoted care and kindness made him loved and +worshipped by the maimed and helpless prisoners who were placed under +his charge.</p> + +<p>Saniez was no ordinary man. No reward was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>his, except the heartfelt +gratitude of those whom he tended. The wounded who passed through the +ward left behind a debt of gratitude which could never be paid, and +with a spirit of fortitude and courage created by his noble example.</p> + +<p>There are compensations for all suffering; and no greater compensation +could any wish for than the devotion of Saniez.</p> + +<p>Saniez had suffered too, but would never speak of it. He had his +moments of anguish and despair. He had a home, too; but his dreams he +kept to himself, and his care he gave to others.</p> + +<p>Saniez was a Frenchman, a big, burly artilleryman, with eyes bright, +laughing, and sympathetic.</p> + +<p>He had been captured nearly two years before; and suffered severely +from the effects of frozen feet. Yet, painful as it must have been to +get about, he seldom sat down.</p> + +<p>All through those long days and nights weak voices would call him: it +was always, "Saniez, Saniez!" and slop, slop, slop, we would hear him +in his slippered feet, moving down the ward, attending to one and then +another.</p> + +<p>Saniez would be quiet and sympathetic, with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>a voice soft and +soothing; and the next moment, cheerful and boisterous. Captivity +could not subdue Saniez, or make him anything else than a loyal French +soldier.</p> + +<p>He would guard his patients against the clumsy touch of a German +orderly like a tiger guarding its young. He would bribe or steal to +obtain a little delicacy for his patients.</p> + +<p>He seemed to know but a single German word, which he used on every +possible occasion to express his disgust of the Germans. It was a +slang word, but when Saniez used it, its single utterance was a volume +of expression. It was <span class="fakesc">NIX</span>, and when Saniez said nix, I knew +he was shaking his woolly head in disgust.</p> + +<p>Saniez had a marvellous voice, and when he sang he held us +spell-bound, and he knew it. I do not speak French, and could not +understand his words, but his expression was wonderful; and he would +fling his arms about in frantic gesticulation.</p> + +<p>When Saniez sang he seemed to lift himself into a different +atmosphere; he was back again in France; his songs all seemed about +his country and his home. He seemed to rouse himself into <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>a sudden +spirit of defiance, and then his voice would grow soft and pathetic; +and then slop, slop, slop, in his slippered feet, he would hurry off +to a bedside to fix a bandage or administer a drink of water.</p> + +<p>Every morning German soldiers could be heard marching past our +windows, singing their national songs. We listened; Saniez would stop +his work. What we wanted to say we would leave to Saniez, as broom in +hand and eyes of fire he would wait until their voices died away in +the distance, and then, with a fierce shake of his head he would +shout: "Boche! Nix!" and, flinging his arms about his head, would sing +the "Marseillaise."</p> + +<p>One evening, and I remember it well, though no pen of mine can +adequately describe the soul-stirring picture—we had a concert in +Ward 43. Four British and four French officers—a symbol of the +Entente Cordiale—lay side by side in their cots, while convalescent +prisoners from other wards sat in front to cheer them with song and +music.</p> + +<p>The Allies seemed well represented: An English Tommy with a guitar +sang a comic song; a Russian soldier with a three-cornered string +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>instrument, sang a folk-song of his native land; a Belgian soldier +played the violin; and Saniez sang for France.</p> + +<p>The applause that greeted the finish of each song was of a mixed kind; +for those whose arms were maimed would shout, and those who could not +shout would bang a chair or clap their hands. It was a patriotic and +inspiring scene, and even the German orderly, coming in to see what +was going on, was tempted to stop and listen.</p> + +<p>We felt we were no longer prisoners; the spirit of the Allies was +unconquerable.</p> + +<p>Enthusiasm reached its highest pitch when Saniez brought it to a +dramatic conclusion. Saniez had just finished a soul-inspiring song of +his homeland. His audience could not withhold their applause until he +finished, and Saniez could not restrain his spirit until the end of +the applause. He suddenly threw up his arms, and at the top of his +voice burst forth into the "Marseillaise," and the German orderly +bolted out of the door.</p> + +<p>Then the concert party ran to their dormitories; the lights were +turned out, and we sought safety in sleep.</p> + +<div class="img"><a name="imagep164" id="imagep164"></a> +<a href="images/imagep164.jpg"> +<img border="0" src="images/imagep164.jpg" width="45%" alt="Captain Nobbs after his release from the German +prison." /></a><br /> +<p class="cen" style="margin-top: .2em;">Captain Nobbs after his release from the German +prison.<span class="totoi"><a href="#toi">ToList</a></span></p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>We used to ask Saniez about his home; and he seemed to grow quiet and +confident. His home, he said, was about three miles behind the German +line.</p> + +<p>Some one suggested that it was in a dangerous place, as the British +were advancing, and no house near the line could escape untouched; but +Saniez was confident.</p> + +<p>No! shells could not possibly harm it. His wife and sister lived +there; it was his home. He was a prisoner, but whatever happened to +him, the combined fury of the nations could not touch his home.</p> + +<p>Saniez! Saniez! May you never awaken from your dream!</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXVI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>LIFE IN HANOVER HOSPITAL</h3> + +<h4 class="title">HOSPITAL DIET. INTERVIEWED BY A GERMAN DOCTOR. DISCHARGED FROM +HOSPITAL</h4> +<br /> + +<p>The diet in hospital can hardly be described as suitable for invalids. +At the same time it was substantial as compared with what is received +in prison camps. For breakfast we received coffee, with two very +small, crusty rolls, each about the size of a tangerine orange; each +roll cut in half, and a slight suspicion of jam placed between; for +déjeuner one cup of coffee, one roll, and some very strong cheese, +quite unfit to eat. The dinner was usually quite good, consisting of +soup, a little meat and vegetables, and stewed apples or gooseberries. +At 3 o'clock a cup of coffee and a small roll; at 6 o'clock supper, +consisting of tea without milk, strong cheese, or German sausage or +brawn, and a slice of bread.</p> + +<p>For this diet we paid eighty marks per month.</p> + +<p>An officer receives pay from the German <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>Government on the following +scale: lieutenant, sixty marks per month; captain, one hundred marks +per month. The German Government recover the payments from the English +Government, and it is charged against the officers' pay in England.</p> + +<p>No food is supplied free to officers either in hospital or camp; and +they cannot purchase anything beyond the regular issue.</p> + +<p>With the exception of the dinner, I found the food of very little use +to me for the first week or two, as having lost the power in my jaw, +and being unable to open it more than half an inch, I couldn't tackle +the rolls, and what couldn't be eaten had to be left; there was no +substitute.</p> + +<p>There was another diet, in which the coffee was replaced by hot milk, +which would have been very desirable, except that the dinner consisted +of some filthy substance, which was very unpalatable.</p> + +<p>For the first week, therefore, I had practically only one meal a day, +the dinner; but afterwards, by dint of changing from one diet to +another I managed to get the dinner of No. 1 diet, and the milk of No. +2.</p> + +<p>There was a canteen in the hospital where <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>cigarettes, chocolates, +biscuits, and eggs were offered for sale.</p> + +<p>The biscuits were never in stock; the chocolate, though high in price, +was so thin that there was nothing of it; and the cigarettes were +unsmokable.</p> + +<p>It was a sorry day when we could get no more eggs. We used to depend +upon the eggs for supper; for the cheese was uneatable, the brawn +suspicious, and the sausage like boiled linoleum. German sausage at +the best of time is open to argument; but German sausage in a country +which has been blockaded for two and a half years is worthy of serious +thought.</p> + +<p>The surgical attention was good, though the Russian prisoners who +assisted were apt to be rough; and as neither the German doctor nor +his Russian assistant could understand each other, and the wounded +could understand neither, nor be understood in turn, the situation was +sometimes difficult.</p> + +<p>The doctor visited each bed at 8 <span class="fakesc">A.M.</span> every morning to +inquire the condition of the wounded; but whatever you had to +say—which of course he did not understand—the reply was always: +"Goot, Goot."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>On one occasion we saw flags flying over the city, and that evening +for supper we were given a hard-boiled egg. We were told it was the +Empress's birthday. We made anxious inquiries as to when the Kaiser +and the Crown Prince would have a birthday.</p> + +<p>A few days after I arrived at Hanover, my right eye was removed, and +the following day the doctor told me, through an interpreter, that I +should be sent back to England. I asked when I should be sent, and was +told in three or four weeks.</p> + +<p>It was about this time that I began to develop an unsatiable appetite +for sweet things. I have found that many have had the same experience, +after a period of privation following upon their wounds. I would buy +up all the jam, chocolate, and toffy I could lay my hands on, which +came in parcels to other prisoners. When I wrote home for parcels to +be sent to me, I hardly mentioned food, which afterwards became so +necessary, but asked for sweet stuff.</p> + +<p>But what I needed more urgently than anything else was money. When I +was picked up the only cash I had on me was two francs, and this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>I +exchanged for a mark and sixty pfennigs, which, with five marks I was +able to borrow, kept me going for a while. But it was soon gone, and I +found myself without a sou, and no pay due for six weeks.</p> + +<p>About ten days after I arrived at Hanover I was able to sit out in the +garden, and from then on I began to mend.</p> + +<p>Saniez used to dress me, and his watchful eye was upon me wherever I +went.</p> + +<p>Sometimes of an afternoon I used to sit by the fire. I used to like +sitting by the fire, because its warmth misled me into thinking I +could distinguish the light. If I happened to be rather quiet Saniez +would come to my side, and I would feel that he was watching me. Then +he would speak, and each would find some word to make the other +understand:</p> + +<p>"Cigarette, Capitaine?"</p> + +<p>"Oui, Saniez."</p> + +<p>He would take one of his own cigarettes, put it in my mouth and light +it.</p> + +<p>I could neither taste nor smell it; but it pleased Saniez, so I took +it.</p> + +<p>"Très bien, Capitaine, puff, puff!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>"Oui, Saniez, très bien."</p> + +<p>"Très bien, good. Monsieur Parker says, 'Trays beens.' Joke, ah, good +joke!"</p> + +<p>He would go away, but still watching me from a distance, would +presently come back again, and placing his large hand on my shoulder, +would say:</p> + +<p>"Couche, Capitaine?" and leading me to my bed would lay me on it, and +carefully tuck me in for the night.</p> + +<p>There was a German non-commissioned officer employed in the hospital +who was really a good sort. He could speak good English, having worked +in English hotels before the war.</p> + +<p>He would sometimes sit by my bed for a chat:</p> + +<p>"Where were you wounded, Captain?" he asked one day.</p> + +<p>"Leuze Wood on the Somme," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Somme dreadful place, dreadful war, Captain."</p> + +<p>"Very!"</p> + +<p>"It is not fighting now; it is murder, both sides murder—yah."</p> + +<p>"Have you been to the front yet?"</p> + +<p>"No; don't want to, either; don't like <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>soldiering. German people sick +of war; but got to do what we are told. Captain, you and I could +settle it in five minutes."</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure; it's nearly settled me."</p> + +<p>As the weeks passed by I began anxiously and earnestly to wait for +news of my exchange; but three weeks went, and the fourth and fifth +week passed, and still no news. About the seventh week Saniez burst +into the ward one morning and rushed up to my bed.</p> + +<p>"Bon jour, Capitaine. Good, good! Office, quick," and he began +hurriedly dressing me.</p> + +<p>I was to report to the office at once. I had been waiting for this, +and dreaming of this moment for weeks.</p> + +<p>Saniez knew it too, and as I went through the door I heard him shout:</p> + +<p>"Angleterre, Capitaine; très bien!"</p> + +<p>I waited outside the office for about half an hour. Wishart of the +Canadians was inside, and presently he came out to fetch me:</p> + +<p>"They want to see you inside. Who do you think is in there?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know—who?"</p> + +<p>"Doctor Pohlmann. He supervises all the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>prison camps belonging to the +Tenth Army. We've got to go to a prisoners' camp."</p> + +<p>My hopes were dashed to the ground.</p> + +<p>Ho led me in, and I sat down before Doctor Pohlmann, who spoke +excellent English, and explained that he was a doctor of languages.</p> + +<p>He filled up a form, taking from me particulars of my name, regiment, +and the usual details; and then, turning to Wishart, told him to go.</p> + +<p>I began to feel that I was in for a rough time. Why did Doctor +Pohlmann wish to speak to me alone.</p> + +<p>I sat before him in silence, too disappointed at the turn events had +taken to care what happened. But as soon as the door had closed he +turned towards me, and his remarks surprised me beyond measure. Not a +single question did he put to me to elicit information.</p> + +<p>"Captain, you are quite blind?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry; I did not know you were blind."</p> + +<p>He seemed quite sympathetic. Not that I wanted it from him, yet so +relieved was I to escape cross-examination that I felt quite bucked.</p> + +<p>He continued: "The hospital people say you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>are ready to be sent away. +When you leave here you come under my charge. They did not tell me you +were blind. I have no proper place to put you; I do not know where to +send you."</p> + +<p>"If you will allow me, I can suggest a place."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, I know, England. Of course you will be sent there in time, +but in the meantime I must take charge of you. I will send you +wherever you like. You can choose your own camp. What camp would you +like to go to?"</p> + +<p>"What camps have you got?"</p> + +<p>"I have Gottisleau, Osnabruck, Blenhorst."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's very good of you to give me the choice; but they all sound +alike to me. How can I choose?"</p> + +<p>"Have you any friends in either of them?"</p> + +<p>"Well, really the names are unintelligible; I couldn't even repeat +them. Lieutenant Rogan was sent away last week. Where did he go?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, he went to Osnabruck. Good camp! Good commandant! I will send you +and Wishart there, and I will arrange to put you three in one room +together. If I can do anything for you at any time, let me know."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>The interview was over. He was a plausible fellow, and he probably +knew his job.</p> + +<p>When I was getting ready to leave the hospital Saniez insisted on +packing my clothes himself. I thought nothing about it at the time, +but when I unpacked my clothes in camp I found concealed inside a +small packet of sugar. Then I understood Saniez.</p> + +<p>Wishart and I were told we could either walk to the station or pay for +the hire of a motor-car. We rode to the station, laughing and talking, +and smoking cigars which we obtained from the canteen.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXVII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>OBSERVATIONS AND IMPRESSIONS</h3> + +<h4 class="title">EMPLOYMENT OF PRISONERS. PARCELS. MEN OF MONS</h4> +<br /> + +<p>When I first became aware that there was a probability of my being +exchanged I set to work to gather what information I could.</p> + +<p>I came into contact with a good many private soldiers, and in +conversation with them I became deeply interested in the commercial +value of prisoners of war; for it appeared to me clearly evident that +in a country where there were over a million prisoners, possibilities +were unlimited; and the German authorities appeared, with businesslike +organisation, to be taking the fullest advantage of their +opportunities.</p> + +<p>The unprecedented scale upon which prisoners have been made during the +present war has opened up a problem unique in the annals of history. +The more prisoners you take the more mouths you have to feed; and the +greater <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>becomes the man power necessary for their supervision.</p> + +<p>With the ever-increasing number of prisoners the problem grows in +enormity, and can either develop into embarrassing proportions, or by +scientific handling can be turned to advantage.</p> + +<p>In England for over two years we have herded our prisoners behind +bayonets and barbed wire. The financial resources of the country have +been poured out to feed idle hands, supplying food without repayment, +at a time when the food and labour problems of the nation are becoming +its most serious problems.</p> + +<p>For over two years we have allowed the question to slide into +obscurity, until to-day in our own country the only part of the +community which has no anxiety or participation in the problem of +living and daily sustenance is the German prisoner in our midst; and +yet to-day a large part of what should be our fighting power is kept +from the firing-line to supply the needs of the nation and feed the +mouths of our idle prisoners.</p> + +<p>It has never occurred to us, or if it has we have ignored it, that +without contravening the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>law of nations, prisoners can be made to +feed themselves, and be employed in any industry, provided they are +not put to work connected with the war.</p> + +<p>It has never occurred to us that we have in our midst many of the +trade secrets of a country which for generations has been our rival in +commerce.</p> + +<p>It has never occurred to us that Germany has in her midst men who hold +the trade secrets of our empire, and is learning them day by day by +the employment of our men in her industries.</p> + +<p>If we neglect this problem any longer we may find that when the world +resumes its normal trade activity Germany, on this point at any rate, +will have scored a commercial victory.</p> + +<p>The nations of the world are at war. But the armies of to-day are +civilian armies, comprising men of industrial and commercial +education, and the prisoners of to-day are men of commercial and +industrial value.</p> + +<p>Our adversaries have been quick to recognise this. We seem to be still +imbued with the idea that the German soldier in our midst is simply a +fighting machine!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>So he is. But when the time came for the civilian to take up arms and +supplement the professional fighting force, there fell into our hands +an industrial fighting machine in the guise of a military prisoner.</p> + +<p>We have the impression that a military prisoner is an individual whose +one desire is to escape and jump at our throats; and that the safety +of the nation compels us to stand over him with a bayonet and regard +his every movement with suspicion.</p> + +<p>Yes, I do not deny that a very large number of prisoners in our midst +would be glad to get back to their homeland, especially if there was +no further prospect of having to face the British in the firing-line. +But keep a man idle for months behind barbed wire, like an animal in a +cage, and you encourage his desire to escape far more than if you +diverted his mind by industrial employment.</p> + +<p>Have we not a barbed wire supplied by nature completely surrounding +our country? Are we not on an island?</p> + +<p>I had many opportunities of talking with our men in Germany and of +gaining information as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>to the manner in which the German authorities +were taking advantage of the problem we avoid, or occupy our time in +idle discussion.</p> + +<p>I will take one concrete example. In Hameln Lager the commandant has +charge of 50,000 prisoners, of which 30,000 are "living out"! They are +working out in commandos on the farms, in the factories, in the +workshops; in large batches, small batches, and even singly.</p> + +<p>I met one man who had been employed alone in a wheelwright's shop. He +was a wheelwright by trade. How many wheelwrights' shops are there in +England which could do to-day with one of the wheelwrights we are +keeping idle behind barbed wire?</p> + +<p>What information did that man's employer gain by the way the work was +done? How simple the method of obtaining the labour: simply go to the +labour bureau attached to the imprisonment camp nearest to your +workshop, and ask for a wheelwright. You keep your industry going, and +thus in the only practical way keep open the job for the man who is +called to the colours.</p> + +<p>The employer pays the man no wages, but the local trade-union rate of +wage is paid to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>commandant who supplies him. Thirty thousand +prisoners from a single camp contributing to the industry of the +nation, and the wages of 30,000 prisoners contributing to the cost of +the war. The prisoner receives through the commandant 30 pfennigs +(3d.) per day, and is glad of the employment.</p> + +<p>A very large number of prisoners are employed as agricultural +labourers, and it is quite reasonable to suppose that all the food +supplied to the prisoners, such as it is, is grown by prisoner labour.</p> + +<p>I was told by men who had worked on farms that they were compelled to +work from 4 in the morning until 9 at night. In some cases only one or +two were employed on small farms.</p> + +<p>I asked those men why they did not embrace the opportunity to make +their escape. But they said that while the work was hard they +preferred it; as they lived with the farmer, who treated them well if +they worked well. They ate at the farmer's table, and had no +non-commissioned officers to bully them; whereas, if they attempted to +escape and were caught they would be sent to work in the mines or +other equally unpopular task.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>Large numbers are employed in the sugar-refineries, coal-mines, and +salt-mines, the latter task being the most dreaded; for with the food +they were given their health broke down within a few months.</p> + +<p>The English prisoner said that when the party he was with first +arrived at the mine and saw what they had to do they refused to work. +Their guard thereupon threatened them, and when they still refused +they were taken outside one by one, and the remainder would hear a +shot fired, and then another would be taken out.</p> + +<p>It was a fake. The men could not be intimidated, and they were sent +back to the Lager.</p> + +<p>It was on another occasion that the man I am referring to was put to +work in the mine.</p> + +<p>I was asked by another if I knew anything about 200 German prisoners +being sent back to work in France, because they were not allowed to +work in England. He said that when the Germans heard about it they +took 200 of our men from Doberitz camp and sent them to work in Poland +as a reprisal.</p> + +<p>The work there may not have been very much harder, but it was a great +hardship upon our men, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>because there would be a considerable delay in +their parcels of food reaching them from England, and meantime they +had to subsist on the scanty fare supplied by their captors.</p> + +<p>The men seemed to be getting parcels on a very liberal scale. Some +were getting more than others, but they divided up by eating in messes +of four or six, or some such number.</p> + +<p>I did not hear of many complaints of parcels being undelivered, though +in some cases parcels were missed. But so far as I could ascertain +they were not withheld in any deliberate or systematic manner; and +when one comes to consider the enormous number handled and the +probability of parcels getting lost through insecure packing, the +number of complaints I heard of seemed comparatively insignificant.</p> + +<p>The Russian prisoners seemed to be the least provided for, and parcels +for them were very rare. They lived or rather starved on the German +rations; and when men have to work or remain in the open air all day +such a ration was a form of torture.</p> + +<p>When the watery liquid of potato water called soup was issued from the +kitchens fatigue parties were paraded to draw the issue for each +mess.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>The British prisoners were not altogether dependent on this ration, +and would let the Russian prisoners carry the dixy for them, and in +return they would be given a cup of soup by the British Tommies. So +hungry were the Russians for this little "extra" that hundreds of them +would wait for hours in the cold on the off-chance of a few getting +the job.</p> + +<p>One cannot speak with these British Tommies and hear of their +hardships without feeling a profound admiration for their indomitable +spirit. You can take a British soldier prisoner, send him far from the +protection of his country, but he is British wherever he goes and his +courage and resourcefulness cannot be broken.</p> + +<p>Whenever I met a man who had been a prisoner since the beginning of +the war, I made a point of getting his story to ascertain the truth +about the barbarities I had read of.</p> + +<p>There was no mistaking these men. I could not see them but I seemed +instinctively to recognise, and whether it was my imagination or not I +cannot tell; but their manner seemed distinctive and they spoke like +men who had suffered much and were harbouring a just grievance, and +lived <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>for the day when they would revenge themselves. As one man put +it to me:</p> + +<p>"If we ever see a German in England when we get back we will kill +him."</p> + +<p>These men were taken at Mons; captured, most of them, by sacrificing +themselves in rear-guard fighting to save the main British army.</p> + +<p>These men have been in captivity for two and a half years. Just think +of it! But do we think of it enough, or have we forgotten it?</p> + +<p>The British Tommy has an individuality which is not always understood. +Ask him in an official way to give evidence of his treatment, and he +will sit tight and say not a word. Take out your note-book to write +down his evidence and he can think of nothing, but all the same he +knows a lot.</p> + +<p>I know this to be true; for after I was exchanged I spoke to a soldier +who had been exchanged at the same time, and he said that a Government +official had been round to question the men on the treatment they had +received in Germany. During our conversation he told me that 200 of +our men had been put to work in a Zeppelin factory. I asked him if he +had given this in evidence, but he said:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>"No, not likely; they got nothing out of me."</p> + +<p>I asked him why not, for it was his duty. But he said they would only +have asked him a lot more questions to try and tie him up in a knot.</p> + +<p>When I came across a soldier who was captured at the beginning of the +war I used to invite him to my room when no one was about. We would +sit in front of the fire and drink a cup of cocoa and smoke a pipe.</p> + +<p>I never asked him questions, but let him talk as he felt like it. +There were generally one or two others in the room, and when we began +to feel we knew each other and were chums together in adversity, he +would tell his story in his own way.</p> + +<p>I met these men in Hanover Hospital, Osnabruck camp, and Blenhorst +camp. I will not publish their names for fear of paining their +relatives; but I have their names and the names of witnesses who heard +the stories, which I will relate in my next chapter.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXVIII<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>STORIES OF THE HEROES OF MONS</h3> +<br /> + +<p>The statements which follow, and which were made to me while I was a +prisoner of war in Germany, are not from picked soldiers who happened +to have sensational stories. They were the only men whom I met who +were prisoners in the early days.</p> + +<p>Being blind myself, I could not, of course, see the men I was speaking +to, but their tone impressed me very much as being men who had +suffered in silence.</p> + +<p>It was necessary for me to study very carefully what they said and +impress it on my memory; and I have committed their statements to +writing immediately on my release, for to carry written statements +over the frontier was entirely out of the question.</p> + +<p>I have put down nothing which was not told to me; neither have I tried +to embellish or enlarge upon the statements made, or frame the words +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>of the men in any way that might give an exaggerated impression of +what occurred.</p> + +<p>It is quite possible, however, that one or two incidents which I have +reported from one man may be part of the story of one of the others. +But it can be taken as an absolute fact that, taken as a whole, the +statements are a true recital of these men's own description of their +experience.</p> + +<p>The men were in no way excited. I obtained the information when +chatting in the ordinary way over a pipe of tobacco, whenever the men +had an opportunity of coming to my room to have a chat.</p> + +<div class="block"><h4><span class="sc">The Story of Private ——, West Kent Regiment</span></h4> + +<p>"I was captured at Mons, sir. Been here over two years now. +Things are not so bad now as they were at first.</p> + +<p>"I've seen some things which I shan't easily forget. I've been +keeping them to myself because we dare not talk of them.</p> + +<p>"Some of the fellows have had a terrible time. When the war is +over any German who is met in England by any prisoners of war +will have a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>rough passage. There won't be any need to hold +ourselves back any longer. My goodness, sir, they'll never get +away alive!</p> + +<p>"Not long after I was captured 70 English soldiers were taken +away from the Lager one day. They never knew where they were +going. They were taken to a munition factory; and when they found +out where they were they passed the word along to refuse to work.</p> + +<p>"When the Germans told them what they had to do, they refused. +Their guards threatened them, and said it would be the worse for +them if they didn't; but they wouldn't budge.</p> + +<p>"Then they were taken out and made to stand in a row against a +wall; and a firing-party was drawn up in front of them with +loaded rifles, but not one of them flinched.</p> + +<p>"They were told that unless they went to work they would be shot, +and although the firing-party was standing in front of them not +one of them would budge.</p> + +<p>"The threat was not carried out, and they were sent back to the +Lager.</p> + +<p>"Before we started getting parcels we had a terrible time trying +to live on the food they gave <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>us. All they gave us was a cup of +coffee and two slices of black bread in the morning; and for +dinner and supper a basin of hot potato water. It was so thin and +weak it was just like water that potatoes had been boiled in."</p></div> + +<p>The soldier whose statement is given above has since been exchanged to +Switzerland, owing to an injury to his sight, caused by the work he +was employed upon while a prisoner.</p> + + +<div class="block"><h4><span class="sc">The Story of Private —— of the Leicester Regiment</span></h4> + +<p>"I was captured during the retreat in August, 1914.</p> + +<p>"My Company was left behind as a rear-guard, to enable the rest +of the battalion to get away. Our trench was only about two feet +deep. Although the Germans were coming on very fast and in +enormous numbers, we were not allowed to retire.</p> + +<p>"The Germans charged us three times. We lost all our officers, +and although we kept on fighting they came on in such large +numbers it must have been the main body, for they were all <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>round +us, and most of the fellows were killed or wounded.</p> + +<p>"They had their revenge on us, too, when they got us, for the +German soldiers who were told to look after us did terrible +things. They took us one by one and made us run the gauntlet.</p> + +<p>"I was bruised all over when I got through, and so were the other +fellows.</p> + +<p>"One chap when he was running the gauntlet was struck in the face +by the butt of a rifle; his nose was smashed and his face covered +in blood, and he fell to the ground insensible. They threw him in +a ditch, because they thought he was dead; but he was able to +crawl out next morning.</p> + +<p>"It was awful, that first night, and they didn't know what to do +with us. They made us stand the whole night through in a loose +wire entanglement, so that we couldn't walk about or sit down; +and it rained like anything all night long.</p> + +<p>"Then we were put in cattle trucks and sent into Germany, and for +the first two days they did not give us any food or water.</p> + +<p>"On the second day we stopped at a station and a woman came +towards us with a large can <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>of soup, and we thought we were +going to be fed; but she brought it right up to us, and said: +'Ugh, dirty Englanders,' and poured it on to the line.</p> + +<p>"I was taken to Soltau Lager; and the food they gave us consisted +of a cup of acorn coffee in the morning and a small piece of +black bread, which had to last all day, and wouldn't make more +than two good slices.</p> + +<p>"For dinner we got a basin of very thin potato soup; sometimes we +got a potato in it, and sometimes we didn't. For supper we got a +cup of coffee, and we were supposed to make the bread do for both +breakfast and supper.</p> + +<p>"The prisoners were sent out from Soltau in working parties to +farmers, factories, and coal mines and salt mines. The salt mines +were dreaded most, and fellows who had been working there for two +or three months looked dreadful. In fact, they could not keep up +there longer than that; they got too ill.</p> + +<p>"I was sent into a salt mine myself. The hours are not long, +because it is impossible to stay down many hours at a time, and +we were generally brought up about one o'clock. They did not +keep <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>me in the mine long, because they found I was of no use for +the work.</p> + +<p>"It's not so bad on the farms, although you have to work from +about 4 o'clock till 8 or 9 at night. But the food is better, as +you generally live at the farmer's table, and have the same as he +does.</p> + +<p>"When prisoners are sent in working parties, the employers have +to pay the German Government the same wages he usually pays a +man, and the prisoners receive from the German Government 30 +pfennings (about 3d.) per day."</p> + +<p>"Did the American Consul ever visit the lager?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but only once when I was there."</p> + +<p>"Were you free to make any complaints to him if you wished?"</p> + +<p>"Two of the fellows did; but they got punished for it.</p> + +<p>"Before he visited the lager a notice was put up that the +Commandant did not consider there was any reason for complaint, +and any man making a complaint would be given 14 days' +imprisonment.</p> + +<p>"When he called we were drawn up on parade <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>in four companies, +and stood to attention, while he passed down the line, asking if +there were any complaints.</p> + +<p>"By his side was the Commandant and another German officer."</p></div> + +<div class="block"><h4><span class="sc">The Story of Private —— of the Norfolk Regiment</span></h4> + +<p>"I came out with the original Expeditionary Force, and was in the +retreat from Mons, but was not captured until October, 1914.</p> + +<p>"The German soldiers who captured me treated me quite well. They +gave me some of their rations, and allowed me to attend to our +wounded.</p> + +<p>"I had just bandaged up the leg of a man in the Cheshire +Regiment, who had half his foot blown off, when all the prisoners +were ordered to the rear.</p> + +<p>"A German officer came up and ordered us both to get back; but I +pointed out that the Cheshire man was too badly wounded to be +moved without help. He ordered me to undo the bandage, and when +he saw the condition of the wound, he drew his revolver and shot +him dead. He then ordered me to get back.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>"We were then sent into Germany, and when we stopped at the +Railway Stations school children were paraded on the platform and +threw things at us.</p> + +<p>"We were given nothing to eat, and at one station we appealed to +a clergyman, who spoke English; but he said that only German +soldiers should be fed, and turned away.</p> + +<p>"I was sent to Hameln Lager. I was several times sent out with +working parties, and we were sometimes treated very roughly, +especially when there was only an under officer in charge of us.</p> + +<p>"The job I liked best was working for a farmer. Sometimes you get +hold of a decent chap, who will treat you well, if you suit him. +The work is hard and the hours very long, but you live with the +family, and food is much better than what you get in camp; +especially as some of the farmers have food concealed.</p> + +<p>"The under officers are very rough, and stop at nothing.</p> + +<p>"There was a notice up in the lager which said that no man has +any right to refuse to work, and that only the laws of the +Imperial German Government were recognised; and if any man +refused <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>to do what he was told, the guards had authority to use +their rifles."</p> + +<p>"Did they ever use them?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"I never saw them myself; but a man came into the lager one day +who said that just before he was moved one of the men was being +badgered about by his guards, until he at last turned round and +knocked one down. The guards immediately ran their bayonets into +him, and he died next day.</p> + +<p>"The American Consul visited our camp shortly afterwards, and +this man told him about it, and was informed the matter was +already known, and was being investigated. I do not know if +anything came of it.</p> + +<p>"Another little trick which they used to employ to force men to +work in the mines and other places was to take them out one by +one under an armed guard. The rest of us would hear a shot fired, +and then they would take another; a shot would be fired, and so +on. But we soon got on to that, because we found it was a fake.</p> + +<p>"About 100 men were taken away from the lager in the early part +of the war to work in a factory, but when they found it was a +munition factory they refused to work. They were each <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>sentenced +to twelve or fifteen months' imprisonment. I know this for a +fact, because I have spoken to the men. They were very badly +treated, and one of them is in hospital to-day, insane."</p></div> + +<div class="block"><h4><span class="sc">The Story of Private —— of the Middlesex Regiment, Told Me +in Blenhurst Camp</span></h4> + +<p>"I was at Soltau Lager for a long time before we came here. We +used to get one loaf of black bread a day (2 lbs.) between 10 +men. The only food we got was some sort of coffee for breakfast, +and the same for supper. For dinner we had a basin of soup, which +was almost undrinkable, some thin washy stuff; occasionally we +got some potatoes.</p> + +<p>"In the early part of the war there were about 60 of our fellows +sent to work in a munition factory. But when they got there and +saw what they had to do, they refused. They were threatened with +all kinds of things to make them work, and then they were lined +up against a wall, and a number of German soldiers stood in front +of them, and told them that if they didn't work, they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>would be +shot. Then they made a show of loading, and brought their rifles +up to the shoulders. When our men still refused they were taken +into a building and locked up two or three in a room; and left +there for 3 or 4 days without food or water or convenience of any +kind."</p> + +<p>I asked Private —— if he was quite sure of this statement and +the length of time, as the men would be reduced to a state of +absolute starvation.</p> + +<p>"I am quite sure about it," he said, "and as for the men being +starved, I can only tell you that they were found curled up on +the floor, gnawing at their finger-nails.</p> + +<p>"When the Commandant let them out he said he was going to send +them back to their lager, as he admired their pluck, and didn't +think Englishmen had so much in them."</p></div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXIX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>OSNABRUCK</h3> + +<h4 class="title">ARRIVAL IN CAMP. THE CANTEEN. DAILY ROUTINE. RATIONS. PARCELS. NEWS</h4> +<br /> + +<p>We looked forward to the journey with a great deal of pleasure, not +that I could see where I was going, but the sensation of travelling +was a pleasant change.</p> + +<p>We had about half an hour to wait for our train at the station, to the +intense interest of a crowd of 60 or 70 peasants, who gathered around +us and gazed in open-mouthed wonder.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact I was quite unaware that we were the centre of +attraction. I thought we were standing quite alone. It is not a +disadvantage to be blind sometimes.</p> + +<p>We had a guard with us of one soldier with a revolver in his belt, +which no doubt was fully loaded, though we did not trouble him to +prove it.</p> + +<p>We were placed in a very comfortable <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>second-class carriage, quite +equal to an English first-class carriage. German officers also appear +to travel second class; and on all the journeys I made in Germany, I +was always treated on an equality in this respect.</p> + +<p>Half-way through the journey we had to change, and had to wait about +three-quarters of an hour for a connection. We were glad of this, as +we were looking forward to a meal in the station restaurant. But we +were doomed to disappointment. On entering the restaurant there were +plenty of tables and chairs, but to all appearances nothing to eat.</p> + +<p>We sat down at a table in company with our escort, and Wishart went +over to the counter to order a hot meal, but could not make himself +understood. After energetically ordering every dish he could think of, +including eggs and bacon, and emphasising his wishes by violent +gesticulations, he returned unhappily to the table and sought the +assistance of the guard, who was made to understand that in England +the object of entering a restaurant is for the purpose of getting +something to eat.</p> + +<p>We were finally provided with a cup of coffee, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>a piece of cheese, and +a slice of very stale and uninteresting bread.</p> + +<p>We arrived at Osnabruck station at about 9 <span class="fakesc">P.M.</span>, and were +placed in a four-wheel cab, our guards sitting opposite us, with +another soldier, who met us at the station, sitting on the box seat, +thus attracting the attention of the passers-by and conjecture as to +the distinguished occupants of the cab, whose cigars by this time were +unfortunately exhausted.</p> + +<p>We had a drive of about four miles, for Osnabruck camp is situated on +the outskirts of the town; and we were greeted on arrival by a request +from the cabby for ten marks.</p> + +<p>After having been in daily expectation of a voyage to England, my +arrival at Osnabruck camp gave me a fit of the blues; and I felt like +one who enters a prison to undergo a term of penal servitude.</p> + +<p>We knocked at the outer gate, which was securely locked, and were +challenged by a sentry, who was answered by our guard. There was +really no need to challenge us, for as far as Wishart and I were +concerned, we were perfectly willing to remain outside the domain of +his authority.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>We heard a clatter of rifles, as the guard was turned out to welcome +our visit, and after an examination of our papers to make sure that we +had the right to enter, we were marched across the courtyard and +stopped before a very large door. More knocking and a noise as of +bolts being drawn back, and we entered the building.</p> + +<p>As the door was closed and bolted behind me, I felt like one who was +losing his freedom for ever in the dungeons of a mighty fortress.</p> + +<p>We were led into the canteen, and the canteen manager supplied us with +a cup of tea and a slice of bread and margarine—the margarine being a +rare luxury for a prison camp.</p> + +<p>We were next taken into an office and searched and our money exchanged +for canteen money. This precaution is always taken, so that if a +prisoner escapes he is not likely to have any negotiable money upon +him.</p> + +<p>I thought the soldiers who searched us were very fair, for seeing I +was blind, they allowed Wishart to see exactly the money I had upon +me, so that there could be no dispute. As a matter of fact I handed +out the money myself.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>They did not search me, but asked me if I had anything on me which +should be given up, and now I come to think of it, although others +were always rigorously searched, I do not ever remember having been +searched myself. They always took my word for it; perhaps it was +because I was blind and they thought I was harmless.</p> + +<p>We were then taken up to a room on the second floor. Doctor Pohlmann +was as good as his word, and a room for three was provided, Rogan +being in possession.</p> + +<p>Osnabruck camp is part of a cavalry barracks, and the accommodation, +therefore, is what one would expect in English barracks, and quite +suitable for soldiers.</p> + +<p>The rooms are comfortable; there is a small stove with coal provided, +and the furniture consists of camp-beds with two blankets each, a +chest of drawers and a small table and chair. Some of the rooms +contain as many as seven beds, but the rooms are fairly large and do +not appear to be overcrowded.</p> + +<p>Doctor Pohlmann told us that the camp boasted, among other +attractions, a billiard-room. Probably he was right, but he must have +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>forgotten to add that there was no billiard-table or other article of +furniture in it.</p> + +<p>A large room was set aside for the British prisoners, and another for +the Russian prisoners; these were furnished at the prisoners' expense +with a piano and card-tables, and used as anterooms. The British +anteroom, however, never seemed popular, as the officers preferred +their own living-rooms, which were warmer.</p> + +<p>The French had no anteroom, although I think they could have secured +one had they desired it.</p> + +<p>There were about 250 prisoners in the building, about 200 of whom were +Russian and French.</p> + +<p>There was a canteen, where almost everything but food could be +obtained. The beer was not bad, and fairly cheap; but the only other +drinks obtainable were a yellow fluid and a reddish fluid, which was +given by the canteen manager the humorous description of sherry and +port wine.</p> + +<p>He was a wise man, that canteen manager, for under what strategical +device could he have extracted one mark per glass from his customers, +and at the same time supply a "have another" atmosphere to his +establishment? But he was a good fellow, and added greatly to the +comfort <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>of the officers (and to the comfort of his own banking-account).</p> + +<p>You could buy anything from him (except food), from a toothpick (which +he never caused us to need) to a grand piano (which he did not keep in +stock).</p> + +<p>He would purchase on commission, and the latter part of the purchase +he gave particular attention to. But he sought custom, and it made him +civil and obliging. He would supply you with a kettle of boiling water +for 5 pfennigs; or, for a larger consideration, would cook the +pheasant which came in your last parcel.</p> + +<p>The grounds outside the building were very small, although just before +I left a field was thrown open, where the officers could kick a ball +about. There were also two tennis-courts built by the officers.</p> + +<p>The picture does not seem an unpleasant one; and I do not think the +officers imprisoned there ever complain of their treatment. But if it +were a marble palace, that would not alter the fact that it was a +prisoners' camp; and two hours was about as long as anybody would stay +without being bored.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>If the description I have given leaves the impression that the +prisoners have a good time in such seclusion, a stroll around the +building a few times, avoiding the barbed wire; or a few nights' sleep +disturbed by the frequent challenge of the sentry and the barking of +the watch-dogs would disillusion them, and make them realise what it +means to feel the strong fetters of captivity.</p> + +<p>In England we treat German officers very liberally; and if we ever +allow this to arouse our indignation, we should pause to remember that +this generous treatment has induced the German authorities to grant +favours to British officers.</p> + +<p>Our officers, for instance, on signing a parole, are allowed once or +twice each week to go for a long country walk in company with only one +German officer; and this privilege is at any rate worth an equal +amount of consideration being shown towards the German officers in +England.</p> + +<p>A medical officer is present each morning, and if it is necessary to +attend hospital, or the dentist, or if you have permission to go down +for any other purpose, you are allowed the privilege of hiring a +conveyance for what the cabby probably flatters himself is a moderate +charge; but if you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>do not wish to pay for this privilege, you can +walk—in the gutter.</p> + +<p>The dentist was not a popular man to visit, although a prisoner is +often tempted to sacrifice a tooth in order to enjoy the privilege of +a ride down-town. But he was apt to use his professional skill as an +instrument to his patriotic ardour, and appeared to aspire to the +removal of the jaw instead of the tooth.</p> + +<p>During the time I was at Osnabruck, there was a good commandant in +charge. He was a gentleman, fair-minded, and considerate, +notwithstanding the fact that he was a professional soldier of the old +school.</p> + +<p>When I speak of the old school, it leads me to express an opinion that +the brutalities perpetrated upon our soldiers who fell into their +hands in the early part of the war were due to professional military +hatred more than to popular intention. At the commencement of the war, +the professional German soldier seemed to be imbued with the sole +idea, which was no doubt fostered by the system of training, to get to +England, and satisfy his hunger by murder and pillage; and the first +prisoners who saved the people of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>this country by their heroic +self-sacrifice received the first experience of their intentions.</p> + +<p>My contention is borne out by the fact that these brutalities are not +practised to-day in anything like the same degree, for the old army +has become more or less extinct, and a new army of civilians has taken +its place. With the exception, perhaps, of certain elements of the +higher commands, there is a decreasing element of the "top dog" +spirit, and an undercurrent of feeling that it may not be wise to be +too overbearing.</p> + +<p>To-day it is the German civilian fighting the British civilian, and +the German who has a home, family, and business has not the same +hatred as his professional predecessor.</p> + +<p>The German professional soldier is unapproachable; but the German +civilian soldiers seemed reasonable and anxious for peace, and even to +deplore the domineering authority which compelled him to take up arms.</p> + +<p>At Osnabruck the roll-call was made by the officers simply parading +outside of their respective rooms and coming to the salute as the +German officer passed him, and he, in passing by, would answer the +salute. The morning roll-call <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>was at 9 <span class="fakesc">A.M.</span>, so at one +minute to nine it was necessary to tumble out of bed.</p> + +<p>The curious raiment frequently donned more with a view to speed than +dignity prompted an order being issued that officers should parade +fully dressed. The ingenuity of the British soldier, however, could +soon overcome a requirement of this kind. One minute to nine still +prevailed, but the wearing of overcoats for early morning roll-call +grew in popularity.</p> + +<p>I was very much impressed with the fair and systematic handling of our +parcels, letters, and money; and even letters and post-cards which +arrived for me after I had been sent back to England were readdressed +and sent back. A remittance of five pounds, which arrived for me after +I had left was even returned to me in England, instead of being +applied to the pressing need of the German War Loan.</p> + +<p>Letters are distributed each morning. Parcels arrive on Mondays and +Thursdays, and a list is made out and sent round the same afternoon, +from which each prisoner can ascertain the number of parcels awaiting +him. He thereupon appears at an appointed hour the following day to +receive <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>his parcels, which are opened by the German censor in his +presence.</p> + +<p>All tin food has to be opened, but if it is not required for immediate +consumption, it is placed unopened in a locker, and he can draw what +he requires on any day he wishes to use it.</p> + +<p>The American Express Company was permitted to cash officers' cheques +through the paymaster, who kept a proper account of the debits and +credits against each prisoner; so that he could draw money at any time +from the funds standing to his credit. These accounts were kept in a +very businesslike manner, and a prisoner was permitted to go into the +paymaster's office and examine his books whenever he wished. I know of +at least one instance in which a prisoner had been permitted to +overdraw his account.</p> + +<p>The prisoners spent most of their time at Osnabruck in playing tennis, +football, walking up and down the yard, learning French or Russian, +playing cards, or reading.</p> + +<p>The books which prisoners receive from time to time from England are +passed round, thus forming a sort of circulating library.</p> + +<p>In living a life of this kind one cannot help but <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>develop the habits +of school-days, and become boyish in many things.</p> + +<p>One lives for letters and parcels. It is not the length of letters or +size of parcels which count so much as the number; and when the parcel +list comes round, he is a lucky fellow who finds four or five parcels +awaiting him, even though their total contents amount to no more than +that of the man who receives a single parcel.</p> + +<p>On Tuesdays and Fridays the number of parcels was an absorbing topic, +and one would turn to another in schoolboy fashion, and say:</p> + +<p>"How many parcels have you got to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Only one—how many have you?"</p> + +<p>"Six."</p> + +<p>"Lucky devil!"</p> + +<p>In each room the men throw their parcels into one mess, and share +alike; and if a new prisoner arrives, who would not be receiving +parcels, he shares with the others in his room.</p> + +<p>If several prisoners just arriving are put in a room by themselves, +they do not, of course, fare so well, and until their parcels arrive, +many weeks later, they are more or less dependent upon the food issued +to them; although presents of food <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>are frequently sent in by the +others, and articles of clothing are loaned.</p> + +<p>The charge made to the prisoners for food was forty-five marks per +month. We were afterwards informed that by a new regulation the +charge, by some international arrangement, had to be reduced to thirty +marks per month. And the commandant explained that for this sum he +could only supply the same ration which the men received; but would +continue to supply the old ration if the officers would voluntarily +agree to continue paying forty-five marks, and extra for their +bread—which, of course, they did.</p> + +<p>This ration consisted of imitation coffee for breakfast and no food. A +plate of washy stuff called soup, for dinner, followed by some sloppy +mashed potatoes, and sometimes green stuff; and for supper, more +sloppy potatoes.</p> + +<p>To satisfy one's hunger on a cold day with such food—which is only +fit for pigs—can only be done by loosening the waistcoat, and half an +hour afterwards one feels as though he had never had a meal.</p> + +<p>Prisoners were allowed to receive as many letters as they were lucky +enough to have sent <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>them; and there does not appear to be any +restriction as to the length of the letter.</p> + +<p>They are allowed to write two letters of four pages each, and four +post-cards each month. All letters are censored by a staff of censors +in the camp. Outgoing letters and post-cards are held for ten days, +with a view of ascertaining, I believe, whether invisible ink had been +used.</p> + +<p>News arrives in the camp principally by the arrival of new prisoners, +who are kept in quarantine for about ten days.</p> + +<p>German official bulletins are posted in the anteroom; and the +<i>Continental News</i>, which is published in the English language, or +rather disgraces the English language by using it, is delivered daily. +By the bye, the <i>Continental News</i> is a rag of the worst kind, and +contains lies of the worst description.</p> + +<p>My orderly came to me one day, and after carefully closing the door, +he drew from under his tunic a few scraps of an English newspaper a +month old.</p> + +<p>We devoured the news eagerly, as well as the advertisements, and +passed it quietly around to the other officers.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>He had been sweeping up the canteen after the censor had finished +opening up the parcels. One parcel had been wrapped up in the +newspaper, and unthinkingly the censor overlooked it, and tore the +paper into fragments and threw it on the floor.</p> + +<p>My orderly, while sweeping, noticed the pieces on the floor. The +censor was in the room, and he went on sweeping until, when the +censor's head was turned, he stooped and, snatching it up, stuffed it +into his tunic.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXX<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>COMEDY AND DRAMA</h3> + +<h4 class="title">I SALUTE THE WALL. THE STORY OF AN EGG. A NOVEL BANQUET. JOY RIDE ON A +LORRY. THE SWISS COMMISSION</h4> +<br /> + +<p>When I arrived at Osnabruck, I found three English orderlies, and to +my surprise and delight, two were men of my own regiment who had been +captured at Gommecourt Wood on July 1.</p> + +<p>The commandant came up to visit me the following morning, something +very unusual; but no blind prisoner had ever been confined within the +walls of Osnabruck before, and I suppose I was an object of interest.</p> + +<p>I heard Rogan say, "Commandant," and click his heels.</p> + +<p>I stood up and saluted. I was turned around, for, unknowingly, I had +gravely saluted the wall.</p> + +<p>He spoke fairly good English:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>"You quite blind?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite."</p> + +<p>"See no light—nothing, no?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing whatever."</p> + +<p>"Your health, vot, is your health goot—yah?"</p> + +<p>"Very weak and shaky; I cannot sleep at night."</p> + +<p>"Is there anything you want?"</p> + +<p>"There are two orderlies here from my own regiment. Can I have one as +my personal attendant? Otherwise I am helpless; I am not yet +accustomed to blindness, and among so many people and in strange +surroundings, I shall become a nuisance."</p> + +<p>"Yah; I will make arrangements."</p> + +<p>That was how I came to get Private Cotton as my orderly. Cotton was a +fine lad; a well-educated, superior type of fellow, and we became very +much attached to each other during those long, dreary days.</p> + +<p>He could speak French, and although he could speak no German, he +possessed that wonderful faculty peculiar to the private soldier, of +understanding and making himself understood in a language he did not +know.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>He had been a civil servant in the War Office; but in the early part +of the war had volunteered his services with the colours, and fought +night and day in the trenches for a shilling a day; while the young +man who took his place in the War Office drew one and sixpence an hour +overtime after 4 o'clock. Yet Cotton never complained. But his duty +was the other man's opportunity.</p> + +<p>As I write these lines Cotton is still a prisoner. I wonder if the +other man is still drawing overtime, and wearing a war-service badge?</p> + +<p>Now Cotton was a gentleman both by birth and education; but he was a +private soldier, and seemed to make a hobby of being one. He was a +private, and I was a captain, and he insisted on that gulf being +maintained.</p> + +<p>Whenever he bade me good-night, after he had laid me in my bed and +made me some cocoa—generally from his own supplies, for my parcels +went astray—I could always hear him click his heels, and I knew he +had saluted.</p> + +<p>The second day after I had arrived at Osnabruck, he took me for +exercise up and down the yard outside the canteen. This was my first +appearance, and I was evidently an object of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>some curiosity, for wind +had got round the camp that a blind prisoner had been brought in.</p> + +<p>As the French officers passed me, I used to hear them say: "Good +morning, Capitaine," or "Bon jour, mon camarade."</p> + +<p>The English officers were splendid and always anxious to help me, and +many a welcome supper of cocoa and cake I used to have in their rooms +before going to bed.</p> + +<p>I am afraid, though, that I used to make rather a big meal of it, as +for the first two weeks I had to exist on the German rations.</p> + +<p>When I took my first walk in the yard the canteen manager, his wife, +and daughter were evidently watching out for me; for by and by, as a +sign of their good-will, the daughter came running out after me with a +present. It was an egg!</p> + +<p>Cotton and I had a serious talk about this egg. He thought I should +save it, and have half for supper and half for breakfast; but I +settled the matter by eating it at once.</p> + +<p>I think I have forgotten to mention that we were allowed to buy for +half a mark, a loaf of bread every five days. I had no idea how far <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>a +loaf would go; I had never before given it a thought.</p> + +<p>But Cotton had it down to a science; and worked it out that two small +slices for breakfast, and the same for supper would carry me through, +and he kept me to it.</p> + +<p>"Cotton," I would say, after I had breakfasted on the two slices, "I +could eat another slice."</p> + +<p>"Better not, sir."</p> + +<p>"Why not, Cotton? It's my loaf."</p> + +<p>"This is the fourth day, sir, and if you have another slice, there +will only be a small piece of crust for to-morrow's breakfast."</p> + +<p>"All right, Cotton, I will sleep to dinner-time instead."</p> + +<p>It was a joyful day when my first parcels arrived in camp. I was too +excited about it to eat alone that day; and I invited young Martell of +the R.N.A.S. to come and dine with me in my room.</p> + +<p>There was a tin of soup and a tin of tripe and onions, and some +biscuits and cheese. What a banquet! Martell and I decided to do +ourselves in style. We even went so far as to send Cotton to the +canteen for two glasses of what we <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>indulgently patronised the canteen +manager's humour by calling port wine.</p> + +<p>Martell cooked the tripe and onions, after opening the tin with his +penknife, and boiled it on the stove. The more we thought of that +meal, the more we schemed to make a spread of it.</p> + +<p>Cotton, too, rose to the occasion. From the canteen he obtained a +sheet of white paper for a table-cloth, and by the side of each plate +he placed a clean white handkerchief for serviettes.</p> + +<p>The table was just a little rough, wooden one, about two feet square. +The room was swept and the beds made to give the room a tidy +appearance, and then we sat down.</p> + +<p>Yes, Cotton understood. He knew that that meal was taking our thoughts +back to England. It was taking him back, too. He knew that we imagined +we were back again in the mess; and he imagined the same thing +himself.</p> + +<p>In that little room, and in the presence of that tin of tripe and +onions we forgot we were prisoners; we forgot that rows and rows of +barbed wire bound us in captivity; we ignored the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>footsteps of the +sentry pacing up and down outside our window, and the sharp yelping of +the dogs.</p> + +<p>We were back in the mess, and we chatted and laughed during the meal +as we had done in the old days, while our spirits rose with the aroma +of the tripe and onion; and Cotton stood behind me silent and +attentive, removing the plates, washing them, and replacing them ready +for the next course, pretending he was drawing plates from a +well-filled pantry.</p> + +<p>We finished our repast with biscuits and cheese, and then we solemnly +stood, and raising our glasses, toasted the King.</p> + +<p>Then we drew our chairs round the fire, and heating the coffee which +was left over from breakfast, we bathed our thoughts in the aroma of +two cigars which Cotton had thoughtfully provided for the occasion +from the canteen.</p> + +<p>Yes, people of England, living at home in luxury, by the protection of +a thin line of khaki; when you become anxious at the prospect of one +meatless day per week, try living for a fortnight on slops, and then +appreciate the glories of a tin of tripe and onions.</p> + +<p>Still, one can live on slops, and improve a meal <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>by a vivid +imagination. In fact, imagination is a distinct advantage when sitting +down hungrily to a plate of thin watery soup and sloppy potatoes for +dinner.</p> + +<p>When the door used to open and Cotton appeared with this unsavoury +repast, which was always the same each day, I would say to him in the +most indifferent tone I could assume:</p> + +<p>"Well, Cotton, what kind of soup is it to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir; I really don't know. It might be anything; it looks like +hot water."</p> + +<p>"Why, my dear Cotton, this soup is salt. How dull you are! There must +have been a battle in the North Sea!"</p> + +<p>"How do you know that, sir?"</p> + +<p>"It's the way the Germans have. This soup is hot sea-water; it is to +celebrate a victory."</p> + +<p>The next day there would be a slight difference in the soup, and again +Cotton would gravely shake his head, unable to fathom its mystery.</p> + +<p>"My dear Cotton, when will you learn to gather information from your +rations by a method of deduction?"</p> + +<p>"Has there been another battle in the North Sea, sir?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>"No, my dear Cotton, the soup is thicker; the German fleet is back in +the Kiel Canal."</p> + +<p>It was the beginning of the third week of my sojourn in Osnabruck, +when I was told one day that I was to proceed next morning to +Blenhorst camp to appear before the Swiss Commission. Three other +officers were also to go, including Rogan.</p> + +<p>Cotton was to accompany me, and we made great preparation for the +journey, packing in a tin box biscuits and cheese, chocolate and +sardines; for although an officer is charged just the same for his +full day's ration, the Germans have a habit of sending him on a long +day's journey without food.</p> + +<p>We started off at about 6 o'clock the next morning in high glee; for +whatever the result of the Swiss Commission might be, there was the +journey to Blenhorst to break the monotony of Osnabruck.</p> + +<p>We had to change trains several times, and in the station restaurants +we had much the same experience as I have described on my journey from +Hanover.</p> + +<p>In one restaurant we could only obtain a slice <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>of ham as thin as +tissue-paper, and in another a very small sausage; and yet the German +people we passed in the streets had no appearance of being short of +food, or suffering any hardships in this respect. The people in the +streets, I understand, looked just as contented and well fed as the +people in England.</p> + +<p>The station for Blenhorst is about eight miles from the camp. A large +flat, open lorry was sent to meet us to carry our baggage, but as our +belongings were for the most part carried in our pockets, it was +unnecessary for that purpose.</p> + +<p>It then dawned upon our two guards, who had no more desire to walk +than we had, that we might ride on the lorry ourselves. They obtained +a form to hold four, and we four officers occupied this seat on the +open lorry, Cotton sitting on the floor, while the two guards sat +together behind us, with their feet dangling over the side.</p> + +<p>That ride I shall never forget. Perhaps it was because I was blind +that the situation seemed so ridiculously funny. The single-horsed +lorry was pulled slowly through the rough, cobbled streets in sudden +jerks, which sent our legs flying in the air, giving the form a tilt; +and I expected <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>every minute that we would all four turn a double +somersault over the heads of our guards behind, and fall into the road +like clowns at a circus.</p> + +<p>Imagine the picture, an open lorry on a bitterly cold day going +through the streets of a small German town with four British officers +in uniform; two with their heads bandaged, another with an arm in a +sling, and a fourth with a lame leg, all sitting on a form, shivering +with cold—all smoking cigars; while people came out and gazed in +open-mouthed wonder at the strange spectacle; and a crowd of little +urchins came running behind, yelling at the top of their voices.</p> + +<p>All this was explained to me; and I imagined a great deal more, for +the ridiculous situation could only be complete if a shower of rotten +eggs were hurled at us as we passed by.</p> + +<p>The following morning the Swiss Commission arrived, and all those who +wished to appear before it were ordered to assemble in the yard.</p> + +<p>It was a pathetic assembly, officers and men maimed and afflicted +beyond repair, waited in a long queue for their turn to go in and hear +their fate.</p> + +<p>There were a number of Tommies acting as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>orderlies in the camp who +had been prisoners since Mons. There was nothing physically the matter +with them; yet the silent and hopeful manner in which they took their +position in the line, knowing as they must have done, that their +chances were hopeless, was most pitiful to witness.</p> + +<p>Yet, the same men, on appearing before the Commission, and being +immediately rejected, laughed and joked as they returned to their +work.</p> + +<p>The British Tommy is heroic, and rough though his language sometimes +is, he is a man, and Britain is his debtor.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a><hr /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span><br /> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXXI<span class="totoc"><a href="#toc">ToC</a></span></h3> + +<h3>FREE</h3> + +<h4 class="title">I BLUFF THE GERMAN SERGEANT. AACHEN. TWO BOTTLES OF WINE. ACROSS THE +FRONTIER. GREAT SCOTT! I AM CHARGED FOR MY OWN DEATH EXPENSES</h4> +<br /> + +<p>I was passed for England!</p> + +<p>The Examination Board consisted of a Swiss doctor, a German doctor, +and the camp commandant. The Swiss doctor was provided with a schedule +of disablements under which prisoners could be passed for exchange to +their own country, and partial disablements for Switzerland, and +frequently objections to a prisoner's application would be made by the +German representative.</p> + +<p>Of our party from Osnabruck, one was rejected, two were passed for +Switzerland, and I was passed for England.</p> + +<p>The decision of the Swiss Commission is not final, for, on being sent +to the border, all <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>prisoners are again examined—this time by German +doctors only—and by their decision prisoners are frequently rejected +and sent back to camp.</p> + +<p>The final examination for those going to Switzerland takes place at +Konstanz, and for those going to England, at Aachen.</p> + +<p>I knew of one British Tommy who, during eighteen months had been twice +passed for England and once for Switzerland, and each time rejected at +the border, and he is to-day still in Germany.</p> + +<p>It was about two weeks after I had been passed by the Swiss Commission +that a German non-commissioned officer came to my room, and told me +that I was to leave at 4 <span class="fakesc">A.M.</span> the next morning for England.</p> + +<p>I had waited for this moment for three long months; I had no +occupation of any kind, and spent most of my time lying on my bed or +sitting on an uncomfortable chair before the fire, in hourly +expectation of the door opening to tell me of my freedom.</p> + +<p>Permission had been granted me to take Cotton with me to the border, +so we packed all the food we had in stock and prepared for the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>journey. After travelling for some hours, we arrived at Hameln camp, +where we were to stay the night. There was no accommodation for +officers in the camp, and they apparently did not know what to do with +me, or how to provide me with food, as they had never been called upon +before to take charge of an officer.</p> + +<p>The only spare hut was some distance down the road, but as this was +outside the camp, a special guard had to be mounted outside my door. +The question of feeding me was evidently found to be rather a +perplexing one, and a German N.C.O., who could speak English, came to +see me about it.</p> + +<p>"You do not get the same rations at Osnabruck as private soldiers? +No?"</p> + +<p>I saw an opportunity and took it.</p> + +<p>"No, special food is always provided for officers."</p> + +<p>"What do you usually get?"</p> + +<p>"Meat, vegetables, pudding or fruit, and coffee."</p> + +<p>"Zo! But how much do you get? Do you get <i>all</i> that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. As much as we like to pay for."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>"But the money. How do you pay?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I will pay cash before I leave."</p> + +<p>"Goot. I will send you a dinner."</p> + +<p>"By the way, what about my orderly? Bring in the same for him."</p> + +<p>"Is dot usual? I vill gif him rations mit der men."</p> + +<p>"That's against regulations in Osnabruck. Officers pay for their +orderlies' food. Bring him the same as me. By the way, sausages and +coffee for breakfast for both."</p> + +<p>The meals were excellent, and I was glad we were moved off next day +before the commandant came back to discover that I had bluffed the +sergeant.</p> + +<p>At the end of the following day we arrived in Aachen, and again, being +the only officer, the difficulty arose about my accommodation.</p> + +<p>This time I was placed in a real hospital which was used for German +officers, and the accommodation was quite as good as I would expect in +England. There were six nurses in this hospital, kind and generous in +their treatment, and they fed me with every delicacy they could find, +and waited upon me hand and foot.</p> + +<p>Cotton was ordered to return to Osnabruck, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>and was replaced by a +German orderly. An armed guard was placed outside my bedroom door, day +and night, and whenever I took exercise in the garden, I could hear +his footsteps behind me, following me wherever I went, and spitting on +the ground every two or three yards.</p> + +<p>On the second day after my arrival, I went for my final examination, +and the medical officer told me he would send his sergeant-major, who +could speak good English, to have a talk with me that evening. What +did that mean? Why should he want to talk to me? I became suspicious +and awaited his coming with some uneasiness.</p> + +<p>He arrived about 7 o'clock that evening, bringing a friend and two +bottles of wine. They opened the wine and we smoked together. +Conversation was going to be very difficult. I felt I was going to be +pumped for information.</p> + +<p>It was going to be a battle of wits—I could feel it in my veins.</p> + +<p>I made up my mind to be pleasant and tactful and meet every question +by asking one.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, I was mistaken. They were Germans who had lived +in England and worked at the Deutsche Bank in George Yard, Lombard +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>Street, until war broke out, and had lived in Highbury. I soon found +out that they were not bad fellows at all, although their opening +conversation did put my back up, and make me suspicious.</p> + +<p>"London must be full of soldiers?"</p> + +<p>I replied cautiously:</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose the big cities, London, Paris, Berlin, Vienna, must +all be full of soldiers these days."</p> + +<p>"But what do the English people really think about the cause of the +war?"</p> + +<p>"Well," I replied evasively, "it's difficult to say, because people in +England who talk, don't think; and people who think, don't talk."</p> + +<p>"Well, do you think when the war is over there will be any hard +feeling? Do you think things will settle down, and we shall be able to +live there again as we did before?"</p> + +<p>"Well, that depends upon the people's feelings after the war."</p> + +<p>"You know, we cannot understand the English people; you are very hard +to understand, the way you do things."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"Well, look at the way you have got your <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>army together. It's +marvellous; we all admit it. It surprised us.</p> + +<p>"Look at your colonies. We thought Canada and Australia would break +away; or at the very best, would not send over more than about 50,000 +men.</p> + +<p>"But what we cannot understand is why a country which can organise and +handle such an enormous army, is unable to manage its civilian +population."</p> + +<p>"In what way do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Well, look at Ireland; fancy allowing that sort of thing! And the +strikes you have! You build an army, and then allow your people to +hinder it by striking."</p> + +<p>"How can you help it?"</p> + +<p>"You don't find strikes in Germany, because we organise our civil +population for war, as well as the military population.</p> + +<p>"There was one strike a little while ago, not for more money, but +because the men felt they were not getting the food they were entitled +to. Do you know what we did?—We put them all in uniform, and sent +them on to the Somme, and we sent back from the Somme an equal <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>number +of soldiers to replace them in the factory."</p> + +<p>"When do you think the war will be over?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"When each side realises that it can't exterminate the other. Look +what we've done on the Somme! You've lost, let us say, 700,000 men, +and we have lost, say 500,000; and how far have you got? You'll never +beat us. If you bend us back more, all we shall have to do is to +retire to a new line, and you will have to begin your work all over +again. You can bend, but you can't break us."</p> + +<p>"Well, you tried it, and now it's our turn."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but it will never end that way. Do you know that for months past +we've been digging a new line, a straight line between Lille and +Verdun, which will shorten our line by half? And if you bend that we +will build another farther back. It can go on for ever at that rate."</p> + +<p>"What about the blockade?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, that's a farce. You've been doing your best to starve us +for over two years. Do I look starved? We may not get as good food as +we should like, but we get enough to live on, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>because we've got it +properly systemised; whereas you let your people eat what they like."</p> + +<p>Yes, there was truth in that; and after drinking all his wine, I +turned into bed; for to-morrow I was to be free!</p> + +<p>At 7 o'clock on the following evening motor-cars, each with two +trailers, went towards the station, filled with totally disabled +soldiers, en route for England.</p> + +<p>Even their captors thought it was not worth while to keep them.</p> + +<p>War is a monstrous machine of the devil. At one end the manhood of +Britain was pouring into its fiery cauldron; and here at the other end +the devil was raking out the cinders.</p> + +<p>My story is drawing to a close.</p> + +<p>The hospital-train, bearing its human freight, passed through Namur, +Liége, Brussels, and Antwerp to the Dutch frontier.</p> + +<p>All who could do so looked eagerly out of the window for the moment +when they would pass into freedom.</p> + +<p>The train stopped at a small station right on the frontier, and some +formalities were gone through. It started again—there was a German +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>sentry—there was a Dutch sentry—we were over. Hurrah!!!</p> + +<p>Cheer after cheer rang out from that long line of prostrate men.</p> + +<p>The train pulled up at a little station just across the border. The +door of my carriage was flung open and a number of Dutch girls came to +my bed, and a shower of things came tumbling all about me as they +passed one after the other, saying:</p> + +<p>"Cigarettes, pleeze; apple, pleeze; cigar, pleeze; cake, pleeze; +sweets, pleeze——"</p> + +<p>I was in heaven.</p> + +<p>My story is told.</p> + +<p>I am back in my own home now; and as I conclude this record the +postman brings me a letter. It is from my solicitors; I have torn it +open, and find an account. The irony of fate closes the chapter:</p> + +<p>"To services rendered in connection with the death of Captain Nobbs!"</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<div class="tr"> +<p class="cen"><a name="TN" id="TN"></a>Typographical errors corrected in text:</p> +<br /> +Page 63: 'lets drink' replaced with 'let's drink'<br /> +Page 193: lagar replaced with lager<br /> +Page 220: 'we forget we were prisoners' replaced with 'we forgot we were prisoners'<br /> +</div> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's On the right of the British line, by Gilbert Nobbs + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE RIGHT OF THE BRITISH LINE *** + +***** This file should be named 32051-h.htm or 32051-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/0/5/32051/ + +Produced by Jeannie Howse and The Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +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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