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Jeffery + +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: Servants of the Guns + +Author: Jeffery E. Jeffery + +Release Date: October 4, 2011 [EBook #37628] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SERVANTS OF THE GUNS *** + + + + +Produced by Matthew Wheaton and The Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="627" alt="Cover" title=""> +</div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<h1 id="booktitle">SERVANTS OF THE GUNS</h1> + +<p class="h4">BY</p> + +<P class="h3">JEFFERY E. JEFFERY</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<div style="margin-left:8em"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>By the ears and the eyes and the brain,</i></span><br> +<span class="i2"><i>By the limbs and the hands and the wings,</i></span><br> +<span class="i0"><i>We are slaves to our masters the guns,</i></span><br> +<span class="i2"><i>But their slaves are the masters of kings!</i></span><br> +<span class="i14 smcap">Gilbert Frankau.</span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h3"> +LONDON<br> +SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE<br> +1917<br> +<br> +[<i>All rights reserved</i>]</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h6">PRINTED BY<br> +WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED<br> +LONDON AND BECCLES, ENGLAND</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h5"><i>TO<br> +<br> +ONE WHO KNOWS NOTHING OF GUNS<br> +<br> +BUT MUCH OF LIFE</i></p> + +<p class="h4"><i>MY MOTHER</i></p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h3">CONTENTS</p> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#PART_I">PART I</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">THE NEW "UBIQUE"</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="tdrfirst">PAGE</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#BEGINNING_AGAIN">Beginning Again</a></td> + <td class="tdr">3</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#A_BATTERY_IN_BEING">A Battery In Being</a></td> + <td class="tdr">20</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#IN_THE_LINE">"In The Line"</a></td> + <td class="tdr">41</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#SPIT_AND_POLISH">Spit And Polish</a></td> + <td class="tdr">62</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#A_BATTLE">A Battle</a></td> + <td class="tdr">76</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#PART_II">PART II</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">AND THE OLD</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#BILFRED">Bilfred</a></td> + <td class="tdr">101</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#THE_PROGRESS_OF_PICKERSDYKE">"The Progress Of Pickersdyke"</a></td> + <td class="tdr">124</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#SNATTY">Snatty</a></td> + <td class="tdr">156</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#FIVE-FOUR-EIGHT">Five-Four-Eight</a></td> + <td class="tdr">178</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#PART_III">PART III</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">IN ENEMY HANDS</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#SOME_EXPERIENCES_OF_A_PRISONER_OF_WAR">Some Experiences of a Prisoner of War</a></td> + <td class="tdr">209</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"><a href="#HENRY">Henry</a></td> + <td class="tdr">252</td> + </tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="PART_I" id="PART_I"></a>PART I</h2> + +<p class="h3">THE NEW "UBIQUE"</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum">[3]</span> + +<h2><a name="BEGINNING_AGAIN" id="BEGINNING_AGAIN"></a>BEGINNING AGAIN</h2> + +<p>As the long troop train rumbled slowly over the +water-logged wastes of Flanders, I sat in the +corner of a carriage which was littered with all +the <i>débris</i> of a twenty-four hours' journey and +watched the fiery winter's sun set gorgeously. +It was Christmas evening. Inevitably my mind +went back to that other journey of sixteen +months ago when we set forth so proudly, so +exultantly to face the test of war.</p> + +<p>But how different, how utterly different is +everything now! Last time, with the sun shining +brilliantly from a cloudless sky and the French +sentries along the line waving enthusiastically, +we passed cheerfully through the pleasant land +of France towards our destination on the frontier. +I was a subaltern then, a subordinate member of a +battery which, according to pre-war standards, +was equipped and trained to perfection—and I +can say this without presumption, for having +only joined it in July I had had no share in the<span class="pagenum">[4]</span> +making of it. But I had been in it long enough +to appreciate its intense <i>esprit-de-corps</i>, long +enough to share the absolute confidence in its +efficiency which inspired every man in it from +the major to the second trumpeter.</p> + +<p>But now it is midwinter, the second winter +of the war, and the French sentries no longer +wave to us, for they have seen too many train-loads +of English troops to be more than mildly +interested. The war to which we set out so +light-heartedly sixteen months ago has proved +itself to be not the "greatest of games," but the +greatest of all ghastly horrors threatening the +final disruption of civilised humanity. More +than a year has passed and the end is not in +sight. But the cause is as righteous, the victory +as certain now as it was then.... The methods +and practice of warfare have been revolutionised. +Theory after theory has been disproved by the +devastating power of the high explosive and the +giant gun. Horse and field batteries no longer +dash into action to the music of jingling harness +and thudding hoofs. They creep in by night +with infinite precautions and place their guns +in casemates which are often ten feet thick; +they occupy the same position not for hours, but +for months at a time; they fire at targets which<span class="pagenum">[5]</span> +are sometimes only fifty yards or even less in +front of their own infantry, with the knowledge +that the smallest error may mean death to their +comrades; and the control of their shooting is +no longer an affair of good eyesight and common +sense, but of science, complicated instruments, +and a multiplicity of telephones.</p> + +<p>And I, a novice at all this kind of work, am +no longer a subaltern. I am directly responsible +for the welfare and efficiency of the battery +which this long train is bearing into the zone of +war. How we fare when we get there, what +kind of tasks are allotted to us, and how we +succeed in coping with them I hope to record +in due course. But this I know now—the human +material with which I have to deal is good enough. +We have the advantage of being a homogeneous +unit, for we belong to one of the "locally raised" +divisions. With only a very few exceptions +(notably the sergeant-major, who is a "serving +soldier" of vast proportions and great merit), +the N.C.O.'s and men all come from the same +district. Many of them were acquainted in +private life and enlisted in little coteries of five +or six. Christian names are freely used, which +is fortunate seeing that we have four Jones', +five Davies', and no less than eight Evans' on<span class="pagenum">[6]</span> +our roll. In moments of excitement or of anger +they resort to their own language and encourage +or abuse each other in voluble Welsh....</p> + +<p>A few miles back we passed G.H.Q. I was +vaguely impressed with the silent dignity, the +aloofness, as it were, of that now celebrated +place. Our train drew up in the station, which +seemed as deserted as that of a small English +country town on a Sunday. "Here, within a +mile of me," I thought, "dwell the Powers that +Be, whose brains control the destinies of a million +men. Here somewhere is the individual who +knows my destination and when I am likely to +get to it." But this surmise proved incorrect. +It was three-thirty on Christmas afternoon and +even the staff must lunch. Presently a R.T.O.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> +issued from a cosy-looking office and crossed +the line towards me. His first question was +positively painful in its naïve simplicity.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Railway Transport Officer.</p></div> + +<p>"Who are <i>you</i>?" he inquired haughtily. +My reply was not only correct but dignified. +"We know nothing about you," he said. "The +staff officer who should have been here to give +you your instructions is away at present." (I +think I mentioned that it was Christmas Day!)</p> + +<p>"Never mind," I replied, "but would it be +<span class="pagenum">[7]</span>disturbing your arrangements at all if I watered +my horses and gave my men some food here? +They've had nothing since last night, and the +horses have been ten hours without water."</p> + +<p>"No time for that. You'll leave in two +minutes."</p> + +<p>And sure enough in half an hour we were off +again!...</p> + +<p>When, soon after five, we learnt that we were +within a few minutes of our journey's end I +leant across and woke "The Child"—who is +my junior subaltern. If this war had not come +to pass the Child would probably be enjoying +his Christmas holidays and looking forward to +his last term at his public school. Actually, +he has already nine months' service, of which +three have been spent at the front. He has been +home wounded and is now starting out again +as a veteran to whom less experienced persons +refer their doubts and queries. Last week he +celebrated his eighteenth birthday. He is the +genuine article, that is he holds a regular commission +and has passed through "the Shop."<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> +His clothes fit him, his aspirates appear in the +right places, he is self-possessed, competent, +level-headed and not infrequently amusing. Of +<span class="pagenum">[8]</span>his particular type of manhood (or rather boyhood) +he is a fine example.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> R.M.A. Woolwich.</p></div> + +<p>"Wake up, Child," I said. "We're nearly +there."</p> + +<p>He rubbed his eyes and sat up, wide awake +at once.</p> + +<p>"<i>Some</i> journey," he observed. "Hope it's +not Hell's own distance to our billets."</p> + +<p>The R.T.O. at —— where we detrained was +an expert, the passion of whose life it is apparently +to clear the station yard in an impossibly short +space of time. He addressed me as follows, the +moment I was out of the train.</p> + +<p>"You <i>must</i> be unloaded and out of this in +two hours. You can sort yourselves in the road +afterwards."</p> + +<p>I promised to do my utmost, but the prospect +of sorting men, horses, vehicles, and harness on +a narrow road flanked by deep ditches whilst +the rain streamed down out of a sky as black as +tar, appealed only vaguely to my optimistic +spirit.</p> + +<p>The R.T.O., having given minute instructions +and made certain that they were in course of +being carried out with feverish haste, became +communicative.</p> + +<p>"You see," he said, "there's been the dickens<span class="pagenum">[9]</span> +of a row lately. One unit took four and a half +hours to detrain and several have taken more +than three. Then 'Brass Hats' get busy and +call for reasons in writing, and I have to render +a report and everybody gets damned. If you +exceed your time I shall <i>have</i> to report you. +I don't want to, of course, and I'm sure you don't +want me to."</p> + +<p>But at this moment I spotted, by the light +of an acetylene flare, my prize-fool sergeant +(every battery is issued with at least one of these) +directing his drivers to place their harness just +where it could not fail to be in everybody's way. +I turned to the R.T.O.</p> + +<p>"My good man," I said, "you can report me +to any one you please. I've reached the stage +when I don't care <i>what</i> you do." And I made for +the offending sergeant. The R.T.O., justly incensed, +retired to the warmth of his office.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact things went rather well; +the men, heartened by the thought that rest +and food were not far distant, worked with a +will, and by the time the allotted two hours had +elapsed we were not only clear of the yard, but +hooked in on the road and nearly ready to start. +Moreover, being the first battery of the Brigade +to arrive we had had our choice of billets, and<span class="pagenum">[10]</span> +knew that we had got a good one. The Child, +preceded by a cyclist guide whose knowledge of +the country was palpably slight, and followed by +the mess cart, had gone off into the darkness to +find the way. It was his job to make all arrangements +and then come back to meet us. Since +it was only drizzling now and not really very +cold, the outlook was distinctly brighter.</p> + +<p>"Walk—march," I ordered, and we duly +started. We progressed without mishap for, +roughly, twenty-five yards, when there was a +shout from the rear of the column. The sergeant-major +took in its ominous purport before I did. +He forgot himself—and swore aloud. "G.S. +wagon's overturned in the ditch" was what I +eventually heard. It was enough to make an +angel weep tears of vexation.</p> + +<p>A battery is provided by a munificent government +with two G.S. wagons. One contains +supplies (<i>i.e.</i> food for horse and man), the other +contains baggage and stores. To be without +either is most unpleasant. I went back to the +scene of the disaster. The ditch was deep and +more than half full of water. In it, completely +overturned and firmly wedged, was the baggage +wagon. Behind the wagon, also in the ditch +and still mounted upon a floundering steed, was<span class="pagenum">[11]</span> +our old farrier, talking very fast to himself in +Welsh. We got him out and soothed him—poor +old man, he was wet through from the waist +downwards—and then looked sadly, reluctantly, +at the wagon. Evidently there was no hope +of shifting it without unloading, and that would +take too long. So three unfortunate gunners +and a bombardier were told off to mount guard +over it, given some tins of bully beef and a few +biscuits and marooned, as it were, till the morning. +All this took time. And we were very tired and +very hungry.</p> + +<p>"I am the most unlucky devil on earth," I +thought, as riding up to the front again I found +that the pole of an ammunition wagon had broken +and was going to cause still further delay. But +it was a selfish thought. There was a distant +rumbling, not of thunder, far behind us. I +looked back. The night was clearing and the +black horizon was a clear-cut line against the +heavens. Into the sky, now here, now there, +kept darting up tiny sparks of fire, and over the +whole long line, for miles and miles, a glimmer, +as of summer lightning, flickered spasmodically. +For in that direction lay "the front." On this +Christmas night in the year of grace nineteen +hundred and fifteen, from the North Sea to the<span class="pagenum">[12]</span> +Alps, there stood men peering through the +darkness at the dim shape of the parapet opposite, +watching for an enemy who might be preparing +some sinister scheme for their undoing. And +I had dared to deem myself unlucky—I who had +hope that some time that night I should undress +and slip into bed—warm and dry....</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>St. Stephen's Day! I wonder if the U.H.C. +are meeting at Clonmult to-day. Closing my +eyes I can picture the village street with its +crowd of holiday-making farmers, buckeens, +horse-dealers, pinkcoated officers and country +gentlemen, priests and "lads on jinnets," as it +was when I went to a meet there that Boxing Day +the year that "Brad" and I spent our leave +in Cork. But now hunting is a thing of small +importance and Brad—is a treasured memory....</p> + +<p>We are comfortable here, extraordinarily +so. The whole battery is in one farm and more +than half the horses are under cover. The men +sleep in a roomy barn with plenty of straw to +keep them warm, the sergeants have a loft of +their own. We have arranged harness rooms, +a good kitchen for the cooks, a washhouse, a +gun park, a battery office, and a telephone room. +"<i>M. le patron</i>" is courtly and obliging, Madame<span class="pagenum">[13]</span> +is altogether charming. Their parlour is at the +officers' disposal for a living-room: I've got a +bedroom to myself. We are, in fact, in process +of settling down.</p> + +<p>My admiration for the soldiers of the New +Army increases daily. For I perceive that they +too, in common with their more highly trained, +more sternly disciplined comrades of the original +"Regulars," possess the supreme quality of +being able to "stick it." The journey from our +station in England to this particular farm in +northern France was no bad test for raw troops—and +we are raw at present, it is idle to deny the +fact. We marched to Southampton, we embarked +(a lengthy and a tiring process). We were twelve +hours on the boat, and we had an exceptionally +rough crossing, during which nine-tenths of the +battery were sick. We disembarked, we groomed +our horses and regarded our rusty harness with +dismay. We waited about for some hours, +forbidden to leave the precincts of the quay. +Then we marched to the station and entrained. +Any one who has ever assisted to put guns and +heavy wagons on to side-loading trucks, or to +haul unwilling horses up a slippery ramp, knows +what that means. And I may add that it was +dark and it was raining. We travelled for<span class="pagenum">[14]</span> +twenty-four hours—with a mess-tin full of lukewarm +tea at 8 a.m. to hearten us—and then we +detrained at just the time when it was getting dark +again and still raining. Moreover, whilst we were +in the train, cold, hungry, dirty and horribly +uncomfortable, we had ample time to remember +that it was Christmas Day, a festival upon which +the soldier is supposed to be given a gratuitous +feast and a whole holiday. But all this, to say +nothing of a five-mile march to our billet afterwards +and the tedious process of unharnessing +and putting down horse lines in the dark, was +done without audible "grousing." Truly this +morning's late <i>réveillé</i> was well earned.</p> + +<p>The sun is shining this afternoon. The +gunners are busy washing down the guns and +wagons, the drivers sit around the courtyard +scrubbing away at their harness: through the +open window I can hear them singing softly. +The poultry picking their way delicately about +the yard, the old <i>patro</i>n carrying armfuls of +straw to his cattle, and Madame sitting sewing +in the kitchen doorway almost make one feel +that peace has come again into the world. But +from the eastward occasionally and very faintly +there comes that ominous rumbling which portends +carnage, destruction—Death....<span class="pagenum">[15]</span></p> + +<p>It was the quartermaster-sergeant's idea +originally. He is a New Army product, but he +has already developed the two essential attributes +which go towards the making of a good quartermaster-sergeant—a +suave manner and an eye to +the main chance. It was he who suggested, +laughingly, that since the men had missed their +Christmas dinner, we should pretend to be Scotch +and celebrate New Year's Day instead. The +arrangements are now complete. The men are +to be "paid out" to-morrow and they have all +agreed to subscribe a franc apiece. This will +be supplemented until the funds are sufficient. +The Expeditionary Force canteen at —— has +been visited, and in spite of the heavy demands +previously made upon it for Christmas has +provided us with numerous delicacies. The old +farmer, entering cheerfully into the spirit of the +affair, has offered beans and potatoes which +Madame proposes to cook for us. Bottled beer +has been purchased, beer on draught will be +forthcoming. There are even crackers. To +crown all, the Child returns triumphantly seated +upon the box seat of a G.S. wagon which contains—a +piano!...</p> + +<p>In the end circumstances forced us to celebrate +the birth of the year of victory on the last day<span class="pagenum">[16]</span> +but one of 1915. For to-day two officers and +a large party of N.C.O.'s and men departed for +the front on a course of instruction. So we had +to have our "day" before they went. And +what a day it was! The dinner—thanks largely +to the energy and resource of the "quarter-bloke" +and the cooks—was an immense success. +Every man ate until, literally, he could eat no +more. Then, after the issue of beer and a brief +interval for repose and tobacco, an inter-section +football match was started. The two subalterns +whose commands were involved made a sporting +agreement that the loser should stand a packet +of cigarettes to every man of the winning section—some +sixty in all. The game, which was played +in a water-logged meadow, ended in a draw, +so they each stood their own men the aforesaid +packet—a highly popular procedure.</p> + +<p>The piano, need I say, was going all the afternoon. +It was necessary to practise for the +evening's concert, and besides we are Welsh and +therefore we are all musical. Moreover—and +this I record with diffidence—I saw the one +sergeant we have who is <i>not</i> Welsh but Irish +inveigle the dairymaid into waltzing round the +yard!</p> + +<p>In the officers' mess we too "spread ourselves<span class="pagenum">[17]</span> +a bit." We had guests and we gave them an +eight-course dinner which began with <i>hors d'œuvre +variés</i> (but not very varied seeing that there were +only sardines and chopped carrots) and ended with +dessert. Specially selected ration beef was, of +course, the <i>pièce de résistance</i>, but it was followed +by roast pigeon and a salad, the latter mixed +and dressed by Madame's own fair hands. But +the pigeons, though cooked to a nicety, were +undeniably tough—a fact which was not surprising +seeing that they were quite possibly the +oldest inhabitants of the farm!</p> + +<p>Eventually, well pleased with ourselves and +each armed with a brand of cigar which one can +buy at the rate of nine inches for twopence, we +adjourned to the smoking concert in the barn. +The stage was our old friend the G.S. wagon; +the lights, siege lamps, hung round at intervals. +Bottled beer and cigarettes were in constant circulation; +the performers were above the average, +and the choruses vociferous but always tuneful.</p> + +<p>Every unit has its amateur comedian; but +we have got a real professional one—a "lad fra' +Lancasheer" who is well known in the north +of England. I will not divulge his stage name, +but he is a corporal now. His voice is exceptional, +his good-nature unlimited, and as for his<span class="pagenum">[18]</span> +stories—well! Moreover, he is gifted enough +to be always topical, often personal, but never +disrespectful.</p> + +<p>The Child also performed. He has no great +voice and had dined well, but, since he <i>is</i> the +Child and sang a song about any old night being +a wonderful night, was wildly applauded. Then +the saddler-sergeant, a quaint character of +whom more anon, brought the house down by +playing a quavering solo upon a penny whistle. +Finally, the sergeant-major made a speech which +ended as follows:—</p> + +<p>"Now there's just one point I want to remind +you of. We all wear a badge in our caps with a +gun on it—those of us that is who haven't gone +against orders and given them away as souvenirs" +(audible giggles—although as a matter of fact +this has not occurred). "We're all members +of the Royal Regiment. It's got a fine history—let's +play up to it. We'll now sing 'the +King,' after which there'll be an issue of tea +and rum...."</p> + +<p>The windows of our mess-room, as I have +said, face the courtyard. We were enjoying +supper and a welcome drink whilst the long queue +of men waited for their tea at the cook-house +door outside, when suddenly in a dark corner<span class="pagenum">[19]</span> +of the yard a chorus started. But it was not an +ordinary chorus, raucous and none too tuneful. +Neither was it music-hall sentiment. It was +Grand Opera, sung by a dozen picked men and +sung beautifully. We threw open the window +to listen.</p> + +<p>The effect was extraordinarily striking. It +was a gorgeous starlit night, and against the +sky the farm buildings opposite looked like +silhouettes of black velvet. The voices of these +unseen artists (for they <i>were</i> artists) came to us +softly out of the darkness, rising and falling in +perfect cadence, perfect harmony. They sang +two selections from <i>Il Trovatore</i> and then the +"Soldiers' Chorus" from <i>Faust</i>. Meanwhile the +battery sipped its hot tea and rum and listened +critically. Then there followed a solo, "He like +a soldier fell," from <i>Maritana</i>. As a finale, +most wonderful of all, they sang "Land of my +Fathers" in Welsh. The occasion, the setting, +the way they put their very souls into every note +of it, made me catch my breath as I sat on the +window-sill and listened. And I went to bed +feeling that there is yet a thread of romance +running through all the sordid horror which vexes +our unhappy world.</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum">[20]</span> + +<h2><a name="A_BATTERY_IN_BEING" id="A_BATTERY_IN_BEING"></a>A BATTERY IN BEING</h2> + +<p>The author of a little red book "War Establishments," +labelled "For Official Use Only" (presumably +a gentleman with a brain like an +automatic ready-reckoner), probably thought of +nothing whatever, certainly of no human being, +when he penned the decree "Farrier-Sergeants—per +battery—1." But if he could only see the +result of his handiwork! For our farrier-sergeant +David Evans is simply splendid. He is small +and sturdy and middle-aged, with grizzled hair +that shows at all times in front of his pushed-back +cap. His soft Welsh accent is a joy to hear; +his affection for the horses is immense, his +industry unflagging, and his workmanship always +of the very best. He knows nothing about +guns or drill or any kind of soldiering, he is an +indifferent rider and in appearance he would +never be mistaken for a guardsman! But we +have only cast one shoe since he joined us months +ago, and he has been known to sit up all night<span class="pagenum">[21]</span> +with a sick horse and carry on with his work as +usual on the following day, whistling merrily +(he always whistles while he works) and hammering +away as if his very ration depended upon his +shoeing the whole battery before dusk. The Child +summed him up with his customary exactitude.</p> + +<p>"I love the old farrier," he said, "he's such +a merry old man. I bet he's a topping uncle +to somebody!"</p> + +<p>Then there is the saddler. I know that the +formation of our new armies has produced many +anomalies, but it is my conviction that our +saddler is unique. To start with he is a grandfather! +He is a little wizened old man with +a nose like a bird's beak and he wears huge thick +spectacles. He is sixty-two, and how he got +into the service is a mystery. He has never done +a parade in his life, but when it comes to leather-work +(again I quote the Child) "he's a tiger." +The battery was newly formed and living in +billets in North Wales when he joined it. His +original appearance caused a mild sensation, +even amongst that motley and ununiformed +assembly. For he wore check trousers and a +pair of ancient brown shoes, a tweed tail-coat +from the hind pocket of which protruded a red +handkerchief, and—most grotesque of all—a<span class="pagenum">[22]</span> +battered top hat of brown felt! And in this +costume he served his country, quite unconcernedly, +for two months before the authorities +saw fit to provide him with a khaki suit. It is +his habit, no matter where the battery may find +itself—in barracks, camp or billets, to seek out +a secluded spot (preferably a dark one), to instal +himself there with his tools and a tangle of odd +straps, threads and buckles, and proceed to make +or mend things. For he is one of those queer +persons who really like work.</p> + +<p>I was not fortunate enough to see him in his +civilian garb, but I have a vivid recollection +of his first appearance after being issued with a +"cap, winter, overseas, with waterproof cover." +This cap, though practical, does not tend to add +to the smartness of the wearer, even if the wearer +is in all other respects smart. But the saddler +went to extremes. He managed to put on the +cover so that the whole, pulled well down over +his ears, resembled a vast sponge bag or an +elderly lady's bathing cap, beneath which his +spectacles gleamed like the head-lights of a +motor-car. The wildest stretch of the imagination +could not liken him to any sort of soldier. +Nevertheless, after his fashion, he is certainly +"doing his bit."<span class="pagenum">[23]</span></p> + +<p>It is, of course, impossible to describe them all. +Equally is it impossible to understand them all. +I wish I could, for therein lies the secret to almost +everything. The sergeant-major, for instance, +who is the personification of respectful efficiency—what +does he think of this infant unit? From +the dignified way in which he says, "Of course +in <i>my</i> battery we did so and so" (meaning, of +course, his old "regular" battery), I gather +that his prejudices are strong and that he harbours +a secret longing to go back whence he came. And +I sometimes wonder whether he finds himself +quite at home in the sergeants' mess. But he +shows no outward sign of discontent and he allows +no discord: his discipline is stern and unbending. +He knows all about every man and every horse, +he is always to be found somewhere in the lines, +and he is extraordinarily patient at explaining +to ignorant persons of all ranks the "service" +method of doing everything—from the tying of +a headrope to the actual manœuvring of a battery +in the field. Last, but by no means least, he is +six foot three and broad in proportion, and his +voice carries two hundred yards without apparent +effort on his part.</p> + +<p>The quartermaster-sergeant—I learnt this only +a day or so ago—is a revivalist preacher in quieter<span class="pagenum">[24]</span> +times; the ration orderly, besides his faculty +for wheedling extra bacon out of the supply +people, has a magnificent tenor voice; the great +majority of the rank and file are miners. It is +only comparatively recently that they have +really settled down to take a pride in themselves +and an intelligent interest in the reputation of +their unit. For we are not <span class="smcap">Ki</span>. We are nearer +to being <span class="smcap">Kv</span> or <span class="smcap">VI</span>, and we were not amongst +the first to be equipped and trained. We got +our guns, our horses and our harness late in the +day, and we were, perhaps, the least bit rushed. +Consequently we were slow to develop, but we +are making up for lost time now at an astonishing +pace. I can remember a time when, on giving +the order "Walk—march" to any given team, +there was always an even chance that drivers +and horses would disagree as to the necessity for +moving off. I can also remember a time (and +not so very long ago either) when our gunners +had but the smallest conception of what a gun +was designed to do and (I know this) rather +shrank from the dread prospect of actually firing +it. But now we drive with no mean attempt +at style; a narrow gateway off a lane is nothing +to us, and our horses, artistically matched in +teams of bay or black, are prepared to pull their<span class="pagenum">[25]</span> +two tons through or over anything within reason +with just a "click" of encouragement from the +drivers they know and understand. And we +open the breech as the gun runs up after the +recoil, we call out the fuzes and slap in the next +shell with more than mere drill-book smartness; +we're beginning to acquire that pride in our +working of the guns which is the basis of all +good artillery work. In fact we have reached +a stage where it would be a wholesome corrective +to our conceit to be taken <i>en masse</i> to see the +harness, the horses and the gun-drill of some +regular battery that has borne the brunt of things +since Mons. Then we would go home saying +to ourselves, "If the war lasts another two years +and we keep hard at it, we'll be as good as they +are."</p> + +<p>But in the meanwhile we are quite prepared +to take on the Hun, moving or stationary, in +trenches or in the open, at any range from +"point-blank" to six thousand. And we +have had it dinned into us, until we yawned +and shuffled our feet and coughed, that it is +our <i>rôle</i> at all times to help our infantry, whose +life is ten times more strenuous than ours, +and by whom ultimately victory is won. We +know the meaning of the two mottoes on our<span class="pagenum">[26]</span> +hats and we are distinctly optimistic. Which +is as well....</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>To-day I visited "the Front." We rode up, +a subaltern and I, to see the battery to which +our men are at present attached and which we +will eventually relieve. It is a strange experience +for the uninitiated, such as I am, this riding +along the flat and crumbling roads towards the +booming of the guns and the desolation of "the +line." The battery position, we found, was just +on the borderland of this zone of desolation. +One would never have suspected the presence +of guns unless one had known exactly where to +look—and had gone quite close. A partially +ruined house on the road-side had its front and +one gable end entirely covered with a solid wall +of sandbags, but these were the only obvious +indications of occupation. This house, however, +was the mess and officers' quarters, and the Child +was there at the door to welcome us.</p> + +<p>"We've had quite a busy morning," he said +gaily. "They've been putting four-two's and +five-nine's into ——" (—— is a village about a +quarter of a mile up the road). "I was just +going out to look for fuzes: but perhaps you'd +like to see round the position first."<span class="pagenum">[27]</span></p> + +<p>We crossed the road and entered a small +orchard. The Child led me up to a large turf-covered +mound which had a deep drain all round +it and a small door at the back.</p> + +<p>"This," he said, rather with the air of a guide +showing a visitor round a cathedral, "is No. 4."</p> + +<p>I bent my head and stepped inside. The gun-pit +(which was not really a pit since its floor was +on ground level) was lit only by the narrow +doorway at the rear and by what light could +filter through the hurdles placed in front of the +embrasure. But in the dimness I could just +make out the rows and rows of shells all neatly +laid in recesses in the walls, the iron girders that +spanned the roof and held up its weight of +sandbags, brick rubble and—reinforced concrete. +Ye gods! concrete—for a field gun! And there, +spotlessly clean, ready for instant action, was +the gun itself. I felt sorry for it—it seemed so +hopelessly out of place, so far removed from its +legitimate sphere. To think that an eighteen-pounder, +designed for transit along roads and +across country, should have come to this!</p> + +<p>"The detachment live here," said the Child, +and showed me a commodious dug-out connected +with the gun-pit by a short tunnel. Inside this +dug-out were four bunks and a stove—also a<span class="pagenum">[28]</span> +gunner devouring what smelt like a very savoury +dinner.</p> + +<p>"What will these keep out?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" replied the Child, airily, "they're +'pip-squeak'<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> and splinter-proof, of course, and +they might stop a four-two or even a five-nine. +But a direct hit with an eight-inch would make +<i>some</i> hole, I expect. Come and see the telephonist's +place. It's rather a show spot."</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> German field gun shells.</p></div> + +<p>As we were walking towards it a stentorian +voice shouted, "Battery action."</p> + +<p>Instantly, the few men who had been working +on the drains and on the pits, or filling sandbags, +dropped their tools and raced to the gun-pits. +In a few seconds the battery was ready to +fire.</p> + +<p>We entered the telephone room—a shell-proof +cave really. A man sat at a little table +with an improvised but extraordinarily ingenious +telephone exchange in front of him and a receiver +strapped to his ear. A network of wires went +out through the wall above his head. His instrument +emitted a constant buzzing of "dots" +and "dashes," all of which he disregarded, waiting +for his own call. Suddenly he clicked his key +in answer, then said—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[29]</span></p><p>"Hullo, oh-pip<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>—yes. Target K.—one round +battery fire—yes."</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> "Oh-pip" is signalese for O.P. = Observation Post.</p></div> + +<p>This order was repeated to the guns by megaphone.</p> + +<p><i>Bang</i> went No. 1 and its shell whistled and +swished away towards its goal.</p> + +<p><i>Bang</i> followed No. 2 just before "No. 1 ready" +was called back.</p> + +<p>It all seemed astonishingly simple, and it +seemed, too, quite unconnected with war and +bloodshed. Orders to fire came by telephone +from some place thousands of yards in front. +The guns were duly fired by men who had no +conception of what they were firing at, men who +had in all probability never been nearer to the +enemy than they were at that moment, and who +had in fact not the slightest conception of what +the front line looked like. According to order +these same men made minute adjustments of +angles, ranges, fuzes, until the battery's shells +were falling on or very close to some spot selected +by the Forward Observing Officer, the one man +who really knew what was happening. And +when this exacting individual was satisfied, each +sergeant duly recorded his "register" of the +target upon a printed form, reminding me vaguely +<span class="pagenum">[30]</span>of the manner in which a 'bus conductor notes +down mysterious figures on a block after referring +to his packet of tickets. After which the detachments, +receiving the order "Break off," returned +to their work or dinners with no thought whatever +(I am sure of this) as to where their shell had gone +or why or how! But then this was not a "show" +but just an ordinary morning's shoot.</p> + +<p>We lunched in the mess, a comfortable room +with a red-tiled floor and a large open fireplace +on which logs of wood crackled merrily. On +inquiry I learnt that these same logs were once +beams in the church at ——, devastated not long +since by heavy shells and now a heap of shapeless +ruins from which the marauding soldier filches +bricks and iron work. And that church was +centuries old and was once beautiful. War is +indeed glorious.</p> + +<p>I have heard it said that people who live close +to Niagara are quite unconscious of the sound +of the Falls. I can believe it. Practically +speaking, in this part of the world, two minutes +never pass, day or night, during which no one +fires a gun. But the human beings whose job +it is to live and work here evince absolutely no +interest if the swish of the shell is <i>away</i> from +them and very little if it is coming towards them,<span class="pagenum">[31]</span> +unless there appears to be a reasonable chance +that it is coming <i>at</i> them. Throughout lunch +the next battery to this one was firing steadily. +Rather diffidently I asked what was going on. +The major commanding the battery shrugged +his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Old —— has probably got some job on—or +he may be merely retaliating," he replied.</p> + +<p>I subsided, not knowing then that before the +day was over I was to learn more about this +same retaliation.</p> + +<p>After lunch we set out for the O.P.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Observation Post.</p></div> + +<p>"We've got quite a jolly little offensive <i>strafe</i> +on this afternoon," remarked the major. "There's +some wire-cutting, and while it's going on the +attention of the Hun will be distracted by the +'heavies' who are going to bash his parapet a +bit. Then at dusk the infantry are to slip across +and do some bombing. We'll be rather crowded +in the O.P., but I dare say you'll be able to see +something."</p> + +<p>The Child and my other subaltern, who from +his habit of brushing his hair straight back and +referring constantly to his <i>blasé</i> past is known +to his intimates as Gilbert, came too.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[32]</span></p><p>We passed through ——, which is shelled +regularly. Some of its houses are completely +wrecked, but many are still partially intact. +Infantry soldiers lounged about the ruined streets, +for this village is used as a rest billet for troops +waiting their turn in the trenches: the expression +"rest" billet struck me as euphemistic. I +noticed that several shells had burst in the graveyard +near the church. Even the dead of previous +generations, it seems, are not immune from the +horrors of this war.</p> + +<p>After going up the road for nearly a mile +we turned off on to the fields. Every ten yards +or so it was necessary either to step over or stoop +under a telephone wire. These nerve strings +of modern artillery were all neatly labelled—they +all belonged to some battery or other. "They +strafe this part fairly often," said the major +unconcernedly.</p> + +<p>It is this unconcern that amazes me. I +suppose (or I hope anyway) that I shall get used +to this walking about in the open, but, at present, +I am far from feeling at ease. The odds against +getting hit on this particular bit of ground are +enormous, but the chance exists all the same. +As a matter of fact we did get one salvo of "pip-squeaks" +over as we were going up. They +were high, to our left, and at least two hundred<span class="pagenum">[33]</span> +yards away, but they made me duck sharply—and +then look rather foolish.</p> + +<p>The Child pointed to a two-storied ruined +house with a skeleton roof.</p> + +<p>"Behold 'the Waldorf,'" he said. "Per<i>son</i>ally +myself" (a favourite phrase of his) "I +think it's rather a jolly O.P."</p> + +<p>Approaching it, we crossed some derelict +trenches—our front line before the battle of +X——. I felt somehow that I was standing +on holy ground—on ground that had been wrested +back from the invaders at a cost of many hundreds +of gallant lives and an infinite amount of pain and +suffering.</p> + +<p>Several batteries observe from "the Waldorf," +and I found that for all its dilapidated appearance +it was astonishingly strong inside. Telephone +wires ran into it from all directions, and there +were several signallers sitting about cooking over +braziers or, if actually on duty, sitting motionless +beside their instruments.</p> + +<p>Except for a narrow passage-way and a small +recess for the operators, the entire ground floor +was blocked solid from earth to ceiling with +sandbags; there is a distinct feeling of security +to be derived from eight or ten feet thickness of +clay-filled bags!<span class="pagenum">[34]</span></p> + +<p>We climbed a wooden ladder and squeezed into +the tiny room upstairs from which the fire of +this particular battery is directed. A long low +loophole carefully protected with sandbags and +steel plates provided me with my first view of the +front.</p> + +<p>I was now some fifteen feet or so above ground +level and could see the backs of all our lines of +trenches, could see the smoke of burning fires +and men walking casually up and down or +engaged in digging, planking, revetting, and so +on. Beyond was the front line—less distinct +and with fewer signs of activity in it; beyond +that again a strip of varying width, untrampled, +green and utterly forsaken—No Man's Land. +A few charred tree-trunks from which every +branch and twig had been stripped by shell fire, +stuck up at intervals. I could see the first +German parapet quite plainly and (with glasses) +other lines behind it, and numerous wriggling +communication trenches.</p> + +<p>So this was "the Front," that vague term +that comes so glibly to the lips of the people at +home. I looked at it intently for a long time +and I found that one idea crowded all others from +my mind.</p> + +<p>"What madness," I thought, "this is which<span class="pagenum">[35]</span> +possesses the world! What <i>criminal</i> waste, not +only of lives and money, but of brains, ideas, +ingenuity and time, all of which might have +been devoted to construction instead of to destruction."</p> + +<p>The Child noticed my absorption, read my +thoughts perhaps, and translated them into +his own phraseology thus:—"Dam' silly +business, isn't it, when you come to think +of it?"</p> + +<p>The expression fitted. It <i>is</i> a damnably +silly business, <i>but</i>, if we are to secure what the +whole world longs for—a just and lasting peace—we +have got to see this business through to the +end, however silly, however wasteful it may seem. +We have got to "stick it," as the soldier says, +until the gathering forces are strong enough to +break the barrier beyond all hope of repair; +to break it and then to pour through to what +will be the most overwhelming victory in the +history of the world....</p> + +<p>The major turned his head and spoke into a +voice-tube beside him.</p> + +<p>"Battery action," he said.</p> + +<p>The operator on the ground floor repeated +his words into a telephone. I pictured over +again what I had seen in the morning; the<span class="pagenum">[36]</span> +detachments doubling to the places and the +four guns instantly ready to answer the call.</p> + +<p>It is altogether astonishing, this siege warfare. +An officer sits in a ruined house, strongly fortified, +and not so many hundred yards from the enemy. +From there with ease and certainty he controls +the fire of his four guns. He knows his "zone" +and every object in it as completely as he knows +his own features in a looking-glass. Further, +he is connected by telephone with the infantry +which he supports, and through the medium of +his own headquarters with various other batteries. +Normally this "observation" work is done by +a subaltern, who, nowadays, thank Heaven and +the munitions factories, shoots as much, if not +more, than he is shot at. But occasionally the +enemy is stirred up and "retaliates." This +word, in its present military sense, was unknown +before the war. It means just this—</p> + +<p>One side organises a bombardment. It carries +out its programme, perhaps successfully, perhaps +not. The other side, sometimes at once, sometimes +afterwards, "retaliates" with its artillery +on some locality known to be a tender spot: +this is by way of punishment. A year, six +months ago even, the aggression came almost +entirely from the Germans, and our artillery from<span class="pagenum">[37]</span> +lack of ammunition could only retaliate mildly, +almost timidly, for fear of drawing down still +further vengeance on the heads of its unfortunate +infantry. But that state of things has passed +for ever. The aggression now is all on our side—I +speak, of course, of an ordinary day when there +is no "show" on: moreover it is rigorous and +sustained and wearing. If and when the Germans +reply to our aggression, we re-retaliate, so to speak, +with a bombardment that silences him. For +instance, to quote from "Comic Cuts" (the +official Intelligence Summary is thus named)—</p> + +<p>"Yesterday the enemy fired thirty-five shells +into ——. We replied with 500."</p> + +<p>That is all: but the whole situation on the +Western front <i>now</i> is summed up in that bald +statement. In these days we have the last +word <i>always</i>....</p> + +<p>On this particular afternoon, however, we +had a definite object in view. The "heavies" +by two hours' methodical work made what the +Child calls "Hell's own mess" of a selected bit +of parapet. Meanwhile a field battery industriously +cut the wire in front of it and other field +batteries caused "divarsions," as one says in +Ireland, by little side-shows of their own. The +enemy went to ground, no doubt in comparative<span class="pagenum">[38]</span> +safety, and sulked in silence. But as soon as +dusk began to creep over the sodden lines, he +woke up and started to retaliate. It had evidently +occurred to him that we might be going +to attack that hole in his parapet.</p> + +<p>I watched what seemed like a glorified firework +display for five or ten minutes, and somehow +gathered the impression that I was merely a +spectator. Then there came three sharp cracks +outside the loophole—<i>just</i> outside it seemed—followed +by the peculiar but unmistakable whirr +of travelling splinters.</p> + +<p>"Safer downstairs," observed the major, +and we descended quickly.</p> + +<p>For the next quarter of an hour it really +seemed as though the enemy had made up his +mind to flatten out the "Waldorf." He had +not, of course: he couldn't even see it. What +he was really doing was putting a "barrage," +or wall of fire, on the road just in front of us +to hamper the advance of our supports in case +we genuinely meant to attack on any scale. +We waited patiently downstairs until it was over; +rather like sheltering in a shop from a passing +shower.</p> + +<p>The signallers packed up their instruments +and prepared to go home. Personally I was<span class="pagenum">[39]</span> +inwardly none too happy about the prospect +of sallying forth into the open; but these men +appeared to have no qualms whatever. They +were used to it for one thing, and for another +they had had a long day and wanted their tea. +In such circumstances it takes much to deter the +British soldier.</p> + +<p>"Seems to be over: might as well 'op it, +Bill," said one.</p> + +<p>"Righto," answered the other. "Bloomin' +muddy this way. What say to going down the +road?"</p> + +<p><i>Tack-tack-tack-tack</i> came from the direction +of the road. Even war-worn signallers retain +their common sense.</p> + +<p>"'Ark at that there [adjectived] machine-gun, +it's 'ardly worth it;" they agreed and +squelched off through the thick clay, grousing +about the state of the country but perfectly +indifferent to the deafening din around them.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later we followed them and +walked back, facing the flashes of our own guns, +which were still firing steadily—just to make +certain of having the last word with the Hun....</p> + +<p>It was nearly nine o'clock when we at last +clattered into the courtyard of our billet and +slipped wearily off our horses. It had been a<span class="pagenum">[40]</span> +long day but an interesting one, for we had seen, +at close quarters, a battery doing its normal +job under the prevailing normal conditions. +And very soon now our battery will be in that +position, putting the last finishing touches to +its education and doing that same job, I hope +efficiently. Then, and not till then, will it really +be a Battery in Being.</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum">[41]</span> + +<h2><a name="IN_THE_LINE" id="IN_THE_LINE"></a>"IN THE LINE"</h2> + +<p>We are beginning now to regard ourselves as +old stagers. We have been in action for nearly +three months and in that period our education, +in all the essential things, has advanced at a +most surprising pace. Our most cherished illusions—culled +from the newspapers for the most +part—have been dissipated and replaced by the +realities of this life. How often, I wonder, have we +read that this is a war of attrition, or of artillery, +or of finance, or of petrol! It is none of these +things—at least not from our limited perspective. +It is rather, to us, a war of mud, of paper (so +many reams of it that the battery clerk's +head buzzes and he cannot sleep at night +for thinking of the various "returns" that he +must render to headquarters by 9 a.m. on +the following day), of routine, and, above all, +of marauding.</p> + +<p>Wherefore we have adapted ourselves to +circumstances. We have learnt that mud in<span class="pagenum">[42]</span> +itself is harmless and, since it is impossible to +avoid, not worth noticing at any time; that +unpunctuality in the submitting of any report +or return demanded (however senseless) leads +to far more unpleasantness from high quarters +than any other sin one may commit; that +routine is an irksome fetish of the Powers, but +that it makes each day so like its predecessor +that the weeks slip by and one forgets the date +and almost the month. Lastly, we have learnt +that the way to get things is to find them lying +about; that while it is possible to indent for +material, it is also possible to collect it if one +takes the trouble. Timber, for instance, is +required for building gun-pits, so are steel girders +and brick rubble and brushwood. Well, do not +the winds that shriek across this flat country +blow down trees sometimes? Is there not a +derelict railway station less than a mile away, +and are not piles of rubble placed along the +roadsides for mending purposes? It is pleasant, +too, to have a real door to one's dug-out instead +of a hanging corn sack: there is more than one +partially ruined cottage near at hand. We are +beyond the borderland of civilisation here; We +have left our scruples behind us, for we know that +if we refrain from taking those rails, those doors<span class="pagenum">[43]</span> +and window frames, those stout oak beams, +some one else will have them shortly.</p> + +<p>Circumstances, too, have brought it home to +us that this war is not so "stationary" as we +imagined. The relative positions of the two +opposing armies remain the same, weary month +after weary month. But the positions of the +units composing them do not. We, for example, +soon after our arrival in the country were sent +up to be attached for instruction to a battery +which was in action. It was explained to us +that we would eventually "take over" from that +battery when its division went out to rest. We +were at pains, therefore, to acquire all the +knowledge we could in the time. The subalterns +learnt the "zone" which they would have to +watch and fire over—every yard of it. The +sergeants mastered the particular system of +angles, "registrations," etc., in use; the signallers +knew the run of their wires and understood +the working of the circuit; the gun detachments, +as a result of many hours of patient sand-bag +filling and building, had begun to regard the +place as their future home which it was meet to +make as strong and (afterwards only) as comfortable +as possible. And I, as the battery commander, +besides being fairly confident of being<span class="pagenum">[44]</span> +able to "carry on," had noted, with satisfaction, +it being then midwinter, that there was a fireplace +in what would be my room.</p> + +<p>But did we "take over" this position? +Not we! Three days before the relief was due +to take place we were sent off to another battery +about which we knew nothing whatever and +took over from it in a hurry and a muddle. +Which strange procedure may be accounted +for in one of two ways—as having been done +expressly with a view to training us in dealing +with an unexpected situation or, more simply, as +merely "Dam bad staff work." We will leave +it at that.</p> + +<p>We occupied this new position, which, by the +way, was a good one with a quite comfortable +billet close at hand, for just three weeks. At +the end of this time we had thoroughly settled +down: we had done a great deal of constructive +work—strengthening gun-pits, improving dug-outs, +fixing voice-tubes for the passing of orders from +the telephone-hut to the guns; we had laid out +an extra wire to the O.P. and relabelled all our +circuit: we had cleaned up the wagon-line, +rebricked the worst parts of the horse-standings +and laid down brushwood so that the vehicles +were clear of the all-pervading mud. We had<span class="pagenum">[45]</span> +arranged a bathroom for the men as well as a +recreation room: we had built an oven (nothing +acquires merit more simply in the eyes of +the Powers than a well-devised oven—"Your +horse-management is a scandal, Captain ——!" +"Yes, sir: but have you seen our oven?" +Wrath easily deflected and the Great One departs +to make a flattering report). We had visualised +at least twenty various "stunts" that would +make things safer, or more comfortable or more +showy. We had reached a moment, in fact, +when we were secretly rubbing our hands and +saying "the place is not only habitable but <i>good</i>: +and we are about to enjoy the fruits of our +labours thereon." Which was a foolish attitude +to adopt and one which, now that we are a more +experienced (and therefore a more cynical) unit, +would not be conceivable.</p> + +<p>This time they moved the whole division, +telling us (or the infantry rather) that the order +should be regarded as a compliment in that +the division had done so well that it was to +be entrusted with a more difficult—which is a +euphemism for a more dangerous—portion of +the line.</p> + +<p>Resignedly we packed up everything that +we possessed, "handed over" to the incoming<span class="pagenum">[46]</span> +battery, and, after failing to persuade the mess +cat to accompany us, trekked off in a howling +gale to the new place. This latter was not +without merits, but had the great disadvantage +that the only house available for a mess was +nearly a quarter of a mile from the gun position.</p> + +<p>The gun-pits, with the exception of one which +had been partially reconstructed on sound principles, +were bad. They had been built in the +summer when every one was saying, "No use +wasting material—we won't be here next winter." +But here we are all the same, regarding rather +gloomily the defects which it will take weeks of +hard work to remedy.</p> + +<p>I overheard one gunner expressing his opinion +thus to a friend of his—</p> + +<p>"Well now, Dai,<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> I don't know what battery +was here before us now just, but they weren't +great workers, see! Our pit couldn't keep the +rain out last night—what'll it do if a shell comes +along?"</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> David.</p></div> + +<p>So I indented on the Royal Engineers (who +own vast storehouses called in the vernacular +"Dumps") for rails and bricks and cement +and sandbags, and I sent marauding parties out +at night to collect anything that might be useful.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[47]</span></p><p>The men with a good-will which was beyond +all praise, seeing that this was their third position +within the month, started the arduous task of +dismantling the old pits and dug-outs and building +them anew—guessing by this time that in all +probability they would be moved on elsewhere +before their labours were finished. For that is +one very definite aspect of this war....</p> + +<p>Our mess is a cottage which we share with +a French family. Monsieur works in a mine +close by, the numerous children play in the yard +or are sent on errands, Madame in her spare +moments does our washing for us. In the +evening they all assemble in the kitchen and try +to teach French to our servants. It amazes +me to watch the sangfroid with which they go +about their daily occupations regardless of the +never-ceasing sound of guns and shells, regardless +of the fact that the German line, as the crow flies, +is less than two miles away. At 8 p.m. to the +moment, whilst we are at dinner, they troop +through into their own room to bed, each with +a charming "Bon soir, messieurs." And on +each occasion they make me personally feel that +we are rather brutal to be occupying two-thirds +of their house and spending our days making the +most appalling havoc of their country. But<span class="pagenum">[48]</span> +I console myself by remembering that these +people once had Uhlans in the neighbourhood +and are therefore prepared to disregard minor +nuisances such as ourselves.</p> + +<p>Seven to seven-thirty p.m. is generally rather +a busy time. Official correspondence, usually +marked "secret" and nearly always "urgent," +is apt to arrive, and it is at this time that the +intricate report on the day's shooting has to be +made out and despatched to Group Headquarters. +I am in the midst of this, working against time, +with an orderly waiting in the kitchen, when the +door is flung open and the Child enters with a +cheery "Good evening, Master."</p> + +<p>The Child calls me Master sometimes because +I am always threatening to send his parents a +half-term report on his progress and general +conduct, or to put him back into Eton collars! +He has now just returned from forty-eight hours' +duty at the O.P. and presents an appearance +such that his own mother would hardly recognise +him. He wears a cap of a particularly floppy +kind which he refers to as "my gorblimy hat," +an imperfectly cured goatskin coat of varied +hues which smells abominably, fur gauntlets, +brown breeches, and indiarubber thigh boots. +Round his person are slung field glasses, a prismatic<span class="pagenum">[49]</span> +compass, an empty haversack, and a gas helmet. +Moreover, he is caked with mud from head to +foot and flushed with his two-mile walk against +the cold wind. For this is still March, and we +have had frost and snow and thaw alternately +this last week.</p> + +<p>"Anything happen after I left?" I ask. I +had been up at the O.P. in the morning, and +we'd "done a little shoot" together.</p> + +<p>"Nothing much. The Hun got a bit busy +with rifle grenades about lunch time and started +to put some small 'minnies'<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> into our second +line. So I retaliated on three different targets, +which stopped him p.d.q. Later on he put a +few pip-squeaks round our O.P. and one four-two +into the church. That's about all, 'cept +that I had to dodge a blasted machine-gun when +I was leaving at dusk—one of those 250-rounds-a-minute +stunts, you know—and I had to nip +across that open bit, in between his bursts of +fire. The trenches are in Hell's own mess after +this thaw—I went down to the front line with +an infantry officer to look at a sniper's post he's +located; we might get the 'hows'<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> on to it. +Any letters for me?"</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Minenwer, <i>i.e.</i> trench mortar bombs.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Howitzers.<span class="pagenum">[50]</span></p></div> + +<p>I push them across to him, but forbid him +to remain in the room with that smelly coat +on.</p> + +<p>"Righto," he grins; "I'm off to have a bath +and a shave before dinner."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear Child," I say, "you shaved +last week! Surely——"</p> + +<p>He grins again and saunters gracefully out. +The Child is always graceful even when wearing +a goatskin coat and ungainly thigh boots. But +he's tired—I can see it in his eyes. His last +two days have been spent as follows: At seven +p.m. the night before last he arrived, in the +capacity of liaison officer, at the headquarters +of the battalion that we are supporting. He +dined there and slept, in his clothes of course and +always at the menace of a telephone, in a draughty +hovel next door. Before dawn the next morning +he was groping his way along three-quarters of +a mile of muddy communication trench to the +O.P. Arrived there it is his business to make +certain that the telephonists below in the dank +cellar are "through" on every line. Then he +ascends the ladder of the observation tower and +stares through the loophole at the mists which +swathe the trenches in front of him. And there, +alternately with the subaltern of the other battery<span class="pagenum">[51]</span> +which uses this particular O.P., he must remain +until it is again too dark to shoot.</p> + +<p>There are diversions, of course, which help +to pass the long hours. One is "shooting the +battery." The F.O.O., as the subaltern on duty +at the O.P. is called, is allowed, within fairly wide +limits, to shoot when and at what he likes provided +always that he has a reasonable objective. The +principles laid down for him are simple enough: +whilst never wasting a round if he can help it, +he must also never miss an opportunity. That is +to say that he must keep ceaseless watch for signs +of movement or of new work being carried out +by the enemy, for the flashes of hostile batteries, +for suspected O.P.'s, for machine-gun emplacements +and snipers' posts—for almost everything +in fact. And when he sees, he must shoot—at +a rapid rate and for a few moments only. For +it is useless to "plaster" the same spot for any +length of time: the enemy will not be there—he +must be caught unawares or not at all.</p> + +<p>Another diversion is noting down the action +of the hostile artillery, of which a report has to +be rendered every evening. This is easy enough +when he happens to be shelling at a convenient +distance from you: it is not so easy, however, +to count the number of "pip-squeaks" that<span class="pagenum">[52]</span> +burst within a few yards of the house in which +you are, or of "minnies" that arrive in silence +and explode with a terrific report apparently +just at the foot of your tower, filling your observation +room with acrid fumes.</p> + +<p>Visitors appear at all hours—generals, staff +officers, infantry colonels, trench-mortar or sniping +officers. Each wants to examine some portion +of the line from the vantage point of the tower, +and each expects to be told unhesitatingly everything +he wants to know. But to return to the +Child and his tour of duty. After dusk he goes +back to infantry headquarters to feed and sleep. +Then follows another long day in the tower, +at the end of which he is relieved by the "next +for duty" and returns to the battery with the +privilege of breakfasting at any hour he likes on +the following morning. The Child, I may here +remark, has been known to eat poached eggs +and marmalade at 12.30, and unblushingly sit +down to sausages and mashed potatoes at 1.15.</p> + +<p>But those two days at the O.P. are a strain. +No hot meals, long hours, disturbed nights, shells +for ever passing overhead, "mutual exchanges +of rifle grenades," snipers' bullets which have +missed their mark in our front line trenches +flattening themselves against the outer wall of<span class="pagenum">[53]</span> +the house—there are pleasanter ways of living +than this. And two things are always possible: +one that the enemy may decide that this ruined +house that he has watched for so long really <i>is</i> +an O.P., and therefore well worth razing to the +ground with heavy shell; the other that an +attack (either with or without gas) may suddenly +be launched against our line. In the first case +the cellar <i>may</i> be a safe place, in the second there +will be what the Child calls "Hell's own job," +requiring a quick brain, keen vision, and the +battery roaring in answer to sharp, curt orders. +But if the two occur at once, as is more than +probable, why, then the cellar is out of the +question, for at no matter what cost the guns—always +ready, always hungry—must be effectively +controlled, the long-suffering, hard-pressed infantry +must be supported. But at present these +are dull days. Neither side is trying to do more +than annoy the other.</p> + +<p>"9.44 a.m. Working party seen at ——, +fired on, dispersed."</p> + +<p>"2.10 p.m. Fired 10 rounds at suspected +O.P. at ——. One direct hit with H.E. Drew +quick retaliation on ——."</p> + +<p>Thus is the daily report compiled. Is it +worth all the trouble, the science, the skill, the<span class="pagenum">[54]</span> +organisation? It is, for everything, every little +detail, every little effort helps to bring nearer +the day when our guns will be pulled out on to +the roads again, to be used for their legitimate +purpose—the "quick thing," the fight in the +open, "the moving show."...</p> + +<p>Our colonel is "some man"—which phrase, +being expanded, means an individual whose keen +eye misses absolutely nothing from the too-sharp +rowel of a driver's spur to the exact levelling +of a concrete gun-platform; whose brain is for +ever evolving schemes for the undoing of the +wily Boche; whose energy enables him to walk +and ride fifteen to twenty miles a day, deal +with all his official correspondence and yet find +time to talk about hunting at odd moments. +Periodically he holds conferences of battery +commanders at his Group Headquarters. After +seeing that every one is provided for, he produces +a large scale map with all the "zones" marked +on it, sticks out his chin in a manner peculiar +to him, and says—</p> + +<p>"The Hun is becoming uppish again and must +be suppressed. Now, what I propose to do is +this"—and he proceeds to detail something +entirely original in the way of a bombardment. +But he is seldom content to use his own batteries<span class="pagenum">[55]</span> +by themselves: nearly always he manages to +borrow a few "heavies" and some trench mortars +of various sizes. With these at his disposal +he feels that he can "put up a good show," as +he says, and it must be acknowledged that he +generally does.</p> + +<p>In addition to these definitely organised +bombardments he is constantly ordering small +"joy strafes" to be carried out. For instance, +he will study the map and decide that two roads +in a given area are in all probability used by the +enemy at night. He will forbid any one to shoot +on the northern one (say) and order two batteries +to put salvoes on to the southern one every night +until further orders, "just to impress the Hun," +as he puts it, "with the idea that the southern +road is a distinctly unhealthy spot. Then he'll +have double traffic on the northern one. We'll +wait till we know for certain that it's his relief +night and then we'll fairly plaster that road."</p> + +<p>This thoughtful scheme was duly carried out +about a week ago—with what results, of course, +it is impossible to say: but from the way the +hostile batteries woke up and retaliated, we +gathered that something had been accomplished.</p> + +<p>And so the days and weeks pass by—quickly +on the whole, so quickly that we are already<span class="pagenum">[56]</span> +beginning to badger the adjutant with queries +as to when we are likely to get leave. There +are rumours, too, that the division is shortly +going out "to rest." The infantry deserve it, +for theirs is the hard part: daily I admire them +more, every man of them from the humblest +private who digs in the slushy trenches or stands +on guard in a sap thirty yards or less from the +enemy and quite possibly on top of a mine to +their brigadier who conceals his V.C. and D.S.O. +ribbons beneath a rubber suit and spends more +of his time in the front line trenches than out +of them.</p> + +<p>But for us gunners it is different. We live in +comfort and in perfect safety (unless our actual +position is spotted and "strafed," in which +case we merely withdraw our men until the +enemy's allowance of ammunition is expended). +Except possibly for our hard-worked telephonists +we need no rest. Moreover, it would be heartbreaking +to leave the position that we have made +so cosy, so inconspicuous, and, we all believe, so +strong.</p> + +<p>We happen to be close to a main avenue of +traffic. All sorts of people pass by—"brass +hats" going up to inspect the line, R.E. wagons +laden with every conceivable kind of trench<span class="pagenum">[57]</span> +store, mining officers caked in yellow clay +returning after a strenuous tour of duty underground, +a constant succession of small parties of +infantry who are either "going in" or "coming +out," ration carts, handcarts filled with things +that look like iron plum-puddings but are really +trench-mortar bombs and, occasionally, an +ambulance. Infantry officers or men who happen +to halt close by are generally invited to have a +look at the gun-pits. More often than not some +one of them recognises a friend or a relation in +the battery: it must be remembered that we +are a homogeneous division. If by chance we +are firing when a party of infantry (unaccompanied +by an officer) is passing, it invariably halts and +watches the performances with huge interest and +quite often with a shout or two of encouragement.</p> + +<p>"Go it, boys, give 'em a bit more marmalade," +I heard one ribald private yell out, when to his +joy he heard the order, "Two rounds battery +fire one second." When the guns had flashed +and roared in their sequence, and the shells had +gone rumbling away towards the distant lines, +he picked up his burden, hitched his rifle more +comfortably across his shoulders, and went upon +his way, remarking, with a pleasant admixture +of oaths<span class="pagenum">[58]</span>—</p> + +<p>"That'll give 'em something to think about +for a while."</p> + +<p>This, on a minor scale, is an example of the +great principle of infantry and artillery co-operation. +I can picture that same private rejoining +his platoon in the trenches and saying to his +"batty"—<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> = pal or friend.</p></div> + +<p>"Look you, Trevor, as I was coming up the +road now just, I see a battery of our fellows givin' +them —— Hell."</p> + +<p>And his friend would answer perhaps—</p> + +<p>"Well, 'tis fine to hear our shells come singing +over. What about them fags, Tom? Did you +get 'em?"</p> + +<p>Neither of these men would know whether +the rounds had been well or badly placed, but +each would be left with the impression that the +artillery exists for the purpose of helping him +and his fellows when in difficulties and of preparing +the way when the time comes. A small +point, perhaps, but nevertheless a vital one....</p> + +<p>It is fortunate that amid all the horror and +the misery and the waste that this war entails +it is still possible to see the humorous side of +things sometimes. Here is an example. A +major on his way up to the front line saw a +<span class="pagenum">[59]</span>man hunting about amongst some ruins for +"souvenirs"—and this in a place which was in +view of the Germans and only about 350 yards +from their trenches. The major was justly +annoyed: firstly, the man was evidently wasting +his time; secondly, there was every prospect that +hostile fire would be drawn to the spot. So he +drew his revolver and put a round into the +brickwork about six feet to one side of the man.</p> + +<p>The effect was wonderful. The souvenir +hunter, convinced that he had escaped a sniper's +bullet by a mere inch, made a wild dive into a +handy shell-hole and lay low. Twenty minutes +later he emerged, crawling on hands and knees +through deep slime and eagerly watched by a +working party who had seen the incident. He +arrived, panting and prepared to give an account +of his thrilling experience—only to be asked his +name and unit and placed in arrest on a charge +of loitering unnecessarily in a dangerous place +thereby tending to draw fire.</p> + +<p>Another incident, not devoid of humour +(though I cannot say that I thought so at the +moment), occurred a week after we had arrived +at our present position. W——, the captain +of the "regular" battery which we had replaced, +came over to inquire about a telescopic sight and<span class="pagenum">[60]</span> +a clinometer belonging to his unit which had somehow +got mislaid during the muddle of "handing +over."</p> + +<p>"They must be somewhere here," W—— +suggested politely, "and we <i>must</i> have them +because we are going back into action to-morrow."</p> + +<p>I assured him that to the best of my belief +I had only my own, "but," I added confidently, +"we'll go round and ask at each gun to +make certain."</p> + +<p>The sergeant of No. 1 was quite positive. +The corporal of No. 2 was apparently equally so, +but I noticed the suspicion of a smile at the +corners of his lips.</p> + +<p>"Are you certain," I repeated, "that you've +only got your own telescope and sight clinometer?"</p> + +<p>The corporal's answer was positively brutal +in its honesty. He winked—an unmistakable +wink—and said—</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, o' course I've got those what I +pinched off t' batt'ry that was here before!"</p> + +<p>If the mud had then and there engulfed me +I should have been grateful. As it was I could +only weakly murmur, "Fetch them at once," +and then glance round to see the expression on +<span class="pagenum">[61]</span>W——'s face. But he, good soul, was walking +quietly away, though whether with the idea +of relieving his own feelings or of allowing me +to vent mine upon the corporal, I never dared +to ask.</p> + +<p>On the following day the corporal, who by +the way is our professional comedian from +Lancashire, saw fit to apologise. He did so +thus—</p> + +<p>"Sir," he said, as I was walking past his gun-pit. +I turned and regarded him sternly, for I +was still rather angry.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday," +he observed contritely. "<i>I didn't mean to make +a fool of you!</i>"</p> + +<p>The charm of the remark lies in the fact that, +while disregarding the enormity of his offence in +"pinching" essential gun-stores from another +battery, he was genuinely upset at having made +<i>me</i> look ridiculous. Which being the case I +could do nothing but accept his apology in the +spirit in which it was offered.</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum">[62]</span> + +<h2><a name="SPIT_AND_POLISH" id="SPIT_AND_POLISH"></a>SPIT AND POLISH</h2> + +<p>"Per<i>son</i>ally myself," said the Child, tilting +back his chair until his head touched the wall +behind him, and stretching out a lazy arm towards +the cigarette-box—"per<i>son</i>ally myself, I've +enjoyed this trip no end—haven't you?"</p> + +<p>"I have," I answered; "so much so, Child, +that the thought of going back to gun-pits +and trenches and O.P.'s again fills me with +gloom."</p> + +<p>It was our last night in a most comfortable +billet near ——, where, on and off, we had spent +rather more than a month of ease; on the morrow +we were going into the line again. The trip to +which the Child was referring, however, was an +eight days' course at a place vaguely known as +"the ——th Army Mobile Artillery Training +School," from which our battery had but lately +returned.</p> + +<p>The circumstances were these. When, five +weeks ago, the division moved (for the <i>n</i>th<span class="pagenum">[63]</span> +time!) to a different part of the line, it transpired +that three batteries would be "out at rest," +as there would be no room for them in action. +It also so chanced that it was our colonel's turn +to be left without a "group"<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> to command. +This being so, he suggested to higher authorities +that the three batteries "out" should be those +of his own brigade, in order that he might have +a chance "to tidy them up a bit," as he phrased +it. Thus it was that we found ourselves, as I +have said, in extremely comfortable billets—places, +I mean, where they have sheets on the +beds and china jugs and gas and drains—with +every prospect of a pleasant loaf. But in this we +were somewhat sanguine.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> A certain number of batteries.</p></div> + +<p>The colonel's idea in having us "out" for +a while was not so much to rest us as to give us +a variation of work. Being essentially a thorough +man, he started—or rather ordered me to start—at +the very beginning. The gunners paraded +daily for marching drill, physical exercises, and +"elementary standing gun drill by numbers." +N.C.O.'s and drivers were taken out and given +hours of riding drill under the supervision of +subalterns bursting with knowledge crammed up +from the book the night before and under the +<span class="pagenum">[64]</span>personal direction of a brazen-voiced sergeant +who, having passed through the "riding troop" +at Woolwich in his youth, knew his business. +The strangest sight of all was the class of signallers—men +who had spent months in the fœtid +atmosphere of cellars and dug-outs, or creeping +along telephone wires in "unhealthy" spots—now +waving flags at a word of command and +going solemnly through the Morse alphabet +letter by letter. Of the whole community, this +was perhaps the most scandalised portion. But +in a few days, when everybody (not excluding +myself and the other officers) had discovered +how much had been forgotten during our long +spell in action, a great spirit of emulation began +to be displayed. Subsections vied with one +another to produce the smartest gun detachment, +the sleekest horses, the best turned-out +ride, the cleanest harness, guns, and wagons.</p> + +<p>The colonel, after the manner of his kind, +came at the end of a week or so to inspect things. +He is not the sort of man upon whom one can +easily impose. A dozen of the shiniest saddles +or bits in the battery placed so as to catch the +light (and the eye) near the doorway of the harness +room do not necessarily satisfy him: nor is he +content with the mere general and symmetrical<span class="pagenum">[65]</span> +effect of rows of superficially clean breast-collars, +traces, and breechings. On the contrary, +he is quite prepared to spend an hour or +more over his inspection, examining every set +of harness in minute detail, even down to the +backs of the buckle tongues, the inside of the +double-folded breast collars, and the oft-neglected +underside of saddle flaps. It is the same thing +with the guns and wagons. Burnished breech-rings +and polished brasswork look very nice, +and he approves of them, but he does not on +that account omit to look closely at every +oil-hole or to check the lists of "small stores" +and "spare parts."</p> + +<p>For the next week or so we were kept very +busy on "the many small points which required +attention," to quote the colonel's phrase. Nevertheless, +as a variation from the monotony of +siege warfare, the time was regarded by most +of us as a holiday. Many things combined to +enhance our pleasure. The sun shone and the +country became gorgeously green again; the +horses began to get their summer coats and to +lose their unkempt winter's appearance; there +was a fair-sized town near at hand, and passes +to visit it were freely granted to N.C.O.'s and +men; at the back of the officers' billet was a<span class="pagenum">[66]</span> +garden with real flower-beds in it and a bit of +lawn on which one could have tea. Occasionally +we could hear the distant muttering of the guns, +and at night we could see the "flares" darting +up from the black horizon—just to remind us, +I suppose, that the war was only in the next +parish....</p> + +<p>But it was not to be supposed that a man +of such energy as our colonel would be content +just to ride round daily and watch three of his +batteries doing rides and gun drill. It occurred +to him at once that this was the time to practise +the legitimate business—that is, open, moving +warfare. Wherefore he made representations to +various quite superior authorities. In three days, +by dint of considerable personal exertion, he had +secured the following concessions: two large +tracts of ground suitable for driving drill and +battery manœuvre, good billets, an area of some +six square miles (part of the ——th Army Training +area) for the purpose of tactical schemes, the +appointment of himself as commandant of the +"school," a Ford ambulance for his private use, +three motor lorries for the supply of the units +under training, and a magnificent château for +his own headquarters. And all this he accomplished +without causing any serious friction<span class="pagenum">[67]</span> +between the various "offices" and departments +concerned—no mean feat.</p> + +<p>Each course was to last eight days, and there +were to be four batteries, taken from different +divisions, undergoing it simultaneously. It fell +to us to go with the second batch, and we spent +a strenuous week of preparation: it was four +months since we had done any work "in the +open," and we knew, inwardly, that we were +distinctly rusty. We packed up, and at full war +strength, transport, spare horses and all, we +marched out sixteen miles to the selected area. +At the halfway halt we met the commander of +a battery of our own brigade returning. He +stopped to pass the time of day and volunteered +the information that he was going on leave that +night. "And, by Jove!" he added significantly, +"I deserve a bit of rest. <i>Réveillé</i> at +4 a.m. every morning, out all day wet or fine, +gun drill at every odd moment, schemes, tactical +exercises, everybody at high pressure all the time. +The colonel's fairly in his element, revels in it, +and 'strafes' everybody indiscriminately. But +it's done us all a world of good though. Cheeriho! +wish you luck." And he rode on, leaving us +rather flabbergasted.</p> + +<p>We discovered quite early (on the following<span class="pagenum">[68]</span> +morning about dawn, to be precise) that there +had been no exaggeration. We began with +elementary driving drill, and we did four and a +half hours of it straight on end, except for occasional +ten-minute halts to rest the astonished +teams. It was wonderful how much we had +forgotten and yet how much came back to us +after the first hour or so.</p> + +<p>"I want all your officers to drill the battery +in turn," said the colonel. "I shall just ride +round and correct mistakes."</p> + +<p>He did—with an energy, a power of observation, +and a command of language which I have +seldom seen or heard surpassed. But the +ultimate result by midday, when all the officers +and N.C.O.'s were hoarse, the teams sweating +and the carriages caked in oily dust—the ultimate +result was, as the Child politely says, "not too +stinkin' awful." And it had been good to hear +once again the rattle and bump of the guns and +wagons over hard ground, the jingle of harness +and the thud of many hoofs; good to see the +teams swing round together as they wheeled +into line or column at a spanking trot; good +above all to remember that <i>this</i> was our job +and that the months spent in concrete gun-pits +and double-bricked O.P.'s were but a<span class="pagenum">[69]</span> +lengthy prelude to our resumption of it—some +day.</p> + +<p>In the evening, when the day's work was +over and "stables" finished, we left the tired +horses picking over the remains of their hay +and walked down the <i>pavé</i> village street, Angelo +and I, to look at the church. Angelo is my +eldest but not, as it so happens, my senior +subaltern. Before the war he was a budding +architect, with a taste for painting: hence the +nickname, coined by the Child in one of his +more erudite moods.</p> + +<p>The church at L—— is very fine. Its square +tower is thirteenth century, its interior is pure +Gothic, and its vaulted roof a marvel. For its +size the building is well-nigh perfect. We spent +some time examining the nave and chancel—Angelo, +his professional as well as his artistic +enthusiasm aroused, explaining technicalities to +me and making me envious of his knowledge. +It was with regret that we turned away at last, +for in spite of the tattered colours of some +French regiment which hung on the north side +of the chancel, we had forgotten the war in the +quiet peacefulness of that exquisite interior. +But we were quickly reminded. At the end of +the church, kneeling on one of the rough chairs,<span class="pagenum">[70]</span> +was an old peasant woman: her head was +bowed, and the beads dropped slowly through +her twisted fingers. As we crept down the aisle +she raised her eyes—not to look at us, for I +think she was unconscious of our presence—but +to gaze earnestly at the altar. Her lips moved +in prayer, but no tear damped her yellow cheek. +And, passing out into the sunlight again, I +wondered for whom she was praying—husband, +brother, sons?—whether, still hoping, she prayed +for the living, or, faithfully, for the souls of those +lost to her. They are brave, the peasant women +of France....</p> + +<p>Madame our hostess, besides being one of the +fattest, was also one of the most agreeable ladies +it has ever been our lot to be billeted upon. +Before we had been in her house ten minutes +she had given us (at an amazing speed) the +following information:—</p> + +<p>Her only remaining son had been wounded +and was now a prisoner in Germany.</p> + +<p>She had played hostess continuously since +August, 1914, to every kind of soldier, including +French motor-bus drivers, Indian chiefs (<i>sic</i>), +and generals.</p> + +<p>English officers arriving after the battle of +Loos slept in her hall for twenty-four hours,<span class="pagenum">[71]</span> +woke to have a bath and to eat an omelette, +and then slept the clock round again.</p> + +<p>She remembered 1870, in which war her +husband had fought.</p> + +<p>The Boches were barbarians, but they would +never advance now, though at one time they had +been within a few kilometres of her house.</p> + +<p>The lettuce and cabbages in her garden were +at our disposal.</p> + +<p>She took an enormous interest in the Infant, +who is even younger than the Child and is our +latest acquisition.</p> + +<p>"Regardez donc le petit, comme il est +fatigué!" she exclaimed to me in the tones of +an anxious mother—and then added in an +excited whisper, "A-t-il vu les Boches, ce petit +sous-lieutenant?"</p> + +<p>When I assured her not only that he had +seen them, but had fired his guns at them, she +was delighted and declared that he could not +be more than sixteen. But here the Infant, +considering that the conversation was becoming +personal, intervened, and the old lady left us +to our dinner.</p> + +<p>Towards the end of our week we packed up +essentials and marched out to bivouac two +<span class="pagenum">[72]</span>nights and fight a two days' running battle—directed, +of course, by our indefatigable colonel. +After the dead flat ugliness where we had been +in action all the winter and early spring it was +a delight to find ourselves in this spacious undulating +country, with its trees and church spires +and red-tiled villages. We fought all day against +an imaginary foe, made innumerable mistakes, +all forcibly pointed out by the colonel (who rode +both his horses to a standstill in endeavouring +to direct operations and at the same time watch +the procedure of four widely separated batteries); +our imaginary infantry captured ridge after ridge, +and we advanced from position to position "in +close support," until finally, the rout of the foe +being complete, we moved to our appointed +bivouacs.</p> + +<p>In peace time it would have been regarded +as a quite ordinary day, boring because of its +resemblance to so many others. Now it was +different. True, it was make-believe from start +to finish, without even blank cartridge to give +the vaguest hint of reality. But there was this: +at the back of all our minds was the knowledge +that this was a preparation—possibly our last +preparation—not for something in the indefinite +future (as in peace time), but for an occasion +that assuredly <i>is</i> coming, perhaps in a few months,<span class="pagenum">[73]</span> +perhaps even in a few weeks. The colonel spoke +truly when, at his first conference, he said—</p> + +<p>"During these schemes you must all of you +force yourselves to imagine that there is a real +enemy opposed to you. The Boche is no fool: +he's got guns, and he knows how to use them. +If you show up on crest lines with a whole +battery staff at your heels, he'll have the place +'registered,' and he'll smash your show to bits +before you ever get your guns into action at all. +<i>Think</i> where he is likely to be, <i>think</i> what he's +likely to be doing, don't expose yourselves unless +you must, and above all, <i>get a move on</i>."</p> + +<p>It was a delightful bivouac. We were on +the sheltered side of a little hill, looking south +into a wooded valley. Nightingales sang to us +as we lay smoking on our valises after a picnic +dinner and stared dreamily at the stars above us.</p> + +<p>"Jolly, isn't it?" said the Child; "but I +s'pose we wouldn't be feeling quite so comfy if +it was the real business."</p> + +<p>"Don't," said Angelo, quietly. "I was pretending +to myself that we were just a merry +camping party, here for pleasure only. I'd +forgotten the war."</p> + +<p>But I had not. I was thinking of the last +time I had bivouacked—amongst the corn<span class="pagenum">[74]</span> +sheaves of a harvest that was never gathered, +side by side with friends who were soon to fall, +on the night before the first day of Mons, nearly +two years ago.</p> + +<p>The following day was more or less a repetition +of the first, except that we made fewer mistakes +and "dropped into action" with more style and +finish. We were now becoming fully aware of +the almost-forgotten fact that a field battery +is designed to be a mobile unit, and we were just +beginning to take shape as such when our time +was over. A day's rest for the horses and then +we returned to our comfortable rest billets. It +had been a strenuous week, but I think every +one had thoroughly enjoyed it....</p> + +<p>We have had two days in which to "clean +up," and now to-morrow we are to relieve another +battery and take our place in the line again. +Our holiday is definitely over. It will take a +little time to settle down to the old conditions: +our week's practice of open warfare has spoilt +us for this other kind. We who have climbed +hills and looked over miles of rolling country +will find an increased ugliness in our old flat +surroundings. It will seem ludicrous to put our +guns into pits again—the guns that we have +seen bounding over rough ground behind the<span class="pagenum">[75]</span> +straining teams. To be cooped up in a brick +O.P. staring at a strip of desolation will be +odious after our bivouacs under the stars and +our dashes into action under a blazing sun. +Worst of all, perhaps, is the thought that the +battery will be split up again into "gun line" +and "wagon line," with three miles or more +separating its two halves, instead of its being, +as it has been all these weeks, one complete +cohesive unit. But what must be, must be; +and it is absurd to grumble. Moreover—the +end is not yet.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>"Let's toss up for who takes first turn at +the O.P. when the relief is completed," suggested +the Child.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," said I, remembering something +suddenly. "Do you know what to-day is?"</p> + +<p>"Friday," he volunteered, "and to-morrow +ought to be a half-holiday, but it won't be, 'cos +we're going into action."</p> + +<p>I passed the port round again. "It's only +a fortnight since we celebrated the battery's +first birthday," I said, "but to-day the Royal +Regiment of Artillery is two hundred years old. +Let's drink its health."</p> + +<p>And we did.</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum">[76]</span> + +<h2><a name="A_BATTLE" id="A_BATTLE"></a>A BATTLE</h2> + +<p>Somewhere about the middle of June, we knew +definitely that we were "for it," as the soldier +says; we knew that our division was one of those +chosen for the great concentration which was to +culminate in the "great push"—and we were +proud of the distinction. A three days' march +brought us to a certain training area, where we +camped for a week and worked some seventeen +hours a day—counting, that is, from <i>réveillé</i> +at 4 a.m. until the last bit of harness was +hung up clean and ready for the morrow at +9 p.m.</p> + +<p>During this period two incidents of note +occurred. One was that the Child suddenly +developed pleurisy, and was removed to hospital—a +serious loss at any time, but especially so at +this particular moment. The other was that +a squadron of hostile aircraft flew over our +manœuvre ground and actually dropped a bomb +within 150 yards of the tail of our column.<span class="pagenum">[77]</span> +Which, seeing that we were some twenty miles +from the nearest part of the line and at the +moment only playing at soldiers, was most +disconcerting.</p> + +<p>From the time when we left this training +until, about three weeks later, we were withdrawn +to rest in a quiet part of the line, I kept a rough +diary of our particular share in the greatest +battle ever fought by the British Army. The +following are some extracts from it, in no way +embellished, but only enlarged so as to make +them intelligible.</p> + +<p><i>June 27.</i>—Nine-hour night march southwards, +arriving in comfortable billets at 3.30 a.m. +Aeroplanes (or at any rate, hostile ones) are the +curse of this war: if it was not for fear of them +we could move by daylight in a reasonable +manner. The old saddler, dozing on a wagon, +fell off and was run over: nothing broken, +but he will be lost to us. A great pity, as +he's a charming character and a first-class +workman.</p> + +<p><i>June 28 and 29.</i>—Rested, the continuation +of the march having been postponed.</p> + +<p><i>June 30.</i>—Orders to move on to-night. Was +sent off with a small party on a road and river<span class="pagenum">[78]</span> +reconnaissance: this presumably with a view +to going forward "when the advance begins." +By the time we got back to where the brigade +was to billet, had ridden about forty miles. +Job only half finished. Battery marched in at +midnight.</p> + +<p><i>July 1.</i>—Started at 5.30 a.m. with same party +to finish reconnaissance. Reached a point about +four miles behind the line, at 7.15 a.m.: a +tremendous bombardment in progress. Left +our horses, and walked on two miles to a river. +Here learnt that the attack had been launched +at 7.30 and was going well. Walked north up +the river-bank, keeping well under the shelter +of the steep ridge on the east side, and only +emerging to examine each bridge as we came +to it. Thousands upon thousands of shells of +every size, from "Grannies" to 18 prs., passing +over our heads unceasingly: expected the enemy +to retaliate. But not a round came: probably +the Boche was too busily engaged elsewhere. +Met streams of wounded coming down; some +with captured helmets, nearly all with grins.</p> + +<p>Finished the river reconnaissance about +10.30 and walked back by a roundabout (but +less unpleasant!) way, and reached our horses +about midday. Rode back to the battery and<span class="pagenum">[79]</span> +spent the afternoon writing out full report. +Orders to move at 11.30 p.m. Long night march +to new billets, arriving 4.15 a.m.</p> + +<p><i>July 2.</i>—Rested. In the course of the day +the Child returned, having in some amazing way +persuaded the hospital authorities that pleurisy +and a temperature of 104° are the best possible +things to have on the eve of a great offensive. +Swears he's all right now, and objects to being +ordered it to take it easy—while he can. Heavy +bombardment all day, but we are eight miles +back here. Official <i>communiqués</i> record further +successes.</p> + +<p><i>July 3.</i>—Moved at 9.30 p.m., and arrived +(5.30 a.m.) soaking wet at the worst bivouac it +has ever been our unhappy lot to occupy.</p> + +<p><i>July 4.</i>—Saw about 150 German prisoners +being brought back. In the afternoon, after a +violent thunderstorm, went to look at the +position which we are to take over. Found that +it was immensely strong. Originally it was only +1200 yards from the enemy front line, but now, +since the advance, is about 3000. Steady rain +all the time. Got back to find the camp converted +into a veritable bog, and men of all the +batteries making shelters for themselves by +cutting down trees and looting straw. There<span class="pagenum">[80]</span> +will be a row over this, but—well, it is too +much to expect men to submit to such <i>unnecessary</i> +discomfort.</p> + +<p><i>July 5.</i>—Took the Child and two telephonists +and went up to new position. Bombardment +proceeding incessantly. Was amazed at the +amount of material already brought up, at the +gangs already working on the shell-wrecked +roads, and at the crowd of spectators who lined +a convenient ridge to "watch the show."</p> + +<p>Went with the Child and the battery commander +from whom we were taking over to get +a look at the country and visit the O.P. Passed +through Fricourt—not long captured. Never +could a bombardment have done its work of +destruction more thoroughly than here. Not +figuratively, but literally; no one brick stood +upon another, scarcely one brick was whole. +Walked on up the sunken road that leads north +from Fricourt past the Dingle and Shelter Wood. +For days this road had been a death-trap. It +was strewn with corpses, with stretchers on which +lay wounded men awaiting removal, with broken +bits of equipment, English and German—and it +stank. We arrived at the headquarters of a +battalion and asked if we could see the colonel.</p> + +<p>"No," they told us, "you can't at present.<span class="pagenum">[81]</span> +He's just been buried in his dug-out by a shell, +and it will be some time before we get him clear; +he's all right, but a bit shaken."</p> + +<p>So we went on up a battered trench to the +O.P. In it a subaltern and two signallers, all +three caked in mud. At the moment the wire +to the battery was intact. Two men had been +killed and one wounded whilst mending it. +From here we could see the famous Quadrangle +Trench, which at that time was holding up the +advance. Many batteries were shooting at it. +Having got our bearings, so to speak, we did not +linger in this most unhealthy spot, but returned +to the battery position.</p> + +<p>On the way home we met our own colonel +bearing the news that the brigade would probably +go into action in quite a different area. This news +confirmed at H.Q. at 5 p.m. Turned back and +reconnoitred the new position, which was farther +south, nearer Fricourt; rather cramped and +quite unprepared for occupation. Cadged dinner +from an old friend whom we met at D.H.Q. Met +the battery on the road about 10 p.m. and led +it to new position. Work of getting guns in, +ammunition and stores dumped, and teams +away completed by 3 a.m. Awaited dawn.</p> + +<p><i>July 6.</i>—As soon as it was light went up the<span class="pagenum">[82]</span> +hill on the right front of the battery to meet the +colonel, choose an O.P. and "learn" the country. +The scene of wreckage upon this hill now is past +all belief, and is, I should imagine, a perfect +example of the havoc wrought by a modern +"intense" bombardment. The whole face of +the earth is completely altered. On the German +side of No Man's Land, not one square yard of +the original surface of the ground remains unbroken. +Line upon line of trenches and tunnels +and saps have been so smashed that they are +barely recognisable as such: there are mine +craters seventy to a hundred yards across, and +there are dug-outs (some of these still intact) +which go down fifty feet and more into the +chalk. On every side is débris—rails, timber, +kit, blankets, broken rifles, bread, steel helmets, +pumps, respirators, corpses. And nowhere can +one get away from the sickening smell—the +smell of putrescent human flesh....</p> + +<p>The morning mist cleared at last and we were +able to see the landscape. From the O.P. we +chose, the view, for our purposes, was ideal. +Below us lay the ruins that once were Fricourt, +to the right Fricourt Wood, farther off Mametz +Wood and village, and on the skyline Contal-maison. +Returned, very dishevelled, to<span class="pagenum">[83]</span> +breakfast at 8 a.m. During the morning ran out +a wire, got "through" to the battery, but did +not dare to start shooting until further information +as to the situation of the infantry was +available. Eventually gathered that we only +hold the southern edge of Mametz Wood, and +that the Quadrangle Trench which lies to the left +(west) of it is not yet in our possession. Spent +the afternoon registering the guns, and then +began shelling Mametz Wood. Was relieved by +the Child at tea-time. Came down to the battery +and washed. Looked forward to decent night's +rest but was disappointed, viz.:—</p> + +<p><i>July 7.</i>—Woken by Angelo at 1 a.m., who +brought orders for a "strafe," which was to +start at 2. Battery fired at a rapid rate from +that hour till 2.30. Went back to bed. Woken +by the Infant, who had relieved Angelo, at 6. +Big bombardment to start at 7.20. Went to +telephone dug-out at 7.15, unwashed and half-dressed, +and remained there all day; meals +brought in to me. The battery fired practically +continuously for fourteen hours at rates varying +from one to twenty-four rounds a minute. +Targets various—mostly "barraging" Mametz +Wood and ground immediately to the west of it. +Worked the detachments as far as possible in<span class="pagenum">[84]</span> +reliefs, turning on spare signallers, cooks, and +servants to carry ammunition as it arrived.</p> + +<p>The Child, who was at the O.P., sent down +what information he could, but reported that it +was hardly possible to see anything owing to +the smoke. Passed on everything to Brigade +H.Q. (communications working well), and received +their instructions as to changes of target, +rate of fire, etc. By dusk we were all very tired, +and several of the men stone deaf. There were +several heavy showers during the day, so that +the position became a quagmire into which the +guns sank almost to their axles and became +increasingly difficult to serve. Empty cartridge +cases piled several feet high round each platform: +mud awful. No official <i>communiqué</i> as to result +of the day's operation. Got eight hours' sleep.</p> + +<p><i>July 8.</i>—Shooting, off and on, all day—mostly +registration of new points. In the intervals +when not firing the detachments kept hard at +work improving and strengthening the position. +Hostile artillery much more active, but nothing +really close to us. Fired 150 rounds during the +night into Mametz Wood: northern portion not +yet in our hands.</p> + +<p><i>July 9.</i>—A good deal of barrage work all day, +but as it was mostly at a slow rate the men<span class="pagenum">[85]</span> +managed to get some rest—goodness knows, +they both need and deserve it.</p> + +<p><i>July 10.</i>—Went out with the colonel to reconnoitre +an advanced position. Got caught in a +barrage, and had to crouch in a (fortunately) +deep trench for half an hour. Sitting there began +to wonder if this was the prelude to a counter-attack; +just then, looking out to the left, that +is towards the south-west corner of Mametz +Wood, saw a lot of men running hard. Suddenly +spotted the familiar grey uniform and spiked +helmets of the enemy.</p> + +<p>"God!" I cried, "it is a counter-attack. +Those are <i>Huns</i>!" Expected every moment to +have one peering in over the top of the trench: +did not dare to run for it, owing to the barrage, +which was still heavy. T——, who was with me, +remained calm and put up his glasses.</p> + +<p>"All right," he said; "they're prisoners. +Look at the escort."</p> + +<p>And so they were, running for their lives +through their own shrapnel—and the escort +keeping well up with them!</p> + +<p>The storm being over (no "hate" lasts for +ever) returned as quickly as we could, and +reported that the position was possible but by +no means tempting! A lot of night firing.<span class="pagenum">[86]</span></p> + +<p><i>July 11.</i>—Set out with the Child, two sergeants, +and my trusty "look-out man" to look +for a more favourable spot. After a good deal +of walking about found one, a fairly snug place +(though pitted with shell-holes).</p> + +<p>Intended to reconnoitre for an O.P. in the +front edge of Mametz Wood, but met a colonel +just back from those parts who assured us that +the enemy front line ran there. Reluctantly (!) +we abandoned the enterprise and returned. At +6 p.m. the Child started off with a digging party +to prepare the new position. Move of the battery +ordered for 9.30, then postponed till 10.30. +Road crowded with infantry and transport; +progress slow. To be mounted and at the head +of a column of twelve six-horse teams is a very +different thing to being alone and ready to slip +behind a wall or into a trench if occasion calls +for it. Luck was on our side, however, and we +got through before any shells came.</p> + +<p>Occupied the position quickly, emptied the +ammunition wagons, and got the horses clear +without casualties. The Child reported that a +few four-twos had come pretty close while he +and his party were digging and had stopped their +work for a while: nevertheless, quite a lot already +done. Time now 12.30. Turned on every<span class="pagenum">[87]</span> +available man and continued digging till dawn. +Men very beat, but not a word of grousing.</p> + +<p><i>July 12.</i>—At dawn went up to find a new +O.P.: took the Child and two signallers, the +latter laying a wire as they went. Found +excellent place with good general view in an old +German redoubt. Trenches, however, crammed +with sleeping infantry, over whom one had to +step, and under whom the signallers had to pass +their line! Thick mist till 8 a.m., when light +became good enough to start on our task, which +was to cut through the wire at a certain spot in +the German main second line north of Mametz +Wood. Observation difficult, as we were rather +far back and the whole line was being heavily +bombarded by our "heavies." About 10.30 what +was apparently an excursion party of generals and +staff officers arrived to see the fun, crowded us +out of our bay in the trench and lined up, with +their heads and red hat bands exposed. Lay down +in a corner and tried to sleep, but got trodden on, +so abandoned the idea. Shoon (another of my +youthful subalterns) came up to relieve us at 2.30, +so the Child and I returned to the battery and +got about three hours' sleep. The detachments +with amazing industry and endurance again hard +at work digging. A good deal of hostile fire all<span class="pagenum">[88]</span> +round us, especially close to the nullah, but +nothing within 200 yards of the guns.</p> + +<p>About 5.30 p.m. Shoon rang up from the O.P. +to say that he and a signaller had been wounded. +Angelo went up to take his place. Poor old +Shoon, when he arrived down, was pretty shaken. +Evidently the crowd of spectators previously +remarked upon had attracted the attention of +some cross Boche gunner. A five-nine dropped +just beside the O.P. and knocked both signallers +and Shoon, who was observing his wire-cutting +at the moment, head over heels back into the +trench below. While they were picking themselves +up out of the <i>débris</i> a salvo landed on the +parados immediately behind them. One signaller +was untouched (and rescued his precious telephone), +the other was badly cut about the head +and leg and departed on a stretcher—a good man +too. Shoon got a scratch on his forehead and some +splinters into his left arm. Swore he was all right, +but since he didn't look it was ordered to bed.</p> + +<p>Ammunition replenished in the evening in a +tearing hurry. It is not pleasant to have teams +standing about in a place like this. Heard that +on the return journey to the wagon line last +night a bombardier, four drivers, and five horses +had been wounded—all slightly, thank Heaven!<span class="pagenum">[89]</span></p> + +<p>Shot all night at the wood (Bézantin-le-petit), +and at the front line.</p> + +<p><i>July 13.</i>—Continued wire-cutting and searching +the wood all day. Scores of batteries doing +the same thing, and noise infernal. The Child +went off to find out if he could see the wire from +the front edge of Mametz Wood (which now +really <i>is</i> in our possession). Failing to see it +from there, he wandered on up an old communication +trench known as Middle Alley, which +led direct from our own to the German front +line. Eventually he found a place from which +he could see through a gap in the hedge. The +wire was cut all right—and, incidentally, he +might have come face to face with a hostile +bombing party at any moment! But what +seemed to interest him much more was the +behaviour of the orderly who had accompanied +him. This N.C.O., who is the battery "look-out +man," specially trained to observe anything +and everything, raised himself from the ground +a moment after they had both hurled themselves +flat to await the arrival of a five-nine in Mametz +Wood, peered over a fallen tree-trunk and said, +"<i>That</i> one, sir, was just in front, but slightly to +the left!"</p> + +<p>Spent the afternoon preparing detailed orders<span class="pagenum">[90]</span> +and time-tables for to-morrow's "big show." +Slept from 11 till 2.45 a.m.</p> + +<p><i>July 14.</i>—The "intense" bombardment began +at 3.20 a.m.; the infantry attack was +launched five minutes later. Even to attempt +to describe this bombardment is beyond me. +All that can be said is that there was such a +<i>hell</i> of noise that it was quite impossible to give +any orders to the guns except by sending subalterns +from the telephone dug-out to shout in +the ear of each sergeant in turn. The battery +(in company with perhaps a hundred others) +barraged steadily, "lifting" fifty yards at a +time from 3.25 till 7.15 a.m., by which time some +900 rounds had been expended and the paint +on the guns was blistering from their heat. We +gathered (chiefly from information supplied by +the Child at the O.P., who got into touch with +various staffs and signal officers) that the attack +had been very successful. About 7.30 things +slowed down a little and the men were able to get +breakfast and some rest—half at a time, of course.</p> + +<p>At midday cavalry moved up past us and +affairs began to look really promising. Slept +from 3 to 5 p.m., then got orders to reconnoitre +an advanced position in front of Acid Drop +Copse. (It may here be noted that from our<span class="pagenum">[91]</span> +first position this very copse was one of our most +important targets at a range of nearly 4000 +yards.) Chose a position, but could see that if +and when we do occupy it, it is not going to be +a health-resort. And, owing to the appalling +state of the ground, it will take some driving +to get there. Had a really good night's rest for +once. Battery fired at intervals all night.</p> + +<p><i>July 15.</i>—Attack continued. By 10.30 a.m. +our guns had reached extreme range and we +were forced to stop. (We started at 2700 in +this position.) News very good: enemy much +demoralised and surrendering freely. Practically +no hostile shelling round us now—in fact, +we are rather out of the battle for the moment. +After lunch formed up the whole battery and +thanked the men for the splendid way that they +had worked. Shoon, whose arm has got worse, +sent under protest to hospital. Desperately +sorry to lose him.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon switched to the left, where +we are apparently still held up, and fired occasional +salvos on Martinpuich. Ditto all night.</p> + +<p><i>July 16.</i>—Everybody much concerned over +a certain Switch Trench, which appears to be +giving much trouble. Fired spasmodically (by +map) on this trench throughout the day. In<span class="pagenum">[92]</span> +the evening all guns removed to a travelling +Ordnance Workshop for overhaul—they need +it. Late at night received orders to dig the +Acid Drop Copse position next day, and occupy +it as soon as the guns are sent back.</p> + +<p><i>July 17.</i>—Took all officers and practically +every man up to new position at 7 a.m. and +started to dig. Shells all round us while we +worked, but still no damage. This is too good +to last. In the afternoon went out with George +(another B.C.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> in the brigade), the Child, and a +telephonist to look for an O.P. whence to see +this infernal Switch Trench. After a while +parted from George, whom we last saw walking +<i>forward</i> from the villa, pausing occasionally to +examine the country through his glasses. We +learnt afterwards that he spent a really happy +afternoon in No Man's Land carrying various +wounded infantrymen into comparative safety! +For which he has been duly recommended.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> Battery Commander.</p></div> + +<p>Got into the old German second line (taken +on the 14th), and found that it had been so +completely battered by our bombardment that +its captors had been obliged to dig an entirely +new trench in front of it. This part of the world +was full of gunner officers <i>all</i> looking for an O.P. +<span class="pagenum">[93]</span>for Switch Trench. Returned to Acid Drop +Copse about 5 p.m. and found that the digging +had progressed well. Marched the men back to +the old position, where they got tea and a rest. +Teams came up about 8. Packed up and moved +forward. Ground so desperately heavy that it +became necessary to put ten horses in a team +for the last pull up the hill to the position. +Got all guns into action and twenty-one wagon +loads of ammunition dumped by 11 p.m.—no +casualties. Work of the men, who were much +worn out, beyond all praise.</p> + +<p>The noise in this place is worse than anything +previously experienced. Being, as we are now, +the most advanced battery in this particular +sector, we get the full benefit of every gun that +is behind us—and there are many. Moreover, +the hostile artillery is extremely active, especially +in the wood, where every shell comes down with +a hissing rush that ends in an appalling crash. +About midnight the Boche began to put over +small "stink" shells. These seemed to flit +through the air, and always landed with a soft-sounding +"phutt" very like a dud. One burst +just behind our trench and wounded a gunner +in the foot. Found it impossible to sleep, +owing to the din.<span class="pagenum">[94]</span></p> + +<p><i>July 18.</i>—At 4 a.m. the hostile bombardment +seemed so intense that, fearing a counter-attack, +I got up to look round. Was reassured by Angelo, +who had already done so. Beyond the fact that +the wood was being systematically searched with +five-nines, there was nothing much doing. +Returned to bed, but still failed to sleep.</p> + +<p>Fired at intervals throughout the day at +various spots allotted by Brigade H.Q. Having +no O.P. had to do everything from the map. Men +all digging when not actually firing: position now +nearly splinter-proof. A most unnerving day, +however. A Hun barrage of "air-crumps" on the +ridge in front of us by the Cutting, another one to +our right along the edge of the wood, many five-nines +over our heads into the dip behind us, and +quite a few into Acid Drop Copse on our left rear.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon we had half a dozen H.E. +"pip-squeaks" very close at a moment when +there were three wagons up replenishing ammunition. +One burst within four yards of the +lead horses—and no damage. This <i>cannot</i> last. +Orders for a big attack received at 4 p.m. At +5 counter-orders to the effect that we are to be +relieved to-night. Fired continuously till about +8.30, then packed up and waited for the teams, +which arrived about 9.<span class="pagenum">[95]</span></p> + +<p>We were just congratulating ourselves on our +luck, it being then rather a quiet moment and +three out of the four teams already on the move, +when a big "air-crump" burst straight above +our heads, wounding the sergeant-major in the +thigh. Put him up on the last limber and sent +the guns off as fast as they could go—ground +too bad to gallop. Two more shells followed us +down the valley, but there were no further +casualties. At the bottom missed the Child: +sent to inquire if he was at the head of the +column—no. Was beginning to get nervous, +when he strolled up from the rear, accompanied +by the officers' mess cook.</p> + +<p>"Pity to leave these behind," he observed, +throwing down a kettle and a saucepan!</p> + +<p>Nervy work loading up our stores and kits +on to the G.S. wagon, but the enemy battery +had returned to its favourite spot by the Cutting, +and nothing further worried us. Marched back +to the wagon line (about five miles). Much +amused by the tenacity with which one of the +sergeants clung to a jar of rum which he had +rescued from the position.<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> At the wagon line +collected the whole battery together, and while +waiting went across to see the sergeant-major in +<span class="pagenum">[96]</span>the dressing-station. Am afraid, though it is +nothing serious, that it will be a case of +"Blighty" for him. A very serious loss to the +battery, as he has been absolutely invaluable +throughout this show.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> This jar was afterwards found to contain lime-juice!</p></div> + +<p>Marched to our old bivouac at the swampy +wood, but were allotted a reasonable space +outside it this time. Fell into bed, beat to the +world, at 3.30 a.m.</p> + +<p><i>July 19.</i>—Much to do, though men and horses +are tired to death. Moved off at 6 p.m. and did +a twenty-mile night march, arriving at another +bivouac at 2 a.m. Horses just about at their +last gasp. Poor old things, they have been in +harness almost continuously throughout the +battle bringing up load after load of ammunition +at all hours of the day and night.</p> + +<p><i>July 20.</i>—Took over a new position (trench +warfare style) just out of the battle area as now +constituted, and settled down to—rest.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The above is an accurate, though, I fear, far +too personal record of the doings of one particular +unit during a fortnight's continuous fighting. +It is in no way an attempt to describe a battle +as a whole. That is a feat beyond my powers—and, +I think, beyond the powers of any one<span class="pagenum">[97]</span> +actually engaged. Thinking things over now, in +the quiet of a well-made dug-out, I realise that +the predominant impressions left upon my mind, +in ascending order of magnitude so to speak, are: +dirt, stink, horrors, lack of sleep, funk—and the +amazing endurance of the men. In the first +article of this series I wrote: "But this I know +now—the human material with which I have to +deal is good enough." It is. I grant that our +casualties were slight (though in this respect we +were extremely lucky), and that compared with +the infantry our task was the easier one of +"standing the strain" rather than of "facing the +music." But still, think of the strain on the +detachments, serving their guns night and day +almost incessantly for fourteen days on end. In +the first week alone we fired the amount of +ammunition which suffices for a battery in peace +time for thirty years! They averaged five hours' +sleep in the twenty-four, these men, throughout +the time; and they dug three separate positions—all +in heavy ground. Nor must one forget the +drivers, employed throughout in bringing up +ammunition along roads pitted with holes, often +shelled and constantly blocked with traffic.</p> + +<p>The New Ubique begins to be worthy of +the Old.</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum">[99]</span> + +<h2><a name="PART_II" id="PART_II"></a>PART II</h2> + +<p class="h3">"AND THE OLD"</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum">[101]</span> + +<h2><a name="BILFRED" id="BILFRED"></a>BILFRED</h2> + +<div class="inset22"> +<p> +... Fellow-creature I am, fellow-servant<br> +Of God: can man fathom God's dealings with us?<br> +<br> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">*</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">*</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">*</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">*</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">*</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">*</span> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">*</span><br> +<br> +Oh! man! we, at least, we enjoy, with thanksgiving,<br> +God's gifts on this earth, though we look not beyond.<br> +<br> +You sin and you suffer, and we, too, find sorrow<br> +Perchance through your sin—yet it soon will be o'er;<br> +We labour to-day and we slumber to-morrow,<br> +Strong horse and bold rider! and who knoweth more?<br> +<br> +<span class="smcap" style="margin-left:10em">A. Lindsay Gordon.</span><br> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="h3">I</p> + +<p>In some equine Elysium where there are neither +flies nor dust nor steep hills nor heavy loads; +where there is luscious young grass unlimited +with cool streams and shady trees; where one +can roam as one pleases and rest when one is +tired: there, far from the racket of gun wheels +on hard roads and the thunder of opposing +artillery, oblivious of all the insensate folly of +this warring human world, reposes, I doubt it +not, the soul of Bilfred.<span class="pagenum">[102]</span></p> + +<p>His was a humble part. He was never richly +caparisoned with embroidered bridle and trappings +of scarlet and gold. He never swept over +the desert beneath some Arab sheikh with the +cry "Allah for all!" ringing in his ears. He +bore no general to victory, no king to his coronation. +But he served his country faithfully, and +in the end, when he had helped to make some +history, he died for it.</p> + +<p>It is eight years since he joined the battery—a +woolly-coated babyish remount straight from +an Irish dealer's yard. Examining him carefully +we found that beneath his roughness he was not +badly shaped; a trifle long in the back perhaps, +and a shade too tall—but then perfection is +not attainable at the government price. There +was no denying that his head was plain and his +face distinctly ugly. From his pink and flabby +muzzle a broad streak of white ran upwards to +his forehead, widening on the near side so as +almost to reach his eye. The grotesquely lopsided +effect of this was enhanced by a tousled +forelock which straggled down between his ears.</p> + +<p>The question of naming him arose, and some +one said, "Except for his face, which is like +nothing on earth, he's the image of old Alfred +that we cast last year."<span class="pagenum">[103]</span></p> + +<p>Now a system prevailed in the battery by +which horses were called by names which began +with the letter of their subsection.</p> + +<p>"Well," said some one else, "he's been +posted to B sub; why not call him Bilfred?"</p> + +<p>And Bilfred he became.</p> + +<p>Our rough-rider at the time was a patient +man, enthusiastic enough over his job to take +endless trouble with young horses. This was +fortunate for the new-comer, who proved at +first an obdurate pupil. Scientists tell us, of +course, that in relative brain-power the horse +ranks low in the animal scale—lower than the +domestic pig, in fact. This may be so, but +Bilfred was certainly an exception. It was +obvious, too obvious, that he <i>thought</i>, that he +definitely used his brain to question the advisability +of doing any given thing. To his +rebellious Celtic nature there must have been +added a percentage of Scotch caution. When +any new performance was demanded of him he +would ask himself, "Is there any personal risk +in this, and even if not, is there any sense in +doing it?" Unless satisfied on these points he +would plead ignorance and fear and anger +alternately until convinced that it would be less +unpleasant to acquiesce. For instance, being<span class="pagenum">[104]</span> +driven round in a circle in the riding school at +the end of a long rope struck him as a silly +business; but when he discovered (after a week) +that he could neither break the rope nor kick +the man who was holding it, he (metaphorically) +shrugged his shoulders and trotted or walked, +according to orders, with a considerable show of +willing intelligence. It took four men half a +day to shoe him for the first time, and he was in +a white lather when they had finished. But on +the next and on every subsequent occasion he +was as docile as any veteran.</p> + +<p>A saddle was first placed upon him, at a +moment when his attention was distracted by +a handful of corn offered to him by a confederate +of the rough-rider's. He even allowed himself +to be girthed up without protest. But when, +suddenly and without due warning, he felt the +weight of a man upon his back, his horror was +apparent. For a moment he stood stock still, +trembling slightly and breathing hard. Then +he made a mighty bound forward and started +to kick his best. To no purpose; he could not +get his head down, and the more he tried, the +more it hurt him. The weight meanwhile +remained upon his back. Exhausted, he stood +still again and gave vent to a loud snort. His<span class="pagenum">[105]</span> +face depicted his thoughts. "I'm done for," +he felt; "this thing is here for ever." He was +soothed and petted until his first panic had +subsided; then coaxed into a good humour +again with oats. At the end of a minute or so +he was induced to move forward—cautiously, +nervously at first, and then with more confidence. +"Unpleasant but not dangerous," was his verdict. +In half an hour he was resigned to his burden.</p> + +<p>Yet not entirely. Every day when first +mounted he gave two or three hearty kicks. He +hated the cold saddle on his back for one thing, +and for another there was always a vague hope.... +One day, about a fortnight afterwards, this +hope fructified. A loose-seated rider, in a moment +of bravado, got upon him, and immediately +the customary performance began. At the +second plunge the man shot up into space and +landed heavily on the tan. Bilfred, palpably as +astonished as he was pleased, tossed his head, +snorted in triumph and bolted round the school, +kicking at intervals. For five thrilling minutes +he enjoyed the best time he had had since he +left Connemara. Then, ignominiously, he succumbed +to the temptation of a proffered feed +tin and was caught, discovering too late, to his +chagrin, that the tin was empty. It was his<span class="pagenum">[106]</span> +first experience of the deceitfulness of man, and +he did not forget it.</p> + +<p>Six weeks later he had become a most accomplished +person. He could walk and trot and +even canter in a lumbering way; he answered +to rein and leg, could turn and twist, go sideway +and backwards; greatest miracle of all, he had +been taught to lurch in ungainly fashion over +two-foot-six of furze.</p> + +<p>But he had accomplished something beyond +all this. He had acquired a reputation. It had +become known throughout the battery that there +were certain things which could not be done to +Bilfred with impunity. If you were his stable +companion, for example, you could not try to +steal his food without getting bitten, neither +could you nibble the hairs of his tail without +getting kicked. If you were a human being you +could not approach him in his stall until you had +spoken to him politely from outside it. You +could not attempt to groom him until you had +made friends with him, and even then you had +to keep your eyes open. You got used to the +way he gnashed his teeth and tossed his head +about, but occasionally, when you were occupied +with the ticklish underpart of him, he would +show his dislike of the operation by catching<span class="pagenum">[107]</span> +you unawares by the slack of your breeches and +throwing you out of his stall.</p> + +<p>But there was no vice in him. He was +always amenable to kindness, and prepared to +accept gifts of sugar and bread with every +symptom of gratitude and approval. Rumour +even had it that he had once eaten the stable-man's +dinner with apparent relish. And he +flourished exceedingly in his new environment. +His baby roundness had disappeared and been +replaced by hard muscle. He no longer moved +with an awkward sprawling gait, but with confidence +and precision. His dark-bay coat was +sleek and smooth, his mane hogged, his heels +neatly trimmed. Only his tail remained the +difficulty. It was long and its hairs were coarse +and curly. Moreover, he persisted in carrying +it slightly inclined towards the off side, as if to +draw attention to it. Frankly it was a vulgar +tail. But, on the whole, Bilfred was presentable.</p> + +<p>When the time came to complete his education +by putting him in draught he surprised an +expectant crowd of onlookers by going up into +his collar at once and pulling as if he had done +that sort of work for years. And so, as a matter +of fact, he had. Irish horses are often put into +the plough as two-year-olds—a fact which had<span class="pagenum">[108]</span> +been forgotten. But he would not consent to +go in the wheel. He made this fact quite clear +by kicking so violently that he broke two traces, +cut his hocks against the footboard and lamed +himself. Since ploughs do not run downhill on +to one's heels, he saw no reason why a gun or +wagon should. Persuasion was found to be +useless, and for once his obstinacy triumphed. +But he did not abuse his victory nor seek to +extend his gains. He proved himself a willing +worker in any other position, and soon, on his +merits as much as on his looks, he was promoted +from the wagon to the gun and definitely +took his place as off leader. It was a good +team; some said the show one of the battery. +The wheelers were Beatrice and Belinda, who +knew their job as well as did their driver, whom +they justly loved. Being old and dignified they +never fretted, but took life calmly and contentedly. +In the centre Bruno and Binty, young both of +them, and rather excitable, needed watching or +they lost condition, but both had looks. The +riding leader was old Bacchus, tall and strong +and honest, a good doer and a veteran of some +standing. Moreover, he was a perfect match for +Bilfred. All six of them were of the same +mottled dark-bay colour.<span class="pagenum">[109]</span></p> + +<p>In course of time Bilfred, quick, like most +horses, to pick up habits, exhibited all the +characteristics of the typical "hairy." (It is +to be observed that the term is not one of abuse +but of esteem and affection.) He became, +frankly and palpably gluttonous, stamping and +whinnying for his food and bolting it ravenously +when he got it. At exercise he shied extravagantly +at things which did not frighten him in +the least. He displayed an obstinate disinclination +to leave other horses when required +to do so; and at riding drill he quickly discovered +that to skimp the corners as much as +possible tends to save exertion. Artillery horses +are not as a rule well bred; one finds in their +characters an astonishing mixture of cunning, +vulgarity, and docile good-tempered willingness +which makes them altogether lovable. Their +condition reflects their treatment, as in a mirror. +Properly looked after they thrive; neglected, their +appearance betrays the fact to every experienced +eye. They have an enormous contempt for "these +'ere mufti 'orses," as our farrier once described +some one's private hunter. Watch a subsection +out at water when a contractor's cart pulls up +in the lines; note the way they prick their ears +and stare, then drop their heads to the trough<span class="pagenum">[110]</span> +again with a sniff. It is as if they said, in so +many words, "Who the deuce are you? Oh! +a mere civilian!"</p> + +<p>Bilfred was like them all in many ways. +But, in spite of everything, he never lost his +personality. He invariably kicked three times +when he was first mounted—and never afterwards +on that particular day; he hated motors +moving or stationary; and he was an adept at +slipping his head collar and getting loose. It +was never safe to let go his head for an instant. +With ears forward and tail straight up on end, +he was off in a flash at a trot that was vulgarly +fast. He never galloped till his angry pursuers +were close, and then he could dodge like a +Rugby three-quarter. If he got away in barracks +he always made straight for the tennis-lawns, +where his soup-plate feet wrought untold havoc. +And no longer was he to be lured to capture +with an empty feed tin. Everybody knew him, +most people cursed him at times, but for all +that everybody loved him.</p> + +<p class="h3">II</p> + +<p>I think that when a new history of the +Regiment comes to be written honourable<span class="pagenum">[111]</span> +mention should be made therein of a certain +team of dark bays that pulled the same gun +of the same battery for so many years. They +served in England and in Ireland, in France +and in the Low Countries; they thundered +over the grassy flats of Salisbury Plain; they +toiled up the steep rocky roads of Glen Imaal; +they floundered in the bogs of Okehampton. +They stood exposed in all weathers; they +stifled in close evil-smelling billets, in trains, +and on board ship. They were present at +Mons; they were all through the Great Retreat, +they swept forward to the Marne and on to the +Aisne; they marched round to Flanders in time +for the first battle of Ypres. They were never +sick nor sorry, even when fodder was short and +the marches long, even when there was no time +to slake their raging thirsts. They pulled together +in patience, and in dumb pathetic trust +of their lords and masters, knowing nothing, +understanding nothing, until at last Fate overtook +them.</p> + +<p>At the beginning of August, 1914, the battery +had just returned to its station after a month's +hard work at practice camp. Bilfred, a veteran +now of more than seven years' service, had +probably never been in better condition in his<span class="pagenum">[112]</span> +life. Ordinarily he would have been given an +easy time for some weeks, with plenty of food +and just enough exercise and collar work to keep +him fit for the strain of the big manœuvres in +September.</p> + +<p>But there were to be no 1914 manœuvres. +About August 6 things quite beyond Bilfred's +comprehension began to happen. Strange men +arrived to join the battery and in their ignorance +took liberties with him which he resented. +Every available space in the lines became +crowded with unkempt, queer-looking horses, +obviously of a low caste. Bilfred was shod a +fortnight before his time by a new shoeing-smith, +for whom he made things as unpleasant +as possible. His harness, which usually looked +like polished mahogany decorated with silver, +was dubbed and oiled until it looked (and smelt) +disgusting. When the battery went out on +parade, all these absurd civilian horses with +bushy tails (some even with manes!) went with +it, and for a day or two behaved disgracefully. +The whole place was in confusion and everybody +worked all day long. Bilfred, ignorant of the +term "mobilisation," was completely mystified.</p> + +<p>A week or so later he was harnessed up in the +middle of the night, hooked in and marched to<span class="pagenum">[113]</span> +the station. Now it had been his habit for years +to object to being entrained. On this occasion +he was doubly obstinate and wasted much +precious time. Other horses, even his own +team-mates, went in quietly in front of him; +it made no difference, he refused to follow them. +A rope was put round his quarters and he was +hauled towards the truck. He dug his toes in +and tried to back. Then, suddenly, his hind +legs slipped and he sat down on his haunches +like a dog, tangled in the rope and unable to +move. In the dim light of the station siding +his white face and scared expression moved us +to laughter in spite of our exasperation. He +struggled to his feet again, the cynosure of all +eyes, and the subject of many curses. Then, for +no apparent reason whatever, he changed his mind +and allowed himself to be led into the next truck, +which was empty, just as though it was his +own stall in barracks. And once inside he tried +by kicking to prevent other horses being put +in with him.</p> + +<p>He continued in this contrary mood for some +time and upheld his reputation for eccentricity. +Some horses made a fuss about embarking. +He made none. He showed his insular contempt +for foreigners by making a frantic effort<span class="pagenum">[114]</span> +to bite the first French soldier he saw—a sentry +on the landing quay, who, in his enthusiasm for +his Allies, came too close. He got loose during +the night we spent at the rest camp, laid flat +about an acre of standing corn, and was found +next morning in the lines of a cavalry regiment, +looking woefully out of place.</p> + +<p>On the railway journey up to the concentration +area, he slipped down in the truck several +times and was trampled on by the other horses. +The operation of extricating him was dangerous +and lengthy. When we detrained he refused +food and water, to our great concern. But he +took his place in the team during the twenty-mile +march that followed and was himself again +in the evening.</p> + +<p>Where everybody was acutely conscious of +the serious nature of the business during the first +day or so, it was something of a relief to watch +the horses behaving exactly as they normally +did at home. We, Heaven help us! knew little +enough of what was in store for us, but they, +poor brutes, knew nothing. Oats were plentiful—what +else mattered? Bilfred rolled over and +over on his broad back directly his harness was +removed, just as he always did; he plunged his +head deep into his water and pushed his muzzle<span class="pagenum">[115]</span> +to and fro washing his mouth and nostrils; he +raised his head when he had drunk, stretched his +neck and yawned, staring vacantly into space +as was his wont. For him the world was still +at peace. Of course it was—he knew no better. +But we who did, we whose nerves were on edge +with an excitement half-fearful, half-exultant, +saw these things and were somehow soothed by +them.</p> + +<p>Bilfred's baptism of fire came early. A few +rounds of shrapnel burst over the wagon-line +on the very first occasion that we were in action. +Fortunately, the range was just too long and no +damage was done. Some of the horses showed +momentary signs of fear, but the drivers easily +quieted them; and, besides, they were in a +clover field—an opportunity too good to be +wasted in worrying about strange noises. Bilfred, +either because he despised the German artillery +or because he imagined that the reports were +those of his own guns, to which he was quite +accustomed, never even raised his head. His +curly tail flapped regularly from side to side, +protecting him from a swarm of flies whilst he +reached out as far as his harness would allow +and tore up great mouthfuls of grass. He had +always been a glutton, and it was as if he knew,<span class="pagenum">[116]</span> +shells or no shells, that this was to be his last +chance for some time. It was; there followed +four days of desperate strain for man and beast. +Through clouds of powdery, choking dust, beneath +a blazing August sun, parched with thirst, often +hungry and always weary, Bilfred and his fellows +pulled the two tons of steel and wood and +complicated mechanism called a gun along those +straight interminable roads of northern France. +Thousands of horses in dozens of batteries were +doing the same thing—and none knew why.</p> + +<p>Then, on the fifth day, our turn came to act +as rear-guard artillery. The horses, tucked +away behind a convenient wood when we came +into action just before dawn, had an easy morning—and +there were many, especially amongst the +new-comers received on mobilisation, who were +badly in need of it. Now the function of a +rear-guard is to gain time, and this we did. +But, when at last the order to withdraw was +given, our casualties were numerous and the +enemy was close. Moreover, his artillery had +got our range. The teams issuing from the +shelter of their wood had to face a heavy fire, +and it was at this juncture that the seasoned +horses, the real old stagers, who knew as much +about limbering up as most drivers and more<span class="pagenum">[117]</span> +than some, set an example to the less experienced +ones. Bilfred (and I take him as typical of the +rest) seemed with a sudden flash of intuition to +realise that his apprenticeship and all his previous +training had been arranged expressly that he +might bear himself courageously in just such a +situation as this. Somehow, in some quite inexplicable +fashion, he knew that this was the +supreme moment of his career. Regardless of +bursting shells and almost without guidance from +his driver he galloped straight for his gun, with +ears pricked and nostrils dilated, the muscles +rippling under his dark coat and his traces taut +as bow-strings as he strained at his collar with +every thundering stride. He wheeled with precision +exactly over the trail eye, checked his +pace at the right moment, and "squared off" +so as to allow the wheelers to place the limber +in position. It was his job, he knew what to do +and he did it perfectly. B was the first gun to +get away and the only one to do so without a +casualty....</p> + +<p>More marching, more fighting, day after day, +night after night; men were killed and wounded; +horses, dropping from utter exhaustion, were cut +loose and left where they lay—old friends, some +of them, that it tore one's heart to abandon thus.<span class="pagenum">[118]</span> +But there could be no tarrying, the enemy was +too close to us for that.</p> + +<p>Then came the day when the terrible retreat +southwards ceased as abruptly and as unexpectedly +as it had begun. Rejoicing in an +advance which soon developed into a pursuit +we forgot our weariness and all the trials and +hardships of the past. And I think we forgot, +too, in our eagerness, that for the horses there +was no difference between the advance and the +retirement—the work was as hard, the loads +as heavy. For our hopes were high. We knew +that the flood of invasion was stemmed at last. +We believed that final victory was in sight. +Reckless of everything we pushed on, faster and +still faster, until our strength was nearly exhausted. +It mattered not, we felt; the enemy +retreating in disorder before us must be in far +worse plight.</p> + +<p>And then, on the Aisne, we ran up against a +strong position, carefully prepared and held by +fresh troops. Trench warfare began, batteries +dug themselves in as never before, and the horses +were taken far to the rear to rest. They had +come through a terrible ordeal. Some were +lame and some were galled; staring coats, +hollow, wasted backs, and visible ribs told their<span class="pagenum">[119]</span> +own tale. A few, at least, were little more than +skeletons for whom the month's respite that +followed was a godsend. Good forage in plenty, +some grazing and very light work did wonders, +and when the moment came for the move round +to Flanders the majority were ready for a renewed +effort. Compared with what they had +already done the march was easy work. They +arrived on the Yser fit and healthy.</p> + +<p>But the first battle of Ypres took its toll. +Bringing up ammunition one dark night along +a road which, though never safe, had perforce +to be used for lack of any other, the teams were +caught by a salvo of high explosive shell and +suffered heavily. Four drivers and nine horses +were killed, seven drivers and thirteen horses +were wounded. Bilfred escaped unhurt, but he +was the only one in his team who did. A direct +hit on the limber brought instantaneous death +to the wheelers and their beloved driver. A +merciful revolver shot put an end to Binty's +screaming agony. Bruno and Bacchus were +fortunate in only getting flesh wounds from +splinters. It was a sad breaking up of the team +which had held together through so many +vicissitudes. It comforted us, though, to think +that at least they had died in harness....<span class="pagenum">[120]</span></p> + +<p>The winter brought hardship for horse as well +as man. We built stables of hop-poles and sacking, +but they were only a slight protection against +the biting winds, and it was impossible to cope +with the sea of slimy mud which was euphemistically +termed the horse lines. In spite of all +our precautions coughs and colds were rampant. +About Christmas-time Bruno, always rather +delicate, succumbed with several others to +pneumonia, and a month later Bacchus strained +himself so badly, when struggling to pull a wagon +out of holding mud whilst the rest of the team +(all new horses) jibbed, that he passed out of our +hands to a veterinary hospital and was never +seen again. Bilfred alone remained, and Nature, +determined to do her best for him, provided him +with the most amazingly woolly coat ever seen +upon a horse. The robustness of his constitution +made him impervious to climatic conditions, +but the loss of Bacchus, his companion for so +long, distressed him, and he was at pains to show +his dislike of the substitute provided by biting +him at all times except when in harness; then, +and then only, was he Dignity personified.</p> + +<p>The end came one day in early spring. The +battery was in action in a part of the line where +it was impossible to have the horses far away,<span class="pagenum">[121]</span> +for in those days we had to be prepared for any +emergency. It so happened that the enemy, in +the course of his usual morning "<i>strafe</i>," whether +by luck or by intention, put an eight-inch +howitzer shell into the middle of the secluded +field where a few of our horses were sunning +themselves in the warm air and picking at the +scanty grass. Fortunately, they had been +hobbled so that there was no stampede. The +cloud of smoke and dust cleared away and we +thought at first that no harm had been done. +Then we noticed Bilfred lying on his side ten +yards or so from the crater, his hind quarters +twitching convulsively. As we went towards +him, he lifted his head and tried to look at the +gaping jagged wound in his flank and back. +There was agony in his soft brown eyes, but he +made no sound. He made a desperate effort +to get up, but could only raise his forehand. +He remained thus for a moment, swaying +unsteadily and in terrible distress. Then he +dropped back and lay still. A minute later he +gave one long deep sigh—and it was over.</p> + +<p>Our old farrier, who in his twenty years' +service had seen many horses come and go, and +who was not often given to sentiment, looked +at him sadly.<span class="pagenum">[122]</span></p> + +<p>"'E's gone," he said. "A good 'oss—won't +see the like of him again in the batt'ry this trip, +I reckon."</p> + +<p>And Bilfred's driver, the man who had been +with him from the start, ceased his futile efforts +to stem the flow of blood with a dirty handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Gawd!" he muttered in a voice of +despair, and turned his back upon us all to hide +his grief.</p> + +<p>We kept a hoof, to be mounted for the battery +mess when peace comes, for he was the last of +the old lot and his memory must not be allowed +to fade. The fatigue party digging his grave +did not grumble at their task. He was an older +member of the battery than them all and a +comrade rather than a beast of burden.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>I like to imagine that Bilfred had a soul—not +such a soul as we try to conceive for ourselves +perhaps—but still I like to picture him +in some heaven suitable to his simple needs, +dwelling in quiet peacefulness among the departed +of his race. What a company would be +his and what tales he would hear!—Tales of the +chariots of Assyria and Rome, of the fleet +Parthians and the ravaging hosts of Attila;<span class="pagenum">[123]</span> +stories of Charlemagne and King Arthur, of the +lists and all the pomp of chivalry. And so +down through the centuries to the crossing of the +Alps in 1800 and the grim tragedy of Moscow +twelve years later. Would he stamp his feet +and toss his head proudly when he heard of the +Greys at Waterloo or the Light Brigade at +Balaclava? But stories of the guns would +delight him more, I think—Fuentes D'Onoro, +Maiwand, Néry, and Le Cateau.</p> + +<p>It pleases me to think of him meeting Bacchus +and Binty and the rest and arguing out the +meaning of it all. Does he know now, I wonder, +the colossal issues that were at stake during that +terrible fortnight between Mons and the Marne, +and does he forgive us our seeming cruelty?</p> + +<p>I hope so. I like to think that Bilfred +understands.</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum">[124]</span> + +<h2><a name="THE_PROGRESS_OF_PICKERSDYKE" id="THE_PROGRESS_OF_PICKERSDYKE"></a>"THE PROGRESS OF PICKERSDYKE"</h2> + +<p class="h3">I</p> + +<p>Second Lieutenant William Pickersdyke, +sometime quartermaster-sergeant of the ——th +Battery, and now adjutant of a divisional +ammunition column, stared out of the window +of his billet and surveyed the muddy and uninteresting +village street with eyes of gloom. +His habitual optimism had for once failed him, +and his confidence in the gospel of efficiency +had been shaken. For Fate, in the portly guise +of his fatuous old colonel, had intervened to +balk the fulfilment of his most cherished desire. +Pickersdyke had that morning applied for permission +to be transferred to his old battery if +a vacancy occurred, and the colonel had flatly +declined to forward the application.</p> + +<p>Now one of the few military axioms which +have not so far been disproved in the course of +this war is the one which lays down that +second lieutenants must not argue with colonels.<span class="pagenum">[125]</span> +Pickersdyke had left his commanding officer +without betraying the resentment which he felt, +but in the privacy of his own room, however, he +allowed himself the luxury of vituperation.</p> + +<p>"Blooming old woman!" he said aloud. +"Incompetent, rusty old dug-out! Thinks he's +going to keep me here running his bally column +for ever, I suppose. Selfish, that's what 'e is—and +lazy too."</p> + +<p>In spite of the colonel's pompous reference +to "the exigencies of the service," that useful +phrase which covers a multitude of minor +injustices, Pickersdyke had legitimate cause for +grievance. Nine months previously, when he +had been offered a commission, he had had to +choose between Sentiment, which bade him +refuse and stay with the battery to whose wellbeing +he had devoted seven of the best years +of his life, and Ambition, which urged him, as +a man of energy and brains, to accept his just +reward with a view to further advancement. +Ambition, backed by his major's promise to +have him as a subaltern later on, had vanquished. +Suppressing the inevitable feeling of nostalgia +which rose in him, he had joined the divisional +ammunition column, prepared to do his best in +a position wholly distasteful to him.<span class="pagenum">[126]</span></p> + +<p>In an army every unit depends for its efficiency +upon the system of discipline inculcated +by its commander, aided by the spirit of individual +enthusiasm which pervades its members; +the less the enthusiasm the sterner must be the +discipline. Now a D.A.C., as it is familiarly +called, is not, in the inner meaning of the phrase, +a cohesive unit. In peace it exists only on paper; +it is formed during mobilisation by the haphazard +collection of a certain number of officers, +mostly "dug-outs"; close upon 500 men, +nearly all reservists; and about 700 horses, +many of which are rejections from other and, +in a sense, more important units. Its business, +as its name indicates, is to supply a division +with ammunition, and its duties in this connection +are relatively simple. Its wagons transport +shells, cartridges, and bullets to the brigade +ammunition columns, whence they return empty +and begin again. It is obvious that the men +engaged upon this work need not, in ordinary +circumstances, be heroes; it is also obvious that +their <i>rôle</i>, though fundamentally an important +one, does not tend to foster an intense <i>esprit de +corps</i>. A man can be thrilled at the idea of a +charge or of saving guns under a hurricane of +fire, but not with the monotonous job of loading<span class="pagenum">[127]</span> +wagons and then driving them a set number of +miles daily along the same straight road. A +stevedore or a carter has as much incentive to +enthusiasm for his work.</p> + +<p>The commander of a D.A.C., therefore, to +ensure efficiency in his unit, must be a zealous +disciplinarian with a strong personality. But +Pickersdyke's new colonel was neither. The +war had dragged him from a life of slothful ease +to one of bustle and discomfort. Being elderly, +stout, and constitutionally idle, he had quickly +allowed his early zeal to cool off, and now, after +six months of the campaign, the state of his +command was lamentable. To Pickersdyke, +coming from a battery with proud traditions +and a high reputation, whose members regarded +its good name in the way that a son does that of +his mother, it seemed little short of criminal +that such laxity should be permitted. On +taking over a section he "got down to it," as he +said, at once, and became forthwith a most +unpopular officer. But that, though he knew +it well, did not deter him. He made the lives +of various sergeants and junior N.C.O.'s unbearable +until they began to see that it was wiser +"to smarten themselves up a bit" after his +suggestion. In a month the difference between<span class="pagenum">[128]</span> +his section and the others was obvious. The +horses were properly groomed and had begun to +improve in their condition—before, they had been +poor to a degree; the sergeant-major no longer +grew a weekly beard nor smoked a pipe during +stable hour; the number of the defaulters, +which under the new <i>régime</i> was at first large, +had dwindled to a negligible quantity. In two +months that section was for all practical purposes +a model one, and Pickersdyke was able to regard +the results of his unstinted efforts with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>The colonel, who was not blind where his own +interests were concerned, sent for Pickersdyke +one day and said—</p> + +<p>"You've done very well with your section; +it's quite the best in the column now."</p> + +<p>Pickersdyke was pleased; he was as modest +as most men, but he appreciated recognition of +his merits. Moreover, for his own ends, he was +anxious to impress his commanding officer. He +was less pleased when the latter continued—</p> + +<p>"I'm going to post you to No. 3 Section now, +and I hope you'll do the same with that."</p> + +<p>No. 3 Section was notorious. Pickersdyke, +if he had been a man of Biblical knowledge +(which he was not), would have compared himself<span class="pagenum">[129]</span> +to Jacob, who waited seven years for Rachel +and then was tricked into taking Leah. The +vision of his four days' leave—long overdue—faded +away. He foresaw a further and still +more difficult period of uncongenial work in +front of him. But, having no choice, he was +obliged to acquiesce.</p> + +<p>Once again he began at the beginning, instilling +into unruly minds the elementary notions +that orders are given to be obeyed, that the first +duty of a mounted man is to his horses, and that +personal cleanliness and smartness in appearance +are military virtues not beneath notice. This +time the drudgery was even worse, and he was +considerably hampered by the touchiness and +jealousy of the real section commander, who +was a dug-out captain of conspicuous inability. +There was much unpleasantness, there was at +one time very nearly a mutiny, and there were +not a few court-martials. It was three months +and a half before that section found, so to speak, +its military soul.</p> + +<p>And then the colonel, satisfied that the two +remaining sections were well enough commanded +to shift for themselves if properly guided, seized +his chance and made Pickersdyke his adjutant. +Here was a man, he felt, endowed with an<span class="pagenum">[130]</span> +astonishing energy and considerable powers of +organisation, the very person, in fact, to save +his commanding officer trouble and to relieve +him of all real responsibility.</p> + +<p>This occurred about the middle of July. +From then until well on into September, Pickersdyke +remained a fixture in a small French +village on the lines of communication, miles +from the front, out of all touch with his old +comrades, with no distractions and no outlet +for his energies except work of a purely routine +character.</p> + +<p>"It might be peace-time and me a bloomin' +clerk" was how he expressed his disgust. But +he still hoped, for he believed that to the efficient +the rewards of efficiency come in due course and +are never long delayed. Without being conceited, +he was perhaps more aware of his own +possibilities than of his limitations. In the old +days in his battery he had been the major's +right-hand man and the familiar (but always +respectful) friend of the subalterns. In the +early days of the war he had succeeded amazingly +where others in his position had certainly failed. +His management of affairs "behind the scenes" +had been unsurpassed. Never once, from the +moment when his unit left Havre till a month<span class="pagenum">[131]</span> +later it arrived upon the Aisne, had its men been +short of food or its horses of forage. He had +replaced deficiencies from some apparently inexhaustible +store of "spares"; he had provided +the best billets, the safest wagon lines, +the freshest bread with a consistency that was +almost uncanny. In the darkest days of the +retreat he had remained imperturbed, "pinching" +freely when blandishments failed, distributing +the comforts as well as the necessities +of life with a lavish hand and an optimistic +smile. His wits and his resource had been tested +to the utmost. He had enjoyed the contest +(it was his nature to do that), and he had come +through triumphant and still smiling.</p> + +<p>During the stationary period on the Aisne, +and later in Flanders, he had managed the wagon +line—that other half of a battery which consists +of almost everything except the guns and their +complement of officers and men—practically +unaided. On more than one occasion he had +brought up ammunition along a very dangerous +route at critical moments.</p> + +<p>He received his commission late in December, +at a time when his battery was out of action, +"resting." He dined in the officers' mess, +receiving their congratulations with becoming<span class="pagenum">[132]</span> +modesty and their drink without unnecessary +reserve. It was on this occasion that he had +induced his major to promise to get him back. +Then he departed, sorrowful in spite of all his +pride in being an officer, to join the column. +There, in the seclusion of his billet, he studied +army lists and watched the name of the senior +subaltern of the battery creep towards the head +of the roll. When that officer was promoted +captain there would be a vacancy, and that +vacancy would be Pickersdyke's chance. Meanwhile, +to fit himself for what he hoped to become, +he spent whole evenings poring over manuals of +telephony and gun-drill; he learnt by heart +abstruse passages of Field Artillery Training; +he ordered the latest treatises on gunnery, both +practical and theoretical, to be sent out to him +from England; and he even battled valiantly +with logarithms and a slide-rule....</p> + +<p>From all the foregoing it will be understood +how bitter was his disappointment when his +application to be transferred was refused. His +colonel's attitude astonished him. He had expected +recognition of that industry and usefulness +of which he had given unchallengeable proof. +But the colonel, instead of saying—</p> + +<p>"You have done well; I will not stand in<span class="pagenum">[133]</span> +your way, much as I should like to keep you," +merely observed—</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, but you cannot be spared."</p> + +<p>And he made it unmistakably plain that +what he meant was:</p> + +<p>"Do you think I'm such a fool as to let +you go? I'll see you damned first!"</p> + +<p>Thus it was that Pickersdyke, a disillusioned +and a baffled man, stared out of the window +with wrath and bitterness in his heart. For he +wanted to go back to "the old troop"; he was +obsessed with the idea almost to the exclusion +of everything else. He craved for the old faces +and the old familiar atmosphere as a drug-maniac +craves for morphia. It was his right, +he had earned it by nine months of drudgery—and +who the devil, anyway, he felt, was this old +fool to thwart him?</p> + +<p>Extravagant plans for vengeance flitted +through his mind. Supposing he were to lose +half a dozen wagons or thousands of rounds of +howitzer ammunition, would his colonel get sent +home? Not he—he'd blame his adjutant, and the +latter would quite possibly be court-martialled. +Should he hide all the colonel's clothes and only +reveal their whereabouts when the application +had been forwarded? Should he steal his<span class="pagenum">[134]</span> +whisky (without which it was doubtful if he could +exist), put poison in his tea, or write an anonymous +letter to headquarters accusing him of +espionage? He sighed—ingenuity, his valuable +ally on many a doubtful occasion, failed him now. +Then it occurred to him to appeal to one Lorrison, +who was the captain of his old battery, and whom +he had known for years as one of his subalterns.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Lorrison</span>," he wrote,</p> + +<p>"I've just had an interview with my +old man and he won't agree to my transfer. +I'm afraid it's a wash-out unless something can +be done quickly, as I suppose Jordan will be +promoted very soon." (Jordan was the senior +subaltern.) "You know how much I want to +get back in time for the big show. Can you +do anything? Sorry to trouble you, and now +I must close.</p> + +<p class="author"><span style="padding-right:7em">"Yours,</span><br> +<span class="smcap">"W. Pickersdyke</span>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Then he summoned his servant. Gunner +Scupham was an elderly individual with grey +hair, a dignified deportment, and a countenance +which suggested extreme honesty of soul but +no intelligence whatsoever, which fact was of<span class="pagenum">[135]</span> +great assistance to him in the perpetration of +his more complicated villainies. He had not +been Pickersdyke's storeman for many years +for nothing. His devotion was a by-word, +but his familiarity was sometimes a little +startling.</p> + +<p>"'E won't let us go," announced Pickersdyke.</p> + +<p>"Strafe the blighter!" replied Scupham, +feelingly. "I'm proper fed up with this 'ere +column job."</p> + +<p>"Get the office bike, take this note to +Captain Lorrison, and bring back an answer. +Here's a pass."</p> + +<p>Scupham departed, grumbling audibly. It +meant a fifteen-mile ride, the day was warm, +and he disliked physical exertion. He returned +late that evening with the answer, which was as +follows:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Pickers</span>,</p> + +<p>"Curse your fool colonel. Jordan may +go any day, and if we don't get you we'll +probably be stuck with some child who knows +nothing. Besides, we want you to come. The +preliminary bombardment is well under way, +so there's not much time. Meet me at the<span class="pagenum">[136]</span> +B.A.C.<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> headquarters to-morrow evening at +eight and we'll fix up something. In haste,</p> + +<p class="author"><span style="padding-right:5em">"Yours ever,</span><br> +"<span class="smcap">T. Lorrison</span>."</p></blockquote> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> Brigade ammunition column.</p></div> + +<p>There are people who do not believe in luck. +But if it was not luck which assisted Pickersdyke +by producing the events which followed his +receipt of that note, then it was Providence in +a genial and most considerate mood. He spent +a long time trying to think of a reasonable excuse +for going to see Lorrison, but he might have +saved himself the trouble. Some light-hearted +fool had sent up shrapnel instead of high explosive +to the very B.A.C. that Pickersdyke wanted to +visit. Angry telephone messages were coming +through, and the colonel at once sent his adjutant +up to offer plausible explanations.</p> + +<p>Pickersdyke covered a lot of ground that +afternoon. It was necessary to find an infuriated +artillery brigadier and persuade him that the +error was not likely to occur again, and was in +any case not really the fault of the D.A.C. +section commander. It was then necessary to +find this latter and make it clear to him that he +was without doubt the most incompetent officer +<span class="pagenum">[137]</span>in the Allied forces, and that the error was entirely +due to his carelessness. And it was essential to +arrange for forwarding what was required.</p> + +<p>Lorrison arrived punctually and evidently +rather excited.</p> + +<p>"What price the news?" he said at once.</p> + +<p>Pickersdyke had heard none. He had been +far too busy.</p> + +<p>"We're for it at last—going to bombard all +night till 4.30 a.m.—every bally gun in the army +as far as I can see. And we've got orders to be +ready to move in close support of the infantry +if they get through. <i>To move!</i> Just think of +that after all these months!"</p> + +<p>Pickersdyke swore as he had not done since +he was a rough-riding bombardier.</p> + +<p>"And that's boxed <i>my</i> chances," he ended +up.</p> + +<p>"Wait a bit," said Lorrison. "There's a +vacancy waiting for you if you'll take it. We +got pretty badly 'crumped'<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> last night. The +Boches put some big 'hows' and a couple of +'pip-squeak' batteries on to us just when we +were replenishing. They smashed up several +wagons and did a lot of damage. Poor old +Jordan got the devil of a shaking—he was thrown +<span class="pagenum">[138]</span>about ten yards. Lucky not to be blown to +bits, though. Anyway, he's been sent to +hospital."</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Shelled.</p></div> + +<p>He looked inquiringly at Pickersdyke. The +latter's face portrayed an unholy joy.</p> + +<p>"Will I take his place?" he cried. "Lummy! +I should think I would. Don't care what the +colonel says afterwards. When can I join? +Now?"</p> + +<p>"As soon as I've seen about getting some +more wagons from the B.A.C. we'll go up +together," answered Lorrison.</p> + +<p>Pickersdyke, who had no conscience whatever +on occasions such as this, sent a message to +his colonel to say that he was staying up for the +night (he omitted to say precisely where!), as +there would be much to arrange in the morning. +To Scupham he wrote—</p> + +<p>"Collect all the kit you can and come up to +the battery at once. <i>Say nothing.</i>"</p> + +<p>He was perfectly aware that he was doing a +wildly illegal thing. He felt like an escaped +convict breathing the air of freedom and making +for his home and family. Forty colonels would +not have stopped him at that moment.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[139]</span></p><hr class="tb"> + +<p class="h3">II</p> + +<p>The major commanding the ——th Battery +sat in his dug-out examining a large-scale trench +map. His watch, carefully synchronised with +those of the staff, lay on the table in front of +him. Outside, his six guns were firing steadily, +each concussion (and there were twelve a minute) +shaking everything that was not a fixture in the +little room. Hundreds of guns along miles of +front and miles of depth were taking part in the +most stupendous bombardment yet attempted +by the army. From "Granny," the enormous +howitzer that fired six times an hour at a range +of seventeen thousand yards, to machine-guns +in the front line trenches, every available piece +of ordnance was adding its quota to what +constituted a veritable hell of noise.</p> + +<p>The major had been ordered to cut the wire +entanglements between two given points and to +stop firing at 4.30 a.m. precisely. He had no +certain means of knowing whether he had +completed his task or not. He only knew that +his "lines of fire," his range, and his "height of +burst" as previously registered in daylight were +correct, that his layers could be depended +upon, and that he had put about a thousand<span class="pagenum">[140]</span> +rounds of shrapnel into fifty yards of front. +At 4.29 he rose and stood, watch in hand, +in the doorway of his dug-out. A man with +a megaphone waited at his elbow. The major, +war-worn though he was, was still young enough +in spirit to be thrilled by the mechanical regularity +of his battery's fire. This perfection of drill was +his work, the result of months and months of +practice, of loving care, and of minute attention +to detail.</p> + +<p>Dawn was beginning to creep into the sky, +and he could just distinguish the silhouettes of +the two right-hand guns. The flash as one of +them fired revealed momentarily the figures of +the gunners grouped round the breech like +demons round some spectral engine of destruction. +Precisely five seconds afterwards a second +flash denoted that the next gun had fired—and +so on in sequence from right to left until it was +the turn of Number One again.</p> + +<p>"Stop!" said the major, when the minute +hand of his watch was exactly over the half-hour.</p> + +<p>"Stop!" roared the man with the megaphone.</p> + +<p>It was as if the order had been heard all +along the entire front. The bombardment ceased<span class="pagenum">[141]</span> +almost abruptly, and rifle and machine-gun fire +became audible again. On a colossal scale the +effect was that of the throttling down of a powerful +motor-car whose engine had been allowed to +race. Then, not many moments afterwards, +from far away to the eastward there came faint, +confused sounds of shouts and cheering. It was +the infantry, the long-suffering, tenacious, wonderful +infantry charging valiantly into the cold grey +dawn along the avenues prepared by the guns.</p> + +<p>For Pickersdyke it had been a night of pure +joy, unspoilt by any qualms of conscience. He +had been welcomed at the battery as a kind of +returned wanderer and given a section of guns +at once. The major—who feared no man's +wrath, least of all that of a dug-out D.A.C. commander—had +promised to back him up if awkward +questions were asked. Pickersdyke had only +one cause for disappointment—the whole thing +had gone too smoothly. He was bursting with +technical knowledge, he could have repaired +almost any breakdown, and had kept a keen +look-out for all ordinary mistakes. But nothing +went wrong and no mistakes were made. In +this battery the liability of human error had been +reduced to a negligible minimum. Pickersdyke +had had nothing further to do than to pass orders<span class="pagenum">[142]</span> +and see that they were duly received. Nevertheless +he had loved every moment of it, for he +had come into his own—he was back in the old +troop, taking part in a "big show." As he +observed to the major whilst they were drinking +hot coffee in the dug-out afterwards—</p> + +<p>"Even if I do get court-martialled for +desertion, sir, that last little lot was worth it!"</p> + +<p>And he grinned as does a man well pleased +with the success of his schemes. To complete +his satisfaction, Scupham appeared soon afterwards +bringing up a large bundle of kit and a +few luxuries in the way of food. It transpired +that he had presented himself to the last-joined +subaltern of the D.A.C. and had bluffed that +perplexed and inexperienced officer into turning +out a cart to drive him as far as the battery +wagon line, whence he had come up on an +ammunition wagon.</p> + +<p>It was almost daylight when the battery +opened fire again, taking its orders by telephone +now from the F.O.O.,<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> who was in close touch +with the infantry and could see what was +happening. The rate of fire was slow at first; +then it suddenly quickened, and the range was +increased by a hundred yards. Some thirty +<span class="pagenum">[143]</span>shells went shrieking on their mission and then +another fifty yards were added. The infantry +was advancing steadily, and just as steadily, +sixty or seventy yards in front of their line, the +curtain of protecting shrapnel crept forward after +the retiring enemy. At one point the attack +was evidently held up for a while; the battery +changed to high explosive and worked up to its +maximum speed, causing Lorrison to telephone +imploring messages for more and still more +ammunition.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Forward observing officer.</p></div> + +<p>The long-expected order to advance, when +at last it came, nearly broke the major's +heart.</p> + +<p>"Send forward one section," it said, "in +close support of the 2nd Battalion ——shire +Regiment, to the advanced position previously +prepared in J. 12."</p> + +<p>One section was only a third of his battery; +he would have to stay behind, and he had been +dreaming nightly of this dash forward with the +infantry into the middle of things; he had had +visions of that promised land, the open country +beyond the German lines, of an end to siege +warfare and a return to the varying excitement +of a running fight. But orders were orders, so +he sent for Pickersdyke.<span class="pagenum">[144]</span></p> + +<p>"I'm going to send you," he said, after showing +him the order, "although you haven't seen +the position before. But the other lad is too +young for this job. Look here."</p> + +<p>He pointed out the exact route to be followed, +showed him where bridges for crossing the +trenches had been prepared, and explained +everything in his usual lucid manner. Then he +held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye and good luck," he said. Their +eyes met for a moment in a steady gaze of +mutual esteem and affection. For they knew +each other well, these two men—the gentleman +born to lead and to inspire, and his ranker +subordinate (a gentleman too in all that matters) +highly trained, thoroughly efficient, utterly +devoted....</p> + +<p>There was not a prouder man in the army +than Pickersdyke at the moment when he led +his section out from the battery position amid +the cheers of those left behind. His luck, so +he felt, was indeed amazing. He had about a +mile to go along a road that was congested with +troops and vehicles of all sorts. He blasphemed +his way through (there is no other adequate +means of expressing his progress) with his two +guns and four wagons until he reached the point<span class="pagenum">[145]</span> +where he had to turn off to make for his new +position. This latter had been carefully prepared +beforehand by fatigue parties sent out +from the battery at night. Gun-pits had been +dug, access made easy, ranges and angles noted +down in daylight by an officer left behind +expressly for the purpose; and the whole had +been neatly screened from aerial observation. +It lay a few hundred yards behind what had been +the advanced British trenches. But it was not +a good place for guns; it was only one in which +they might be put if, as now, circumstances +demanded the taking of heavy risks.</p> + +<p>Pickersdyke halted his little command behind +the remains of a spinney and went forward to +reconnoitre. He was still half a mile from his +goal, which lay on a gentle rise on the opposite +side of a little valley. Allowing for rough ground +and deviations from the direct route owing to +the network of trenches which ran in all directions, +he calculated that it would take him at least +ten minutes to get across. Incidentally he +noticed that quite a number of shells were falling +in the area he was about to enter. For the +first time he began to appreciate the exact +nature of his task. He returned to the section +and addressed his men thus<span class="pagenum">[146]</span>—</p> + +<p>"Now, you chaps, it's good driving what's +wanted here. We must get the guns there +whatever happens—we'll let down the infantry +else. Follow me and take it steady.... +Terr-ot."</p> + +<p>The teams and carriages jingled and rattled +along behind him as he led them forward. +Smooth going, the signal to gallop, and a dash +for it would have been his choice, but that was +impossible. Constantly he was forced to slow +down to a walk and dismount the detachments +to haul on the drag-ropes. The manœuvre +developed into a kind of obstacle race, with death +on every side. But his luck stood by him. +He reached the position with the loss only of a +gunner, two drivers, and a pair of lead horses.</p> + +<p>As soon as he got his guns into action and his +teams away (all of which was done quietly, +quickly, and without confusion—"as per book" +as he expressed it) Pickersdyke crawled up a +communication trench, followed by a telephonist +laying a wire, until he reached a place +where he could see. It was the first time that +he had been so close up to the firing line, and he +experienced the sensations of a man who looks +down into the crater of a live volcano. Somewhere +in the midst of the awful chaos in front of<span class="pagenum">[147]</span> +him was, if it still existed at all, the infantry +battalion he was supposed to have been sent to +support. But how to know where or when to +shoot was altogether beyond him. He poked +his glasses cautiously through a loophole and +peered into the smoke in the vain hope of +distinguishing friend from foe.</p> + +<p>"What the hell shall I do now?" he +muttered. "Can't see no bloomin' target in +this lot.... Crikey! yes, I can, though," he +added. "Both guns two degrees more left, fuze +two, eight hundred...." He rattled off his +orders as if to the manner born. The telephonist, +a man who had spent months in the society of +forward observing officers, repeated word for +word into his instrument, speaking as carefully +as the operator in the public call office at Piccadilly +Circus.</p> + +<p>The guns behind blazed and roared. A +second afterwards two fleecy balls of white +smoke, out of which there darted a tongue of +flame, appeared in front of the solid grey wall +of men which Pickersdyke had seen rise as if +from the earth itself and surge forward. A +strong enemy counter-attack was being launched, +and he, with the luck of the tyro, had got his +guns right on to it. Methodically he switched<span class="pagenum">[148]</span> +his fire up and down the line. Great gaps +appeared in it, only to be quickly filled. It +wavered, sagged, and then came on again. +Back at the guns the detachments worked till +the sweat streamed from them; their drill was +perfect, their rate of fire the maximum. But +the task was beyond their powers. Two guns +were not enough. Nevertheless the rush, though +not definitely stopped, had lost its full driving +force. It reached the captured trenches (which +the infantry had had no time to consolidate), +it got to close quarters, but it did not break +through. The wall of shrapnel had acted like +a breakwater—the strength of the wave was +spent ere it reached its mark—and like a wave +it began to ebb back again. In pursuit, cheering, +yelling, stabbing, mad with the terrible lust to +kill and kill and kill, came crowds of khaki +figures.</p> + +<p>Pickersdyke, who had stopped his fire to +avoid hitting his own side and was watching the +fight with an excitement such as he had never +hoped to know, saw that the critical moment +was past; the issue was decided, and his infantry +were gaining ground again. He opened fire once +more, lengthening his range so as to clear the +<i>mélée</i> and yet hinder the arrival of hostile<span class="pagenum">[149]</span> +reserves, which was a principle he had learnt +from a constant study of "the book."</p> + +<p>Suddenly there were four ear-splitting cracks +over his head, and a shower of earth and stones +rattled down off the parapet a few yards from +him.</p> + +<p>"We're for it now," he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>He was. This first salvo was the prelude to +a storm of shrapnel from some concealed German +battery which had at last picked up the section's +position. But Pickersdyke continued to support +his advancing infantry....</p> + +<p>"Wire's cut, sir," said the telephonist, +suddenly.</p> + +<p>It was fatal. It was the one thing Pickersdyke +had prayed would not happen, for it meant +the temporary silencing of his guns.</p> + +<p>"Mend it and let me know when you're +through again," he ordered. "I'm going down +to the section." And, stooping low, he raced +back along the trench.</p> + +<p>At the guns it had been an unequal contest, +and they had suffered heavily. The detachments +were reduced to half their strength, and +one wagon, which had received a direct hit, +had been blown to pieces.</p> + +<p>"Stick it, boys," said Pickersdyke, after a<span class="pagenum">[150]</span> +quick look round. He saw that if he was to +continue shooting it would be necessary to stand +on the top of the remaining wagon in order to +observe his fire. And he was determined to +continue. He climbed up and found that the +additional four feet or so which he gained in +height just enabled him to see the burst of his +shells. But he had no protection whatever.</p> + +<p>"Add a hundred, two rounds gun-fire," he +shouted—and the guns flashed and banged in +answer to his call. But it was a question of +time only. Miraculously, for almost five minutes +he remained where he was, untouched. Then, +just as the telephonist reported "through" +again the inevitable happened. An invisible +hand, so it seemed to Pickersdyke, endowed with +the strength of twenty blacksmiths, hit him a +smashing blow with a red-hot sledge-hammer +on the left shoulder. He collapsed on to the +ground behind his wagon with the one word +"<i>Hell!</i>" And then he fainted....</p> + +<p>At 8 p.m. that night the ——th Battery +received orders to join up with its advanced +section and occupy the position permanently. +It was after nine when Lorrison, stumbling along +a communication trench and beginning to think +that he was lost, came upon the remnants of<span class="pagenum">[151]</span> +Pickersdyke's command. They were crouching +in one of the gun-pits—a bombardier and three +gunners, very cold and very miserable. Two of +them were wounded. Lorrison questioned them +hastily and learnt that Pickersdyke was at his +observing station, that Scupham and the telephonist +were with him, and that there were two +more wounded men in the next pit.</p> + +<p>"The battery will be here soon," said +Lorrison, cheerily, "and you'll all get fixed up. +Meanwhile here's my flask and some sandwiches."</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, sir," said the bombardier, +"but Mr. Pickersdyke 'll need that flask. 'E's +pretty bad, sir, I believe."</p> + +<p>Lorrison found Pickersdyke lying wrapped +in some blankets which Scupham had fetched +from the wagon, twisting from side to side and +muttering a confused string of delirious phrases. +"Fuze two—more <i>right</i> I said—damn them, +they're still advancing—what price the old +——th now?..." and then a groan and he +began again.</p> + +<p>Scupham, in a husky whisper, was trying to +soothe him. "Lie still for Gawd's sake and +don't worry yourself," he implored.</p> + +<p>By the time Lorrison had examined the<span class="pagenum">[152]</span> +bandages on Pickersdyke's shoulder and administered +morphia (without a supply of which +he now never moved) the battery arrived, and +with it some stretcher-bearers. Pickersdyke, +just before he was carried off, recovered consciousness +and recognised Lorrison, who was +close beside him.</p> + +<p>"Hullo!" he said in a weak voice. "Nice +box-up here, isn't it? But I reckon we got a +bit of our own back 'fore we was knocked out. +Tell the major the men were just grand. Oh! +and before I forget, amongst my kit there's a +few 'spares' I've collected; they might come +in handy for the battery. I shan't be away long, +I hope.... Wonder what the old colonel will +say...." His voice trailed off into a drowsy +murmur—the morphia had begun to take +effect....</p> + +<p>Lorrison detained Scupham in order to glean +more information.</p> + +<p>"After 'e got 'it, sir," said Scupham, "'e lay +still for a bit, 'arf an hour pr'aps, and 'ardly +seemed to know what was 'appening. Then 'e +suddenly calls out: 'Is that there telephone +workin' yet?' 'Yes, sir,' I says—and with +that 'e made for to stand up, but 'e couldn't. +So wot does 'e do then but makes me bloomin'<span class="pagenum">[153]</span> +well carry 'im up the trench to the observin' +station. 'Now then, Scupham,' 'e says, 'prop +me up by that loophole so I can see wot's comin' +off.' And I 'ad to 'old 'im there pretty near all +the afternoon while 'e kep' sending orders down +the telephone and firing away like 'ell. We +finished our ammunition about five o'clock, and +then 'e lay down where 'e was to rest for a bit. +'Ow 'e'd stuck it all that time with a wound like +that Gawd only knows. 'E went queer in 'is +'ead soon after and we thought 'e was a goner—and +then nothin' much 'appened till you came +up, sir, 'cept that we was gettin' a tidy few +shells round about. D'you reckon 'e'll get orl +right, sir?"</p> + +<p>It was evident that the unemotional Scupham +was consumed with anxiety.</p> + +<p>"Oh! he <i>must</i>!" cried Lorrison. "It would +be too cruel if he didn't pull through after all +he's done. He's a <i>man</i> if ever there was one."</p> + +<p>"And that's a fact," said Scupham, preparing +to follow his idol to the dressing station. As he +moved away Lorrison heard him mutter—</p> + +<p>"There ain't no one on Gawd's earth like old +Pickers—fancy 'im rememberin' them there +'spares.' 'Strewth! 'e <i>is</i> a one!" Which +was a very high compliment indeed....<span class="pagenum">[154]</span></p> + +<p>Official correspondence, even when it is +marked "Pressing and Confidential" in red ink +and enclosed in a sealed envelope, takes a considerable +time to pass through the official +channels and come back again. It was some days +before the colonel commanding a certain divisional +ammunition column received an answer +to his report upon the inexplicable absence of +his adjutant. He was a vindictive man, who +felt that he had been left in the lurch, and he +had taken pains to draft a letter which would +emphasise the shortcomings of his subordinate. +The answer, when it did come, positively shocked +him. It was as follows:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"With reference to your report upon the +absence without leave of Second Lieutenant +Pickersdyke, the Major-General Commanding +directs me to say that as this officer was severely +wounded on September 25 whilst commanding +a section of the ——th Battery R.F.A. with +conspicuous courage and ability, for which he +has been specially recommended for distinction +by the G.O.C.R.A., and as he is now in hospital +in England, no further action will be taken in +the matter."</p></blockquote> + +<p>To be snubbed by the Staff because he had<span class="pagenum">[155]</span> +reported upon the scandalous conduct of a mere +"ranker" was not at all the colonel's idea of the +fitness of things. His fury, which vented itself +chiefly upon his office clerk, would have been +greater still if he could have seen his late adjutant +comfortably ensconced in a cosy ward in one of +the largest houses of fashionable London, waited +upon by ladies of title, and showing an admiring +circle of relations the jagged piece of steel which +a very famous surgeon had extracted from his +shoulder free of charge!</p> + +<p>For, in spite of his colonel, the progress of +Pickersdyke on the chosen path of his ambition +was now quite definitely assured.</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum">[156]</span> + +<h2><a name="SNATTY" id="SNATTY"></a>SNATTY</h2> + +<div class="inset22"> +<p>"This 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps<br> +Which is first among the women an' amazin' first in war."</p> + +<p class="smcap right">—Kipling.</p> +</div> + +<p class="h3">I</p> + +<p>Driver Joseph Snatt, K3 Battery, R.H.A., +slouched across the barrack-square on his way +to the stables. Having just received a severe +punishment for the heinous crime of ill-treating +a horse, in spite of his plausible excuse that he +had been bitten and had lost his temper, Snatty, +as he was always called, felt much aggrieved.</p> + +<p>"'Orses," he thought to himself, "is everything +in this 'ere bloomin' batt'ry—men's +nothing."</p> + +<p>Nor, in his own particular case, was he far +wrong. For the horses of K3 were certainly +quite wonderful, and Snatty was undoubtedly +a "waster." His death or his desertion would +have been a small matter compared with the +spoiling of one equine temper.<span class="pagenum">[157]</span></p> + +<p>The officers disliked him because he was an +eyesore to them; the N.C.O.'s hated him because +he gave them endless trouble; and the men had +shown their distrust of his personal cleanliness +by ducking him in a horse-trough more than +once. Driver Snatt felt that every man's hand +was against him, and since he possessed neither +the will power nor the desire to overcome his +delinquencies by a little honest toil, he not +infrequently drowned his sorrows in large potations +of canteen beer. In person he was small +and rather shrivelled looking—old for his age +unquestionably. A nervous manner and a slight +stammer in the presence of his superiors, combined +with a shifty eye at all times, served to +enhance the unpleasing effect which he produced +on all who knew him. There was but one thing +to be said for him—he could ride. Before +enlisting he had been in a training stable, but had +been dismissed for drink or worse. On foot he +lounged about with rounded shoulders and uneven +steps, always untidy and often dirty. But once +upon a horse, the puny, awkward figure that was +the despair of N.C.O.'s and officers alike, became +graceful, supple, almost beautiful. The firm, +easy seat that swayed to every motion, the hands +that coaxed even the hard-mouthed gun-horses<span class="pagenum">[158]</span> +into going kindly, betrayed the horseman born. +Snatty might kick his horses in the stomach; +he would never jerk them in the mouth.</p> + +<p>At the conclusion of the midday stable-hour +Snatt was summoned before his section officer, +one Briddlington by name, more frequently known +as "Biddie," and thus addressed—</p> + +<p>"Now, look here: you've made a dam' poor +show so far, and this is your last chance. If you +don't take it, God help you, for I won't. See?"</p> + +<p>Snatt stared at his boot, swallowed twice, +and then fixed his gaze on some distant point +above the opposite stable.</p> + +<p>"Ye-es, sir," he said huskily.</p> + +<p>"Very well. Now you've never had a job +of your own, and I'm going to try you with one. +You'll take over the wheel of A subsection gun +team to-day, and have those two remounts to +drive. I shall give you a fortnight's trial. If +I see you're trying, I'll do all I can for you. +Otherwise—out you go. Understand that?"</p> + +<p>Again the deep interest in the distant point, +but this time there was a trace of surprise in the +faintly uttered, "Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>Snatty saluted and retired, wondering +greatly. The wheel-driver of a gun team is an +important personage: he occupies a coveted<span class="pagenum">[159]</span> +position attained only by those who combine +skill, nerve, and horsemanship with the ability +to tend a pair of horses as they would their own +children, and to clean a double set of harness +better than their fellows. Snatty at first was +resentful: "'E's put me there to make a fool +of me, I s'pose. All right, I'll show 'im up. I +can drive as well as any of them." Then he +experienced a feeling of pleasurable anticipation. +As it so happened he detested the driver whose +place he was to take, and he looked forward with +satisfaction to witnessing the fury of that worthy +when ordered to "hand over" to the despised +waster of the battery. He was not grateful—that +was not his nature—nor was he proud of +having been selected. He was on the defensive, +determined to show that, given a definite position +with duties and responsibilities of his own, he +could do very well—if he chose. Which was +precisely the frame of mind into which his +thoughtful subaltern had hoped to lure him.</p> + +<p>In the barrack-room Snatty met with +much abuse. In a battery which prides itself +enormously on its horses, any ill-treatment of +them is not left unnoticed. Barrack-room invective +does not take the form of delicate sarcasm: +on the contrary, it is coarse and directly to the<span class="pagenum">[160]</span> +point. The culprit sat upon his bed-cot and +sulked in silence, until a carroty-headed driver, +sitting on the table with his hat on the back +of his head, remarked—</p> + +<p>"I see ole Biddie givin' you a proper chokin' +off after stables."</p> + +<p>The chance for which Snatty had waited very +patiently had come, and he retorted quickly—</p> + +<p>"Oh! did yer? Well, p'raps you'll be glad +to 'ear that 'e 'as given me your 'orses and the +wheel of A sub., says you're no —— use, 'e +does!"</p> + +<p>Howls of derision greeted this sally, and Snatty +relapsed into silence. But that evening he +whistled softly to himself as he led his new horses +out to water and watched his red-headed enemy, +deprived of his legitimate occupation, put to the +unpleasant task of "mucking out" the stable. +The day, so Snatty felt, had not been wasted.</p> + +<p class="h3">II</p> + +<p>From that time dated the conversion of +Driver Joseph Snatt. The change was necessarily +gradual, for no man can reform in a week: +the habits inculcated by years of idleness cannot +be cast aside in a moment, nor can the doubts<span class="pagenum">[161]</span> +and suspicions clinging to an untrustworthy +character be dispersed by one day's genuine +work. But still a change for the better was +evident. The comments of the barrack-room +were free but not unfriendly, for Snatty was +beginning to find his true level after his own +peculiar fashion. Briddlington, too, did not fail +to notice the success of his experiment. Whilst +inclined to boast of it in a laughing way to his +brother officers, he had the good sense to overlook +many trivial offences and to make much of +anything that he could find to praise. What +pleased him most of all was Snatty's behaviour +to his horses. Dirty he still was upon occasions, +and scarcely as smart as most drivers of the +battery; nor was he always quite devoid of +drink, but to his horses from that first day onwards +he became a devoted, faithful slave. They +were a pair of which any man might well have been +proud. Both were bright bays, well matched +in colour and in size. In shape they were almost +the ideal stamp of artillery wheeler, which is +tantamount to saying that they might have +graced the stud of any hunting gentleman of +fifteen stone or thereabouts. Snatty's pride in +them was almost ludicrous. A word said against +them would put him up in arms at once, and when<span class="pagenum">[162]</span> +Territorials borrowed the battery horses for their +training on Saturday afternoons his indignation +knew no bounds.</p> + +<p>"'Ow can I keep me 'orses fit," he used to +say, "if a bloomin' bank clerk goes drivin' 'em +at a stretched gallop the 'ole o' Saturday? +Proper dis'eartenin', that's wot it is." And this +in spite of the fact that he was allowed a shilling +for his trouble. The villainies that he perpetrated +for their wellbeing, if discovered, would have +given him small chance before a stern commanding +officer. He stole oats from the forage +barn, bread and sugar from his barrack-room, +and even the feeds from the next manger. Snatty's +moral sense, as we have seen, was not a very +high one. But pricked ears and gentle whinnies +as he approached, and velvety muzzles pushed +into his roughened hand, betrayed the effect of +many a purloined dainty, and amply compensated +for any qualms which a guilty but belated +conscience may have given him. Not that he +was particularly caressing in his manner. He +would growl at each one as he groomed him, or +scold him as one does a naughty child, and his +"Naow <i>then</i>, stand still, will yer, Dawn?" was +well known during stable-hour. Who it was who +had first called the off horse Dawn was never<span class="pagenum">[163]</span> +quite clear, but Snatty in a fit of poetic inspiration +had christened the other Daylight. Dawn was +difficult to shoe, so difficult indeed that his +driver's presence was required in the forge to +keep him still. And when Snatty went on +furlough for a month both horses began to lose +condition.</p> + +<p>The years went by, and Snatty soldiered on, +winter and summer, drill season and leave season, +content to drive the wheel of A and drink a +bit too much on Saturdays. But in that time +he had become a man—not a strong, determined +man, certainly not a refined one, but for all that +a man. To Briddlington, who had raised him +from the mental slough in which he had lain to all +appearances content, he at no time betrayed a +sense of gratitude. On the contrary, the position +of a privileged person of some standing +which he had gained he attributed largely to his +own cunning in deceiving his superiors combined +with his consummate skill with horses. But +still he had learnt his job, and was fulfilling his +destiny to more purpose than many better men. +Moreover he was happy. Crooning softly as he +polished straps and buckles in the harness-room, +with a skill and speed born of long practice, he +was contented, and was vaguely conscious that<span class="pagenum">[164]</span> +the world was not a bad place after all. An +officer who knew him well once said—</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't trust him to carry a bottle of +whisky half a mile, but I'd send him across +England with a pair of horses—by himself. And +as to driving—well, I don't know about the +needle and the camel's eye, but I know that +Snatty would drive blind drunk along the narrow +road to Heaven and never let his axles touch!" +For two years in succession the battery won the +galloping competition at Olympia, with Snatty +in the wheel. And over rough ground, moving +fast, he was unequalled.</p> + +<p>When his time was up and Snatty had to go, +there was never, perhaps, a time-expired man +who was so hard put to it to assume a joy at +leaving which he did not feel. Of course, like +other men, he swaggered about saying that he +was glad to be "shut of" the army; that he had +got a nice little place to step into where there +wasn't any "Do this" and "Do that" and +"Why the deuce haven't you done what I told +you?" But in his heart he was more affected +than he had ever been before.</p> + +<p>"Wot about yer 'orses, Snatty?" some one +asked him; "who's going to 'ave them when +you're gorn?"<span class="pagenum">[165]</span></p> + +<p>"'Ow should I know?" he answered, rather +nettled.</p> + +<p>"Nobbler Parsons, so I 'eard. 'E'll soon +spoil 'em, I bet yer."</p> + +<p>Then was Snatty very wroth, and he replied—</p> + +<p>"You leave me and my 'orses alone, or you'll +be for it, I warn yer," thereby revealing his +inmost feelings most effectually.</p> + +<p>On the eve of his departure he was treated by +his friends till he grew almost maudlin. Then he +slipped away "just to say good-bye to 'em," and +even that hardened assembly of "canteen +regulars" forbore to scoff. He was found when +the battery came down to evening stables, a +pathetic figure, in his ill-fitting suit of plain +clothes, standing between his beloved pair, an +arm round the neck of one, his pockets full of +sugar, and tears of drink and genuine grief +trickling down his unwashed cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Six bloomin' years I've 'ad yer," they heard +him say. "Six bloomin' years, and no one's +ever said a word against yer that I 'aven't +knocked the 'ead of. P'rades and manœuvres, +practice camp and ceremonial, there's nothin' +I can't do wiv yer and ... and, Gawd, I wish +I wasn't leavin' yer now to some other bloke." +Then they led him gently away, and on the<span class="pagenum">[166]</span> +morrow he was gone. For a week he was missed; +in a month he was forgotten. Only Daylight and +Dawn still fretted for him, and turned round in +their stalls with anxious, wistful eyes.</p> + +<p>For six months Snatty struggled to keep body +and soul together, living upon his reserve pay +and upon such small sums as he could pick up by +doing odd jobs in livery stables. But the self-respect +which he had won so hardly slipped away +from him, and he sank slowly in the social scale. +The lot of the ex-soldier whose character is +"fair," and whose record of sobriety leaves much +to be desired, is not a happy one. Snatty was +in rags and well-nigh starving. Small wonder, +then, that one day the blandishments of an +eloquent recruiting sergeant proved too much for +his resistance and that he succumbed to the +temptations thrust upon him by the great god +Hunger. Manfully he perjured himself when +brought before the magistrate. His name was +Henry Morgan, his age twenty-three years and +five months, and he had never served before, so +help him God. All false—but Snatty wished to +live.</p> + +<p>He asked to be put into the infantry, fearing +that his knowledge of the ways of troop stables +would betray him if he joined a mounted branch.<span class="pagenum">[167]</span> +The penalties attached to a "false answer on +attestation" were heavy, as he knew, and he +would take no chances. In due course, therefore, +he found himself posted to a crack light infantry +regiment, and his troubles soon began. To be +marched about a barrack-square followed by +shouts of objurgation was bad enough: to be +pestered with the intricacies of musketry was +worse: but what galled him most of all was to +have to walk. He loathed the life. This was +not the world of soldiering that he had known +and loved. His soul hungered for the rattle of +log-chains and the jingle of harness; the smell +of the stable still lingered in his nostrils. Moreover, +he was in constant trouble, for desperation +made him reckless. Those who had known him +in the battery would scarcely have recognised in +the sullen ne'er-do-well whom men called Morgan, +the cheerful Snatty of a former time. He had +just passed his recruit drills (with difficulty be it +said) and taken his place in the ranks, when the +war which wise men had predicted as inevitable +was forced upon the nation with disconcerting +suddenness. The regiment was ordered out on +service, and with it, amongst nine hundred +other souls, went Private Henry Morgan, <i>alias</i> +Snatty.<span class="pagenum">[168]</span></p> + +<p class="h3">III</p> + +<p>A hot sun beating down from a cloudless sky +upon a land parched and dusty from a lengthened +drought; miles upon miles of rolling downs, +which once were green but which the driest +summer for many years has baked into a dirty +yellow; here and there an oasis consisting of a +copse of fir-trees, farmstead, and a field or two +of pasture marking the presence of a kindly +stream: a landscape in short so typical of +hundreds of square miles of this particular region +that ordinarily it would fail to interest. But +to-day the peace of the country side is disturbed +by the boom of guns and the rattle of musketry. +Two mighty armies are at grips at last, and in the +space between them hovers Death.</p> + +<p>Upon a little rise commanding a good view +of the surrounding country there is a long line +of khaki figures lying prone behind a scanty +earth-work. These are infantry, and shaken +infantry at that; shaken because they have +marched all night and stormed that hill at dawn +with fearful loss, because they are weak from +hunger and parched with thirst, and because +they feel in their hearts that the end is near. +Relief must come, or one determined rush will<span class="pagenum">[169]</span> +drive them back to ruin. Shells burst over them +with whip-like crack, rifle fire tears through their +ranks, and sometimes a harsh scream followed by +a deafening report and clouds of acrid smoke +marks the advent of a high-explosive shell.</p> + +<p>A much harassed brigadier sat behind a rock +near the telephone awaiting the answer to his +urgent demand for guns. It came sooner than he +expected it, and took the tangible shape of a little +group of horsemen which appeared on the hill +some way to his right. There was a quick consultation +as glasses swept the front. Then the +horses were led away under cover and the range-takers +began operations. The brigadier recognised +the signs and gained fresh hope as he saw +that his prayer was answered. At the far end +of the line Private Morgan, busily engaged in +excavating a hole for himself by means of an +entrenching tool much resembling a short-handled +garden hoe, looked up quickly as he +heard a well-known voice say—</p> + +<p>"All right, Biddie, I'll observe from here. +Bring 'em in quick."</p> + +<p>"Strewth!" muttered Snatty to himself, +"it's the major. So the old troop's comin' into +action 'ere."</p> + +<p>For weeks he had scanned every battery that<span class="pagenum">[170]</span> +had been near him, hoping to meet his own. +But Horse Artillery act with cavalry and work +far ahead of the toiling infantry in rear, so that +it was not till now, when a pitched battle was in +progress, when the advanced cavalry had come +in and every available gun was being utilised, +that Fate permitted Snatty to see his old battery +once more. Looking over his shoulder, he said—</p> + +<p>"It's all right now, sergeant. There's +some guns coming."</p> + +<p>"You shut yer mouth and get on with yer +work," was the rejoinder, "Wot do you know +about guns, I'd like to know?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothink! But you watch 'em, that's +all," said Private Morgan, with an ill-suppressed +gleam of pride, which made the sergeant wonder.</p> + +<p>The line of six guns, each with its wagon +behind it, thundered up the rise. There was +a shrill whistle, and a hand held up. Then the +hoarse voices of the sergeants shouted, "Action +front," and the wheelers were thrown into the +breeching, almost sitting on their haunches to +stop the weight behind them: the gunners +leapt from their horses and sprang to the gun: +a second's pause, then, "Drive on," and six +limbers went rattling away to the rear as six +trails were flung round half a circle and dropped<span class="pagenum">[171]</span> +with a thud. Hardly were they down before +each gun had its wagon up beside it and the +horses unhooked. They too galloped to the rear. +In ten seconds there was not a sign of movement. +The battery was there, and that was all.</p> + +<p>Of the weary infantry who lay and watched +there was one at least who could appreciate the +merit of the performance.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't ha' been better in the old days on +Salisbury Plain," was his comment. "But, +Gawd! the 'orses 'ave fell away proper. Skeletons, +that's wot they are now."</p> + +<p>But Private Morgan's soliloquy was again +cut short by the remorseless sergeant behind him.</p> + +<p>A few curt orders passed rapidly down the +battery, then came two sharp reports, followed +by the click of the reopened breech, as the ranging +rounds went singing on their journey. A spurt +of brown earth showed for a second in front of +that thick black line a mile or more away, +another showed behind.</p> + +<p>"Graze short—graze over," said the major, +still staring through his glasses. "Eighteen +hundred, one round gun fire."</p> + +<p>The order was repeated by a man standing +behind him with a megaphone, and followed +almost instantaneously by a round from every<span class="pagenum">[172]</span> +gun. Some puffs of smoke above the target, +the echo of the bursting shell borne back along +the breeze, and then for perhaps a minute all +Hell might have been let loose, such was the +uproar as every gun was worked at lightning +speed. A whistle—and in a moment all was still +again.</p> + +<p>"Target down—stop firing," was the laconic +order. "But," added the major, softly, "I +think that sickened 'em a bit."</p> + +<p>The attacking infantry had dropped down +under cover, but not for long. Nearer and nearer +pressed the relentless lines, sometimes pausing +a while, or even dropping back, but always, like +the waves of the incoming tide, gaining fresh +ground at every rush. The end was very near +now, and the bitterness of defeat entered into +the defenders' hearts. For they did not know +that the struggle for this particular hill, though +of vital importance to themselves, was merely +serving the subsidiary purpose of diverting +attention while greater issues matured elsewhere. +They only knew that ammunition was scarce, +that they wanted water, and that now at last +the order to retire had come. They got away +in driblets, slowly, very slowly, until at last +nothing was left upon the hillside but a handful<span class="pagenum">[173]</span> +of infantry, the battery, and the dead and +wounded. The riflemen crawled closer to the guns, +feeling somehow that there was solace in their +steady booming. The major looked at his watch, +and then at the attacking lines in front of him.</p> + +<p>"In ten minutes we'll have to get out of this," +he said, "bring the horses up close behind us +under cover." The minutes passed and the net +around them drew closer.</p> + +<p>"Prepare to retire—rear limber up."</p> + +<p>The few remaining infantry emptied their +magazines and crept off down the hill. The guns +fired their last few rounds as the teams came +jingling up. Their arrival was the signal for a +fresh outburst of fire. The few moments required +for limbering up seemed a lifetime as men fell +fast and horses mad with terror broke loose and +dashed away. But years of stern discipline and +careful training stood the battery in good stead +now. The principle of "Abandon be damned: +we never abandon guns," was not forgotten. +Through the shouting, the curses, and the dust, +the work went on. Dead horses were cut free +and pulled aside, gunners took the place of +fallen drivers, and at last five guns were got away. +The sixth was in great difficulties. The maddened +horses backed in every direction but the right<span class="pagenum">[174]</span> +one, and the panting gunners strove in vain to +drop the trail upon the limber-hook. Beside +the team stood Briddlington, trying to soothe +the horses and steadying the men in the calm, +cool voice that he habitually used upon parade.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly from behind a rock there +crawled out a strange figure. Filthy beyond +words, hatless, with an inch of scrubby beard, +and one foot bound up in blood-stained rags, +this apparition limped painfully towards the +gun—</p> + +<p>"Naow then!" a husky voice exclaimed, +"stand still, will yer, Dawn?"</p> + +<p>"By God! it's Snatty," cried Briddlington, +and as he spoke the driver of Snatty's horses +gave a little grunt and pitched off on to the +ground. Without a word the erstwhile private +of infantry stooped and took the whip from the +dead man's hand. He patted each horse in turn, +then climbed into the saddle.</p> + +<p>"Steady now—get back, will yer?" he growled, +and they obeyed him quietly enough. The men +behind gave a heave at the gun and a click denoted +that the trail was on its hook.</p> + +<p>"Drive on," cried Snatty, flourishing his +whip, and down the hill they went full gallop.</p> + +<p>Safety lay not in the way that they had come,<span class="pagenum">[175]</span> +but further to their left, where the ground was bad. +At the bottom of the hill there was a low bank +with a ditch in front of it, and just before they +reached it the centre driver received a bullet in +the head and dropped down like a stone. There +was no time to pull up. The lead driver took his +horses hard by the head and put them at the +bank. They jumped all right, but the pair behind +them, deprived of a guiding hand upon the reins, +saw the ditch at the last moment and swerved.</p> + +<p>"My Gawd!" said Snatty, sitting back for +the crash he knew would follow. The traces and +the pace had dragged the centre horses over in +spite of their swerve, but one of them stumbled +as he landed. He staggered forward, and before +he could recover Snatty's horses and the gun were +upon him in a whirling mass of legs and straps +and wheels. Briddlington, who had been riding +beside the team, leapt to the ground and ran to +the fallen horses.</p> + +<p>"Sit on their heads," he cried. "Undo the +quick release your side. Now then, together—heave." +There was a rattle of hoofs against the +footboard as Daylight rolled over kicking wildly +to get free. Briddlington, at the risk of his life, +leant over and pulled frantically at a strap. The +two ends flew apart and the snorting horses<span class="pagenum">[176]</span> +struggled to their feet, but Snatty lay very still +and deathly white upon the ground.</p> + +<p>"Don't stand gaping. Hook in again—quick. +We're not clear away yet by a long chalk," +said Briddlington. Then he bent down and +putting his arms round Snatty's crumpled figure +lifted him very tenderly aside. "Lie still now," +he said with a catch in his voice as he saw that +the case was hopeless, "and you'll be all right." +But those flashing hoofs and steel-tyred wheels +had done their work. Snatty's last drive was +over.</p> + +<p>"It warn't their fault. I should 'ave 'eld +them up," was all he said before he died.</p> + +<p>The gun rejoined the battery safely, and +defeat was turned to victory ere nightfall, but +Private Henry Morgan was returned as "missing" +from his regiment.</p> + +<p class="h3">IV</p> + +<p>To this day, on the anniversary of the battle, +in the mess of K3 Battery, R.H.A., it is the +custom, when the King's health has been drunk, +for the President to say——</p> + +<p>"Mr. Vice, to the memory of the man who +brought away the last gun." And the Vice-president<span class="pagenum">[177]</span> +answers, "Gentlemen, to Driver +Snatt."</p> + +<p>Then the curious visitor is shown a large oil +painting of a pair of bright bay horses with a little +wizened driver riding one of them.</p> + +<p>"That's Snatty," they will say, "a drunken +scoundrel if you like, but he loved those horses, +and he used to drive like hell."</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum">[178]</span> + +<h2><a name="FIVE-FOUR-EIGHT" id="FIVE-FOUR-EIGHT"></a>FIVE-FOUR-EIGHT</h2> + +<p class="h3">I</p> + +<p>Rain! pitiless, incessant, drenching rain, that +seemed to ooze and trickle and soak into every +nook and cranny in the world, beat down upon +the already sodden ground and formed great +pools of water in every hollow. Fires blazed +and flickered at intervals, revealing within +the glowing circles of their light the huddled +forms of weary soldiers; and all the myriad +sounds of a huge camp blended imperceptibly +with the raindrops' steady patter.</p> + +<p>According to orders the ——th Division had +concentrated upon the main army for the impending +battle. At dawn that day its leading battalion +had swung out of camp to face the storm +and the mud; not until dusk had the last unit +dropped exhausted into its bivouac. For fourteen +hours the troops had groped their way along +the boggy roads: and they had marched but +one-and-twenty miles. Incredibly slow! incredibly +wearisome! But they had effected the<span class="pagenum">[179]</span> +purpose of their chief. They had arrived in +time.</p> + +<p>The headquarters of the divisional artillery +had been established in a ramshackle old barn +at one corner of the field in which the batteries +were camped. Within its shelter the General +and his staff of three crouched over a small fire. +The roof leaked, the floor was wet and indescribably +filthy; their seats were saddles, and +their only light a guttering candle. But to +those four tired men, the little fire, the dirty +barn, the thought of food and sleep, seemed +heaven.</p> + +<p>Brigadier-General Maudeslay, known to his +irreverent but affectionate subordinates as "the +Maud," was a fat little man of fifty, who owed +his present rank largely to his steady adherence +to principles of sound common-sense. For theoretical +knowledge he depended, so he frankly +declared, upon the two staff officers with whom +he was supplied. Nevertheless, those who knew +him well agreed that in quickness to grasp the +salient points of any given situation and in +accuracy of decision he had few superiors. It +was his habit, when pondering on his line of +action, to walk round in a circle, his hands behind +his back, humming softly to himself. Then,<span class="pagenum">[180]</span> +swiftly and with conscious certainty, he would +act. And he was seldom wrong.</p> + +<p>At the moment, however, his thoughts were +not concerned with tactics but with food. For +some time he sat before the fire in silence, then +suddenly exclaimed——</p> + +<p>"Thank the Lord! I hear the baggage +coming in. Go and hurry it up, Tony."</p> + +<p>Tony, whose rarely used surname was Quarme, +was an artillery subaltern of seven years' service, +attached to the General's staff as personal A.D.C. +On him devolved the irksome task of catering +for the headquarter mess. It was his principal, +though not his only function: and, owing to +scarcity of provisions, a daily change of camp, +and a General who took considerable interest +in the quality of his food, it was a duty which +often taxed his temper and his ingenuity to the +utmost.</p> + +<p>He got up, wriggled himself into his clammy +waterproof, and splashed out into the mud and +darkness.</p> + +<p>"Tony," observed the General to his Brigade-Major, +"is not such a failure at this job as you +predicted."</p> + +<p>"He's astonished me so far, I must confess," +was the reply. "I always thought him rather<span class="pagenum">[181]</span> +a lazy young gentleman, with no tastes for anything +beyond horses and hunting."</p> + +<p>"My dear Hartley, he was lazy because he +was bored." The General, being devoted to +hunting himself, spoke a little testily. "Peace +soldiering," he went on, "<i>is</i> apt to bore sometimes. +Tony is not what <i>you'd</i> call a professional +soldier. His military interests are +strictly confined to the reputation of his battery, +and to his own ability to command two guns in +action. Naturally he was pleased when I appointed +him A.D.C. The part of the year's +work which interested him, practice camp and +so on, was over. In place of the tedium of +manœuvres as a regimental subaltern, he foresaw +a novel and more or less amusing occupation +on my staff for the rest of the summer, and he +knew that he would go back to his own station +in the autumn in time for the hunting season. +But he did not reckon on the possibility of war, +and therefore he is now dissatisfied. I know +it as well as if he'd told me so himself."</p> + +<p>"How do you mean, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! he doesn't dislike the job: I don't +mean that. But he can't help feeling that he's +been sold. I can almost hear him saying to +himself, 'Here have I struggled through seven<span class="pagenum">[182]</span> +years' soldierin' thinking always that some day +I should be loosed upon a battle-field with a pair +of guns and a good fat target of advancing +infantry. And now that the time <i>has</i> come, I'm +stuck with this rotten staff job.'"</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" said the other, "I never thought +of that."</p> + +<p>"No, Hartley, you wouldn't. In your case +the 'gunner' instinct has been obliterated by +that of the staff officer. The guns have lost +their fascination for you. Isn't that so?"</p> + +<p>"In a way, yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, in some men—and Tony happens to +be one of them—that fascination lasts as long +as life itself. Often enough in ordinary times +it lies dormant. But as soon as war comes it +shows itself at once in the mad rush made by +officers to get back to batteries—that is, to go +on service <i>with the guns</i>. It is the curse of our +regiment in some ways: many potential generals +abandon their ambitions because of it. But it's +also our salvation."</p> + +<p>He relapsed into silence, staring into the fire. +Perhaps he, too, regretted for the moment that +he was a General, and wished that, instead of +thirteen batteries, he commanded only one.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the subject of their discussion<span class="pagenum">[183]</span> +had succeeded in finding the headquarters' baggage +wagon. Ignoring the protests of infuriated +transport officers who were endeavouring to +direct more than two hundred vehicles to their +destinations, he had lured it out of the chaos +and guided it to its appointed place. As the +wagon came to a standstill outside the barn +the tarpaulin was raised at the back and the +vast proportions of the gunner who combined +the duties of servant to Tony and cook to the +mess slowly emerged.</p> + +<p>From his right hand dangled a shapeless, +flabby mass.</p> + +<p>"What the devil have you got there, Tebbut?" +demanded Tony.</p> + +<p>"Ducks, sir," was the unexpected reply. +"We was 'alted near a farm-'ouse to-day, so I +took the chanst to buy some milk and butter. +While the chap was away fetchin' the stuff, I +pinched these 'ere ducks. Fat they are, too!"</p> + +<p>He spoke in the matter-of-fact tones of one +to whom the theft of a pair of ducks, and the +feat of plucking them within the narrow confines +of a packed G.S. wagon, was no uncommon +experience.</p> + +<p>"Well, look sharp and cook 'em. We're +hungry," said Tony.<span class="pagenum">[184]</span></p> + +<p>He stayed until he saw that the dinner was +well under way, and then floundered off through +the mud to see his horses. Of these he was +allowed by regulations three, but one, hastily +purchased during the mobilisation period by an +almost distracted remount officer, had already +succumbed to the effects of overwork and underfeeding. +There remained the charger which he +had had with his battery in peace time, and +which he now used for all ordinary work—and +Dignity.</p> + +<p>The latter was well named. He was a big +brown horse, very nearly thoroughbred—a perfect +hunter and a perfect gentleman. Tony had bought +him as a four-year-old at a price that was really +far beyond his means, and had trained him himself. +He used openly to boast that Dignity had +taken to jumping as a duck takes to water, and +that he had never been known to turn from a +fence. In the course of four seasons, the fastest +burst, the heaviest ground, the longest hunt had +never been too much for him. Always he would +gallop calmly on, apparently invincible. His +owner almost worshipped him.</p> + +<p>Horse rugs are not part of the field service +equipment of an officer. But to the discerning +(and unscrupulous) few there is a way round<span class="pagenum">[185]</span> +almost every regulation. Dignity had three rugs, +and his legs were swathed in warm flannel +bandages. As he stood there on the leeward +side of a fence busily searching the bottom of +his nosebag for the last few oats of his meagre +ration, he was probably the most comfortable +animal of all the thousands in the camp.</p> + +<p>Tony spent some time examining his own +and the General's horses, and giving out the +orders for the morning to the grooms. By the +time he got back to the barn it was past ten, +and Tebbut was just solemnly announcing +"dinner" as being served.</p> + +<p>"The Maud" eyed the dish of steaming +ducks with evident approval, but avoided asking +questions. Loot had been very strictly forbidden.</p> + +<p>"We ought by rights to have apple sauce +with these," he said, drawing his saddle close +up to the deal low table and giving vent to a +sigh of expectancy.</p> + +<p>"Hi've got some 'ere, sir," responded the +resourceful Tebbut. "There was a horchard +near the road to-day."</p> + +<p>He produced, as he spoke, a battered tin +which, from the inscription on its label, had +once contained "selected peaches." It was now<span class="pagenum">[186]</span> +more than half full of a concoction which bore a +passable resemblance to apple sauce.</p> + +<p>For half an hour conversation languished. +They had eaten nothing but a sandwich since +early morning, and the demands of appetite were +more exacting than their interest in the programme +for the morrow.</p> + +<p>But as soon as Tebbut, always a stickler for +the usages of polite society, had brushed away +the crumbs with a dirty dish-cloth and handed +round pint mugs containing coffee, Hartley +unrolled a map, and, under instructions from the +General, began to prepare the orders.</p> + +<p>As a result of a reconnaissance in force that +day the enemy's advanced troops had been driven +in, and the extent of his real position more or +less accurately defined. The decisive attack, +of which the ——th Division was to form a part, +was to be directed against the left. Barring +the way on this flank, however, was a hill marked +on the map as Point 548, which was situate +about two miles in front of the main hostile +position. The enemy had not yet been dislodged +from this salient, but a brigade of infantry had +been detailed to assault it that night. In the +event of success a battery was to be sent forward +to occupy it at dawn, after which the main attack<span class="pagenum">[187]</span> +would begin. General Maudeslay had been +ordered to provide this battery.</p> + +<p>"Don't put anything in orders about it, +though, Hartley," he said. "It will have to be +one from the ——th Brigade, which has suffered +least so far. I'll send separate confidential +instructions to the Colonel. Get an orderly, +will you, Tony?"</p> + +<p>"I'll take the message myself, sir, if I may," +suggested the A.D.C. "It's my own brigade, +and I'd like to look them up."</p> + +<p>"All right; only don't forget to come back," +said the General, smiling.</p> + +<p>Tony pocketed the envelope and peered +out into the night. The rain had ceased and +the sky was clear. Far away to right and left +the bivouac fires glimmered like reflections of the +starry heavens. The troops, worn out with the +hardships of the day, had fallen asleep and +the camp was silent. Only the occasional whinny +of a horse, the challenge of a sentry, or the +distant rumbling of benighted transport broke +the stillness.</p> + +<p>Tony's way led through the lines of the various +batteries. The horses stood in rows, tied by +their heads to long ropes stretched between the +ammunition wagons. Fetlock-deep in liquid<span class="pagenum">[188]</span> +mud, without rugs, wet and underfed, they hung +their heads dejectedly—a silent protest against +the tyranny of war.</p> + +<p>"Poor old hairies!" thought Tony, as he +passed them, his mind picturing the spotless +troop-stables and the shining coats that he had +known so well in barracks, not a month ago.</p> + +<p>He found the officers of his brigade assembled +beneath a tarpaulin. Their baggage had been +hours late, and though it was nearly eleven +o'clock the evening meal was still in progress. +He handed his message to the Adjutant and sat +down to exchange greetings with his brother +subalterns.</p> + +<p>"Oh! there's bully beef for the batteries, +but we've salmon all right on the staff," he +sang softly, after sniffing suspiciously at the +unpleasant-looking mess on his neighbour's plate, +which was, in fact, ration tinned beef boiled +hurriedly in a camp kettle. The song, of which +the words were his own, fitted neatly to a popular +tune of the moment. It treated of the difference +in comfort of life on the staff and that in the +batteries, and gave a verdict distinctly in favour +of the former. He had sung it with immense +success about 3 a.m. on his last night at home +with his own brigade.<span class="pagenum">[189]</span></p> + +<p>"Now, Tony," said some one, "you're on the +staff. What's going to happen to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"A big show—will last two or three days, +they say. But," he added, grinning, "you poor +devils stuck away behind a hill won't see much +of it. I suppose I shall be sent on my usual +message—to tell you that you're doing no dam' +good, and only wasting ammunition!"</p> + +<p>But though he chaffed and joked his heart +was heavy as he walked back an hour later. +Somewhere out there in the mud was his own +battery, which he worshipped as a god. And +he was condemned to live away from it, to be +absent when it dashed into action, when the +breech-blocks rattled and the shells shrieked +across the valleys.</p> + +<p>He found the others still poring over the map. +From the wallet on his saddle Tony pulled out a +large travelling flask.</p> + +<p>"I think that this is the time for the issue +of my special emergency ration," he announced.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Tony?" asked "the Maud."</p> + +<p>"Best old liqueur brandy from our mess in +England," he replied, pouring some into each of +the four mugs.</p> + +<p>Then he held up his own and added<span class="pagenum">[190]</span>—</p> + +<p>"Here's to the guns: may they be well +served to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Over the enamelled rim the General's eyes met +Tony's for a moment, and he smiled; for he +understood the sentiment.</p> + +<p>Tony crawled beneath his blankets, and fell +into a deep sleep, from which he roused himself +with difficulty a few hours later as the first grey +streaks of dawn were appearing in the sky.</p> + +<p class="h3">II</p> + +<p>The press of work at the headquarters of a +division during operations comes in periods of +intense activity, during which every member of +the staff, from the General downwards, feels that +he is being asked to do the work of three men in +an impossibly short space of time. One of +these periods, that in which the orders for the +initial stages of the attack had been distributed, +had just passed, and a comparative calm had +succeeded. Even the operator of the "buzzer" +instrument, ensconced in a little triangular tent +just large enough to hold one man in a prone +position, had found time to smoke.</p> + +<p>Divisional headquarters had been established +at a point where five roads met, just below the<span class="pagenum">[191]</span> +crest of a low hill. A few yards away the horses +clinked their bits and grazed. Occasionally the +distant boom of a gun made them prick their +ears and stare reflectively in the direction of the +sound. The sun, with every promise of a fine +day, was slowly dispelling the mist from the +valley and woodlands below.</p> + +<p>It was early: the battle had scarcely yet +begun.</p> + +<p>A huge map had been spread out on a triangular +patch of grass at the road junction, +its corners held down with stones. Staff officers +lay around it talking eagerly. Above, on the +top of the hill, General Maudeslay leant against +a bank and gazed into the mist. The night +attack, he knew, had been successful, and he was +anxiously awaiting the appearance of the battery +on Point 548.</p> + +<p>Tony was stretched at full length on the +grass below him. He was warm, he was dry, +and he was not hungry—a rare combination +on service.</p> + +<p>"This would be a grand cub-hunting morning, +General," he said.</p> + +<p>Ordinarily "the Maud" would have responded +with enthusiasm, for hounds and +hunting were the passion of his life. But now<span class="pagenum">[192]</span> +his thoughts were occupied with other matters, +and he made no reply.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly, as though at the rising of a +curtain at a play, things began to happen. The +telephone operator lifted his head with a start +as his instrument began to give out its nervous, +jerky, zt—zzz—zt. There was a clatter of hoofs +along the road, and the sliding scrape of a horse +pulled up sharply as an orderly appeared and +handed in a message. Rifle fire, up till then +desultory and unnoticed, began to increase in +volume. The mist had gone.</p> + +<p>"The Maud," motionless against the bank, +kept his glasses to his eyes for some minutes +before lowering them, with a gesture of annoyance +and exclaimed—</p> + +<p>"It's curious. That battery ought to be on +548 by now, but I can see no sign of it."</p> + +<p>"You can't see 548 from here, sir. It's +hidden behind that wood," said Tony, pointing +as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? There's 548," said +the General, also pointing, but to a hill much +farther to their right.</p> + +<p>"No, sir—at least not according to my +map."</p> + +<p>"The Maud" snatched the map from Tony's<span class="pagenum">[193]</span> +hand. A second's glance was enough. On it +Point 548 was marked as being farther to the +left and considerably nearer to the enemy.</p> + +<p>He turned on Tony like a flash.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord! Why didn't you tell me that +before?" he cried. "There must be two different +editions of this map. Which one had they in +your brigade when you went over there last +night—the right one or the wrong one?"</p> + +<p>But Tony, unfortunately, had no idea. His +interest in tactics, as we have seen, was small, +and his visit had not involved him in a discussion +of the plan of battle. He had not even looked +at their maps.</p> + +<p>"The Maud" walked round in one small +circle while he hummed eight bars. Then he +said—</p> + +<p>"They must have started for the wrong hill, +and in this mist they won't have realised their +danger. That battery will be wiped out unless +we can stop it." He looked round quickly. +"Signallers—no—useless: and the telephone not +yet through. Tony, you'll have to go. There's +no direct road. Go straight across country and +you may just do it."</p> + +<p>Tony was already halfway to the horses.</p> + +<p>"Take up Dignity's stirrups two holes," he<span class="pagenum">[194]</span> +called as he ran towards them. "Quick, man, +quick!"</p> + +<p>It took perhaps twenty seconds, which seemed +like as many minutes. He flung away belt and +haversack, crammed his revolver into a side +pocket, and was thrown up into the saddle. +"The Maud" himself opened the gate off the +road.</p> + +<p>"Like hell, Tony, like hell!"</p> + +<p>The General's words, shouted in his ear as +he passed through on to the grass, seemed echoed +in the steady beat of Dignity's hoofs as he went +up to his bridle and settled into his long raking +stride.</p> + +<p>Tony leant out on his horse's neck, his reins +crossed jockey fashion, his knees pressed close +against the light hunting saddle. Before him +a faded expanse of green stretched out for +two miles to the white cottage on the hillside +which he had chosen as his point. The rush of +wind in his ears, the thud of iron-shod hoofs on +sound old turf, the thrill that is born of speed, +made him forget for a moment the war, the enemy, +his mission. He was back in England on a good +scenting morning in November. Hounds were +away on a straight-necked fox, and he had got +a perfect start. Almost could he see them<span class="pagenum">[195]</span> +beside him, "close packed, eager, silent as a +dream."</p> + +<p>This was not humdrum soldiering—cold and +hunger, muddy roads and dreary marches. It +was Life.</p> + +<p>"Steady, old man."</p> + +<p>He leant back, a smile upon his lips, as a fence +was flung behind them and the bottom of the +valley came in sight.</p> + +<p>"There's a brook: must chance it," he +muttered, and then, mechanically and with +instinctive eye, he chose his place. He took a +pull until he felt that Dignity was going well +within himself, and then, fifty yards away, he +touched him with his heels and let him out. +The stream, swollen with the deluge of the previous +day, had become a torrent of swirling, muddy +water, and it was by no means narrow. But +Dignity knew his business. Gathering his powerful +quarters under him in the last stride, he took +off exactly right and fairly hurled himself into +space.</p> + +<p>They landed with about an inch to spare.</p> + +<p>"Good for you!" cried Tony, standing in +his stirrups and looking back, as they breasted +the slope beyond. From the top he had hoped +to see the battery somewhere on the road, but<span class="pagenum">[196]</span> +he found that the wood obstructed his view, and +he was still uncertain, therefore, as to whether +he was in time or not.</p> + +<p>"It's a race," he said, and sat down in his +saddle to ride a finish.</p> + +<p>But halfway across the next field Dignity put +a foreleg into a blind and narrow drain and turned +completely over.</p> + +<p>Tony was thrown straight forward on to his +head and stunned.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>A quarter of an hour later he had recovered +consciousness and was staring about him stupidly. +The air was filled with the din of battle, but +apparently the only living thing near him was +Dignity, quietly grazing. He noticed, at first +without understanding, that the horse moved +on three legs only. His off foreleg was swinging. +Tony got up and limped stiffly towards him. +He bent down to feel the leg and found that it +was broken.</p> + +<p>Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled out his revolver +and put in a cartridge. It was, perhaps, the +hardest thing he had ever had to do. He drew +Dignity's head down towards the ground, placed +the muzzle against his forehead and fired.</p> + +<p>The horse swayed for a fraction of a second<span class="pagenum">[197]</span> +then collapsed forward, lifeless, with a thud: +and Tony felt as though his heart would break.</p> + +<p>Gradually he began to remember what had +happened, and he wondered vaguely how long +he had lain unconscious. In front of him stretched +the wood which he had seen before he started, +hiding from his view not only the actual hill but +the road which led to it. He knew that on foot, +bruised and shaken as he was, he could never +now arrive in time. He had failed, and must +return.</p> + +<p>Then, as he stood sadly watching Dignity's +fast glazing eyes he heard the thunder of hundreds +of galloping hoofs, and looked up quickly. +Round the corner of the wood, in wild career, +came, not a cavalry charge as he had half expected, +but teams—gun teams and limbers—but +no guns. The battery had got into action on +the hill, but a lucky hostile shell, wide of its mark, +had dropped into the wagon line and stampeded +the horses. A few drivers still remained, striving +in vain to pull up. They might as well have +tried to stop an avalanche.</p> + +<p>Tony watched them flash past him to the rear. +Still dazed with his fall, it was some seconds before +the truth burst upon him.</p> + +<p><i>He knew those horses.</i><span class="pagenum">[198]</span></p> + +<p>"My God!" he cried aloud, "it's my own +battery that's up there!"</p> + +<p>In a moment all thought of his obvious duty—to +return and report—was banished from his +mind. He forgot the staff and his connection +with it. One idea, and one only, possessed him—somehow, +anyhow, to get to the guns.</p> + +<p>Dizzily he started off towards the hill. His +progress was slow and laboured. His head +throbbed as though there was a metal piston +within beating time upon his brain. The hot +sun caused the sweat to stream into his eyes. +The ground was heavy, and his feet sank into it +at every step. Twice he stopped to vomit.</p> + +<p>At last he reached the road and followed +the tracks of the gun-wheels up it until he came +to the gap in the hedge through which the battery +had evidently gone on its way into action. The +slope was strewn with dead and dying horses: +drivers were crushed beneath them; and an +up-ended limber pointed its pole to the sky like +the mast of a derelict ship. The ground was +furrowed with the impress of many heavy wheels, +and everywhere was ripped and scarred with the +bullet marks of low-burst shrapnel. But ominously +enough, amid all these signs of conflict no +hostile fire seemed to come in his direction.<span class="pagenum">[199]</span></p> + +<p>The hill rose sharply for a hundred yards +or so, and then ran forward for some distance +nearly flat. Tony therefore, crawling up, did +not see the battery until he was quite close +to it.</p> + +<p>Panting, he stopped aghast and stared.</p> + +<p>Four guns were in position with their wagons +beside them. The remnants of the detachments +crouched behind the shields. Piles of empty +cartridge-cases and little mounds of turf behind +the trails testified that these four guns, at least, +had been well served. But the others! One +was still limbered up: evidently a shell had burst +immediately in front of it. Its men and horses +were heaped up round it almost as though they +were tin soldiers which a child had swept together +on the floor. The remaining gun pointed backward +down the hill, forlorn and desolate.</p> + +<p>In the distance, for miles and miles, the noise +of battle crashed and thundered in the air. But +here it seemed some magic spell was cast, and +everything was still and silent as the grave.</p> + +<p>Sick at heart, Tony contemplated the scene +of carnage and destruction for one brief moment. +Then he made his way towards the only officer +whom he could see, and from him learnt exactly +what had happened.<span class="pagenum">[200]</span></p> + +<p>The Major commanding the battery, it +appeared, deceived first by the map and then +by the fog, had halted his whole battery where +he imagined that it was hidden from view. But +as soon as the mist had cleared away he found +that it was exposed to the fire of the hostile +artillery at a range of little more than a mile. +The battery had been caught by a hail of shrapnel +before it could get into action. Only this one +officer remained, and there were but just enough +men to work the four guns that were in position. +Ammunition, too, was getting very short.</p> + +<p>Tony looked at his watch. It was only +eight o'clock. From his vague idea of the general +plan of battle he knew that the decisive attack +would eventually sweep forward over the hill +on which he stood. But how soon?</p> + +<p>At any moment the enemy might launch a +counter-attack and engulf his battery. Its +position could hardly have been worse. Owing +to the flat top of the hill nothing could be seen +from the guns except the three hundred yards +immediately in front of them and the high +ground a mile away on which the enemy's artillery +was posted. The intervening space was hidden. +Yet it was impossible to move. Any attempt to +go forward to where they could see, or backward<span class="pagenum">[201]</span> +to where they would be safe, would be greeted, +Tony knew well enough, with a burst of fire +which would mean annihilation. Besides, he +remembered the stampeding wagon line. The +battery was without horses, immobile. To wait +patiently for succour was its only hope.</p> + +<p>Having ascertained that a man had been +posted out in front to give warning of an attack, +Tony sat down to await developments with +philosophic calm. The fact that he had no right +to be there at all, but that his place was with +the General, did not concern him in the slightest. +It had always been his ambition "to fight a +battery in the real thing," as he would himself +have phrased it, and he foresaw that he was +about to do so with a vengeance. He was +distressed by the havoc that he saw, but in all +other respects he was content.</p> + +<p>For hours nothing happened. The enemy +evidently considered that the battery was effectually +silenced, and did not deign to waste further +ammunition upon it. Then, when Tony had +almost fallen asleep, the sentry at the forward +crest semaphored in a message——</p> + +<p>"Long thick line of infantry advancing: will +reach foot of hill in about five minutes. Supports +behind." Almost at the same moment an<span class="pagenum">[202]</span> +orderly whom Tony recognised as belonging to +his General's staff arrived from the rear. Tony +seized upon him eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Where have you come from?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"From the General, sir. 'E sent me to find +you and to tell you to come back."</p> + +<p>"Did you pass any of our infantry on your +way?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. There's a lot coming on. They'll +be round the wood in a minute or two."</p> + +<p>"Well, go back to them and give <i>any</i> officer +this message," said Tony, writing rapidly in his +note-book.</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, sir, but that will take me out +of my way. I'm the last orderly the General +'as got left, and I was told to find out what 'ad +'appened 'ere, and then to come straight back."</p> + +<p>"I don't care a damn what you were told. +You go with that message <i>now</i>."</p> + +<p>The man hurried off, and Tony walked along +the line of guns, saw that they were laid on the +crest line in front, and that the fuzes were set +at zero. This would have the effect of bursting +the shell at the muzzles, and so creating a death-zone +of leaden bullets through which the attacking +infantry would have to fight their way. Then<span class="pagenum">[203]</span> +he took up his post behind an ammunition +wagon on the right of the battery, and fixed +his eyes on the signaller in front. He felt himself +to be in the same state of tingling excitement +as when he waited outside a good fox-covert +expecting the welcome "Gone away!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly the signaller rose, and, crouching +low, bolted back towards the guns. Just as he +reached them a few isolated soldiers began to +appear over the crest in front. As soon as they +saw the guns they lay down waiting for support. +They were the advanced scouts of a battalion.</p> + +<p>A moment afterwards, a thick line of men came +in sight. The sun gleamed on their bayonets. +There was a shout, and they surged forward +towards the battery.</p> + +<p>"Three rounds gun fire!" Tony shouted. +The four guns went off almost simultaneously, +and at once the whole front was enveloped in +thick, white smoke from the bursting shell. +In spite of diminished detachments the guns +were quickly served. Again and once again +they spoke within a second of each other.</p> + +<p>The smoke cleared slowly, for there was +scarcely a breath of wind. Meanwhile the +assailants had taken cover, and were beginning +to use their rifles. Bullets, hundreds of them,<span class="pagenum">[204]</span> +tore the ground in front and clanged against +the shields. Tony stepped back a few yards +and looked down into the valley behind him. +A thin line of skirmishers had almost reached +the foot of the hill. His message had been +delivered.</p> + +<p>He came back to the cover of his wagon. +The enemy began to come forward by rushes—a +dozen men advancing twenty yards, perhaps.</p> + +<p>"Repeat!" said Tony.</p> + +<p>Again the guns blazed and roared: again +the pall of smoke obscured the view. A long +trailing line of infantry began to climb the hill +behind him. But the enemy was working round +the flanks of the battery and preparing for the +final rush. It was a question of whether friend +or foe would reach him first. For the second +time that day Tony muttered, "It's a race!"</p> + +<p>Then, as he saw the whole line rise and charge +straight at him——</p> + +<p>"Gun fire!" he yelled above the din, knowing +that by that order the ammunition would be +expended to the last round.</p> + +<p>He jumped to the gun nearest him, working +the breech with mechanical precision, while the +only gunner left in the detachment loaded and +fired.<span class="pagenum">[205]</span></p> + +<p>"Last round, sir," came in a hoarse whisper, +as Tony slammed the breech and leant back with +left arm outstretched ready to swing it open +again. In front they could see nothing: the +smoke hung like a thick white blanket. Tony +drew his revolver and stood up, peering over the +shield, expecting every moment to see a line of +bayonets emerge.</p> + +<p>There was a roar behind. He heard the rush +of feet and the rattle of equipment. He was +conscious of the smell of sweating bodies and the +sight of wild, frenzied faces. Then the charge, +arriving just in time, swept past him, a mad +irresistible wave of humanity, driving the enemy +before it and leaving the guns behind like rocks +after the passage of a flood.</p> + +<p>Tony fell back over the trail in a dead faint.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Long afterwards, when the tide of battle had +rolled on towards the opposing heights, Tony, +pale, grimy, but exultant, started back with the +intention of rejoining his General. Halfway +down the hill he met him riding up.</p> + +<p>Tony turned and walked beside him.</p> + +<p>"What's happened here, and where the devil +have you been all day?" asked "the Maud," +angrily.<span class="pagenum">[206]</span></p> + +<p>"I've been here, sir."</p> + +<p>"So it appears. I sent an orderly to find you, +and all you did was to despatch him on a message +of your own, I understand. We were in urgent +need of information as to what had happened +up here. You failed to stop this battery, and +it was your duty to come straight back and tell +me so."</p> + +<p>Tony had never seen the placid Maud so +angry. He glanced up at him as he sat there +bolt upright on his horse looking straight to +his front.</p> + +<p>"It was my own battery," said Tony. Then, +after a pause, he added recklessly, "Would +you have come back, sir, if you'd been me?"</p> + +<p>The Maud stared past him up the hill. He +saw the guns, with the dead and wounded strewn +around them, safe. He was a gunner first, a +General only afterwards. He hummed a little +tune.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I wouldn't."</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum">[207]</span> + +<h2><a name="PART_III" id="PART_III"></a>PART III</h2> + +<p class="h3">IN ENEMY HANDS</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum">[209]</span> + +<h2><a name="SOME_EXPERIENCES_OF_A_PRISONER_OF_WAR" id="SOME_EXPERIENCES_OF_A_PRISONER_OF_WAR"></a> +SOME EXPERIENCES OF A PRISONER OF WAR</h2> + +<p><i>October 15, 1914.</i> Hospital, Bavai, France.—Woke +up to find the ward seething with excitement. +One of the English wounded had escaped in the +night, leaving his greatcoat neatly placed in his +bed in such a manner as to suggest a recumbent +figure. How he succeeded in evading the attentions +of a night-nurse, an R.A.M.C. orderly, a +German sentry at the main gate and two others +in the courtyard outside the ward, is a complete +mystery. The situation for the French hospital +authorities is serious. So far, although the +Germans are in occupation of the town, have +garrisoned it with a company of "Landwehr" +and have appointed a "Governor" with a particularly +offensive polyglot secretary, they have left +the running of the hospital in the hands of the +French staff. Bavai has been looted but not +sacked, no inhabitants have been shot and no +fine inflicted. But what will happen now?<span class="pagenum">[210]</span></p> + +<p>Technically, of course, responsibility for the +custody of the patients rests with the Germans, +since they have posted sentries at the hospital +and in the town. But conventions and technicalities +do not count for much in these days. +The doctor, five or six nurses, and the lady by +whose charity the hospital is maintained hold +a conference, animated by many dramatic gestures +and an astonishing flow of eloquence. +They are torn between fear of the consequences +which may recoil upon the hospital and admiration +for the daring of the man who stole forth +into the rain, unarmed, and without a coat, to +face the dangers of an unknown country infested +with the enemy—alone.</p> + +<p>"Quelle bêtise!" cried one. "Oui, mais +quel courage!" answered another. "Si les +Allemands l'attrapent, il sera fusillé, sans +doute."</p> + +<p>It is decided to inform the Governor, and a +deputation is formed for the purpose. In less +than a quarter of an hour a squad of stolid +Teutons arrive and search the hospital from attic +to cellar. They even enter the apartments +of the nuns, to the horror of our kind old priest. +Of course they find nothing. It is by now eight +o'clock. At nine the edict is given. In two<span class="pagenum">[211]</span> +hours every patient in the hospital who is able +to crawl is to be ready to leave. I ask my friend +the doctor if he can in any way pretend that I +am worse than I am. "Pas possible," he replies, +shaking his head sadly.</p> + +<p>So it is over—this long period of waiting and +hoping; waiting for an advance which never +came, hoping where no hope was. Seven weeks +have passed since I was brought in here, left +behind wounded when the tide of war ebbed back +towards Paris, and in that time I have gathered +many memories which will never fade. I have +seen strong men racked with pain day after day, +night after night, until sometimes at last exhausted +Nature gave up the struggle and the +nurses would come and whisper to me, crossing +themselves, "Il est mort, le pauvre. Ah! comme +il a souffert." I have realised to the full the +compassion of Woman for suffering humanity, +irrespective of creed or nationality; and I have +known the blessing of morphia. Once, very +early in the morning, just as the dawn was +beginning to creep in and light with a ghostly +dimness the rows of white beds and their restless, +groaning occupants, I heard the tinkle of the +bell announcing the approach of the priest +bearing the Host; and drowsily (for I was under<span class="pagenum">[212]</span> +morphia) I watched Extreme Unction being administered +to a dying German officer. Death, the +overlord, is a great leveller of human passions. +The old <i>curé</i>, whose face was that of a medieval +saint and in whose kindly eyes there shone a +pity akin to the divine, muttered the sacred +words with a sincerity of conviction that one +could not doubt. A few hours before I had +heard his sonorous voice rolling out the Archbishop +of Cambrai's prayer for victory: "Seigneur, +qui êtes le Dieu des armées et le maître de +la vie et de la mort, Vous qui avez toujours aimé +la France...."</p> + +<p>11 a.m.—We are ready to start. The dining-hall +(in times of peace this hospital is a school) +is crowded as we are given our last meal. The +nuns, the doctor and his wife, the nurses, the +village shoemaker who was our barber and who +always used to have a reassuring rumour of some +sort to retail—all are there to wish us a last sad +"Au revoir." They ply us with food and drink, +but we are too miserable to take much. Then +the word is given—we file out slowly through +the courtyard into the sunlit street where two +transport wagons are drawn up opposite the gate. +There are nineteen French soldiers, two English +privates, and myself. Our names are called by a<span class="pagenum">[213]</span> +German officer. Those who cannot walk are +helped (by their comrades) into the wagons. +We three English are carefully searched, but our +money is not taken. It is decreed that the +Englishmen must be separated by at least two +Frenchmen. Does our escort (twenty armed men +under a sergeant) fear a combined revolt, I wonder, +or is this done merely to annoy us? I suspect +the latter. A crowd of inhabitants forms round +us, pressing close to say good-bye. Suddenly +the German officer notices this and in one second +is transformed into a raging beast. He wheels +round upon the crowd, waves his stick and +pours forth a torrent of abuse. The people +cower back against the wall and his anger subsides. +It is the first display of German temper +that I have seen. To hear women reviled, +even in a strange tongue—and for nothing—is +horrible.</p> + +<p>We start. At the corner I look back regretfully +at the hospital where I have received such +kindness as I can never forget. From a top +window a handkerchief is waving. It is the nurse +who, when I was really at my worst, never left +my bedside for more than five minutes during +two long nights and a day. To her, I think, +I owe my life. For a moment the face of the<span class="pagenum">[214]</span> +cobbler distinguishes itself from the others in +the crowd. He makes himself heard above the +rattle of the wagons on the <i>pavée</i> street. "Vous +reviendrez après la guerre, mon lieutenant," he +shouts.</p> + +<p>"Oui, je vous assure—à bientôt," I call back +as we turn out into the open country and face +the straight poplar-lined road that leads to +Maubeuge. Halfway we stop at an <i>estaminet</i> +for beer. The prisoners, even the English, are +allowed to purchase some. The German sergeant +chucks under the chin the attractive-looking +French girl who serves him. She smiles, but as +he turns his back I note the sudden expression of +fierce hate which leaps into her eyes.</p> + +<p>It is after 3 p.m. when we reach the outskirts +of Maubeuge and cross the drawbridge over the +old moat, made, I believe, by Vauban. Inside +the town there are many signs of the devastation +of war—buildings gutted, whole streets of small +houses laid flat in ruins. The pavements are +crowded and people throw chocolates and cigarettes +to us. German officers, wrapped in their +long grey cloaks, swagger about, brushing everyone +aside in haughty insolence. From the +windows of two or three hospitals French soldiers +peer out and wave to us in obvious sympathy.<span class="pagenum">[215]</span> +Approaching the railway station we go past the +identical spot where, eight weeks ago to the day, +the battery detrained. The logs on which we +sat to eat our belated breakfast after the long +night journey up from Boulogne are still there. +Oh! the humiliation of it all; a week in the +country, one hour's fighting, seven weeks in +hospital, and now—prison.</p> + +<p>In the open space outside the station we +are drawn up by the pavement. The French +are allowed to sit down on the curb; not so we +three unfortunate English. On our attempting +to do so the sergeant in charge shouts at us and +one of the escort threatens us with a bayonet. +Some inhabitants who approach us with offers of +food and drink are driven off harshly. A crowd +of German soldiers, some half-drunk, collects +round us. They all know the English word +"swine." Pointing us out to each other they +use it without stint. One man has a more +extended vocabulary of abuse. Having exhausted +it he proceeds to recount for our benefit +the damnable story that English soldiers use +the marlinspike in their clasp-knives to gouge +out the eyes of German wounded. We have +already heard this allegation made before. The +English-speaking secretary of the Governor at<span class="pagenum">[216]</span> +Bavai was very fond of it. But he, who was +educated and who had lived in London for years, +knew, I'm sure, that it was a malicious lie invented +by the authorities for the express purpose +of exciting the Germans against us. But these +men undoubtedly believe it. They produce +knives of their own from their boots and threaten +us with them. The expression on their faces is +that of angry, untamed beasts. And yet, I dare +say, at home these very men who now would +like to tear us to pieces are really simple, harmless +working folk. Such is war.</p> + +<p>It is an awkward moment. If either of my +compatriots loses his temper (which is not +improbable, for the British soldier will not +stand insult indefinitely) he will let fly with his +tongue or even his fist, in which case we shall all +three be put against the nearest wall and shot. +So I keep muttering, "For God's sake take no +notice; try to look as though you don't hear +or understand"—knowing that besides being +the safest attitude this will also be the most +galling for our revilers. Contemptuous indifference +is sometimes a dignified defensive weapon. +Finding that we are not to be drawn, the crowd +gradually disperses, and for an hour and a half +we are kept standing in the gutter. Then<span class="pagenum">[217]</span> +another long procession of dejected prisoners +winds its way into the yard and we are taken with +them into the station. The wait inside is enlivened +for me by a conversation with a German +N.C.O. who speaks English perfectly. He has +lived, he tells me, eighteen years in South Africa +and fought for us against the Matabele. Until +this war he liked the English, he frankly confesses. +Now nothing is too bad for us. <i>We</i> started it, +<i>we</i>'re the bullies of Europe, it's <i>we</i> who must be +crushed. Germany can't be beaten. Napoleon +the First couldn't do it. "We Germans," he +says, "fight without pay for love of our country, +but you are mercenaries; you enlist for money." +From motives of personal safety I refrain from +making the obvious retort: "On the contrary, +we are volunteers—you go into the army because +you're dam' well made to."</p> + +<p>A diversion is caused by a wounded French +soldier who faints, has to be given brandy, and +is discovered to be far too bad to travel. Why +not have left the poor devil in his hospital? +He's surely harmless enough from a military +point of view.</p> + +<p>6 p.m.—We file across the line on to the other +platform. On the way one of the English privates +is kicked, hard, from behind by a passing German<span class="pagenum">[218]</span> +soldier. His whispered comments to me are +unprintable. Our train appears to consist entirely +of cattle trucks. Just as I am about to enter +one of these in company with some French +soldiers, a German captain touches me on the +shoulder. "You are an officer, aren't you?" he +says in French, and motions me aside. Pointing +at me, the sergeant who had brought us from +Bavai says something to the officer, the purport +of which, I gather, is that his orders were to +put me in with the men. Fortunately, however, +this captain has gentlemanly instincts; he ignores +the sergeant, leads me down to the other end of +the platform and deposits me in a second-class +carriage with three French officers. We begin to +exchange experiences. Two are doctors, the +other a captain of Colonial Infantry wounded +during the siege of Maubeuge. They tell me +that there is another English officer on the train. +I now begin to realise that I am hungry and half +dead with fatigue. To march eight miles and +then to stand upright for nearly three hours, +after having walked no more than the length +of the hospital ward for weeks, is no joke. The +above-mentioned English officer comes in from +the next carriage and introduces himself as Major +B., cavalry, wounded at the very beginning<span class="pagenum">[219]</span> +and put into Maubeuge to recover; of course +he was taken prisoner when that place fell. He +and the French officers give me food and a +blanket, for both of which I am more than grateful. +An elderly Landsturm private armed with +a loaded rifle and a saw-bayonet occupies one +corner of our carriage, so that there is not much +room to lie down. We start about 7.30, but I am +so over-tired and so cold that I get very little +sleep.</p> + +<p><i>October 16.</i>—Woke to find that we had only +gone about 20 miles and had not yet reached +Charleroi. A long, wearisome day, during which +we exhausted our supplies of food. Passed +through Namur and Liége but were unable to +see signs of the bombardment of either place. +In the evening reached Aix, where we were given +lukewarm cocoa and sandwiches made of black +bread and sausage—particularly nasty. But +by this time we were so hungry that anything +was welcome. The guard in our carriage, +finding that we were not really likely to strangle +him if he took his eyes off us for a moment, +relaxed considerably, accepted cigarettes, gave +us some of his bread, confessed to one of the +Frenchmen who could speak a little German that +he hated the war and heartily wished that he<span class="pagenum">[220]</span> +was home again; finally he put his rifle on the +rack and slept as well as any of us.</p> + +<p><i>October 17.</i>—All yesterday and all this morning +we passed train after train of reinforcements +going to the front; some of the carriages were +decorated with evergreens, and nearly all of them +were labelled "Paris" in chalk. Many of the +men looked very young—hardly more than boys. +Several trains, crammed with wounded, overtook +us. The sight of English uniform was +always enough to attract a crowd at any station +where we stopped. I wonder if the inhabitants +of the Maori village at Earl's Court experienced +the same sensations as I did—sitting there to be +stared at, pointed at and not infrequently insulted.</p> + +<p>At about 11.30 we were taken out of the +train, and locked into a waiting-room with about +half a dozen Belgian officers, all wounded, who +had arrived from some other direction. An +extremely fussy N.C.O. had charge of us and +persisted in counting us every ten minutes. +Got into another train about 1 p.m. and eventually +arrived at our destination, Crefeld, at 1.30. +We were taken out of the station almost immediately, +marched through a large and rather hostile +crowd and put into a tram. In this we went up<span class="pagenum">[221]</span> +to the barracks—about two miles. Male inhabitants +shook their fists at us, females put out their +tongues: so chivalrous!</p> + +<p>In spite of the relief of at last being at the +end of our journey, there was something terribly +depressing in the sound of the heavy gate shutting +to behind us. We were first taken up to an +office and made to fill in our names, ranks, regiments, +and monthly rates of pay on a special +form; then put inside the palisade and left to +find our way about. There are about sixty +French officers here, a dozen or so Belgians +(including the commander of Antwerp and his +artillery general), and seven English, one of +whom is a retired captain who happened to be +in Belgium at the outbreak of war and who was +arrested as a spy on no evidence whatever. Spent +the remainder of the day settling down and +writing home. It is a comfort, at any rate, to +think that I can at last let people know what +has become of me. Comparing notes with the +other English here, we discover that they were +all wounded early in the War, on the Aisne. +We learn for the first time details of the stationary +trench warfare into which the campaign is +developing and hear all about the German +preponderance in heavy artillery. We feed<span class="pagenum">[222]</span> +here in the big dining-hall attached to the +canteen (in which by the way a great variety +of things can be bought, including beer, wine, +and tobacco). We live and sleep in the barrack +rooms and we have the whole space of the barrack +square—200 yards long by about 80 wide—to +play about in! Subalterns are paid 60 marks +a month, higher ranks 100. Every one is charged +2 marks a day for messing. The unfortunate +subaltern, therefore, finds his accounts flat at +the end of the month—unless the month has +thirty-one days, in which case he owes the +Imperial Government 2 marks! Am glad I've +got about a fiver with me, which ought to last +until I can get more from home. Slept like a +log on a bed as hard as iron.</p> + +<p><i>October 18.</i>—Five more English officers arrived +this morning, including Major V——. They +were all more dead than alive, having spent +three days and three nights in a cattle truck, +the floor of which was covered with six inches +of wet dung; the ammonia fumes had got into +their eyes and they could hardly see; they had +had practically no food and all through the +journey they had been submitted to every +conceivable insult. The cattle truck contained +fifty-two persons—officers, privates, and civilians.<span class="pagenum">[223]</span> +Such treatment is beyond comment. From +Major V—— I heard for the first time of the +tragic fate of the battery on September 1. He +could give no details beyond that it was surprised +in bivouac at dawn by eight "dug-in" German +guns at 700 yards' range, that it was simply +cut to pieces, but that the guns were served to +the last, that the hostile batteries were silenced, +and, in the end, captured. All the officers were +killed or wounded. It's too awful to be ignorant +of further particulars. Went to bed more +depressed than I have been all these weeks. I +daren't think that "Brad"<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> has been killed.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> The late Captain E. K. Bradbury, V.C., R.H.A.</p></div> + +<p><i>October 19.</i>—This morning we were made to +parade at 10.30 to be counted; this is to be +a daily amusement. The food here might be +worse and at present there is plenty of it. Took +some exercise round the square—a deadly +business. In the afternoon shaved off a month's +beard with a cheap German safety razor, which +was a painful operation! Ordered some underclothing +from the town.</p> + +<p><i>October 20.</i>—Employed a pouring wet day +writing many letters, including one to Bavai, +though it is questionable if it ever gets there.</p> + +<p><i>October 22.</i>—Two more English officers arrived, +<span class="pagenum">[224]</span>one wounded. Both seemed to think that things +were going well but neither knew much. This +morning the new commandant took over. He +looks like an opulent and good-natured butcher +disguised as a Hungarian bandsman. Actually, +I am informed, he is a retired major of Hussars. +In the course of a chatty little discourse at the +roll-call parade he informed us that in future we +are to be counted at 7.45 a.m. and 10 p.m.; +further that alcoholic liquors will no longer +be obtainable. Thus we are robbed of two of +our luxuries—drink and sleep! Two new arrivals +at midday, whose only news is that British troops +are now in N.W. Belgium. Football started +on the square. The monotonous horror of this +life is just beginning to make itself felt on me. +The worst part of the whole thing is the total +lack of privacy. There is no room, no corner +of a room even, where one can go to escape the +incessant racket and babble of talk. Reading +and writing are practically impossible.</p> + +<p>This evening twelve more English arrived. +Learned from them of the transfer of our army +from the Aisne to Belgium and realised from their +accounts the appalling losses that many regiments +seem to have had. One of these new-comers +told me of Brad's heroic death when "L" was<span class="pagenum">[225]</span> +smashed up. To the regiment and to the army +his loss is great; to those of us who knew him +well and were privileged to serve with him, it is +irreparable. In everything he did he set up a +standard which all of us envied but none of us +could attain. He lived as straight as he rode to +hounds—and no man rode straighter. To his +brilliant mental gifts he added a conscientiousness, +a thoroughness, and a quick grasp of detail +which seemed to augur a great future. His was +a personality which stamped itself indelibly upon +all with whom he came in contact, and the +influence for good which he wielded over both +officers and men had to be seen to be believed. +The men feared him, for he was strict and was +no respecter of persons; but they loved him too, +for he was always just. By his brother officers +he was simply worshipped. He was not a typical +British officer, he was far more than that, he was +an ideal one. He died as he had lived—nobly. +And he was an only son.</p> + +<p><i>October 28.</i>—A vile cold has added to my +depression of the last few days. A good many +new prisoners have been brought in lately—mostly +of the 7th Division, which appears by all +accounts to have had an awful doing. The +battle W. and N.W. of Lille still rages. A French<span class="pagenum">[226]</span> +officer retails a rumour that he had heard before +being captured that the Allies had retaken +Lille; a Belgian, that the Germans are retiring +on the West and that our fleet are doing great +execution along the coast.</p> + +<p>Am now sharing a room with an infantry +captain and three subalterns of the same regiment. +We have bought cups and saucers and have tea +in our room every afternoon. New regulation +that we may only write two letters a month.</p> + +<p><i>October 31.</i>—General von Bissing, commanding +the district, inspected the Landsturm battalion +here to-day. Afterwards he visited some of +the prisoners' rooms. Seeing one English officer +who, having only just arrived, was far from clean, +he asked him through an interpreter how long +he had had his breeches. The officer, who +imagined that he was being asked how long the +British army had been clad in khaki, answered +politely, "Nearly fourteen years!" Whereupon +von Bissing was pleased to call our uniform +"Dirty-coloured, disgusting, and bad." However, +I hear his son is a prisoner in France, so +perhaps this undignified vituperation relieves +his feelings.</p> + +<p><i>November 1.</i>—The Belgian officers departed +to-day for some other camp. Rumours of the<span class="pagenum">[227]</span> +arrival of 200 Russians not yet fulfilled. Have +bought some books, Tauchnitz edition, and tried +to settle down to read. We have started the +formation of an English library, which will be +a blessing.</p> + +<p><i>November 2.</i>—We have often jokingly said: +"We've got English, French, Belgians, and +Arabs here—all we want to complete the show +is a party of Russians." Well, now we've got +them—200 arrived this evening. Such a scene +in the canteen before roll-call! The roar of +voices, the atmosphere of tobacco, and the +pushing crowd in the bar reminded one of the +Empire on a boat-race night—minus the drink!</p> + +<p>The authorities with their usual thoughtfulness +for our comfort have decreed that the English +or French and the Russians are to be mixed up +in the rooms in approximately equal numbers. +So three of us (G——, T——, and myself) migrated +to another block this afternoon and installed +ourselves in the beds nearest the window before +the arrival of our "stable companions." These +when they did turn up seemed pleasant enough, +but as they could talk no English and only a +few words of French, conversation was limited. +They could give us no news, having all been +prisoners in some other place for two months.<span class="pagenum">[228]</span> +One, however, produced a map of Europe and +showed us how the German columns were being +swept aside—one apparently to Finland, another +to Constantinople, and a third to Rome! Evidently +an optimist! "<i>Neuf millions</i>" is all the +French he knows; it is his estimate of the strength +of that portion of the Russian army which is at +present mobilised.</p> + +<p><i>November 3.</i>—Letter from home—the first +since I left England on August 16. Infinitely +cheering; no news, though, owing to fear of the +censor, except a few details about the battery on +September 1.</p> + +<p><i>November 9.</i>—Overcrowding becoming desperate. +A seventh added to our room to-day—a +French lieutenant whom we nicknamed +Brigadier Gerard, because he's always twirling +his moustache in front of the glass. There +are so many prisoners here now that we have +to have two services for each meal—<i>i.e.</i> +breakfast 8 and 9 a.m., lunch 11.45 a.m. +and 1.15 p.m. supper 6.45 and 8 p.m. One +does a week of each alternately, with the idea +presumably that constant change is good for +the digestion. But the day consists of fifteen +long waking hours all the same. There are +moments when I hate all my fellow humans here.<span class="pagenum">[229]</span> +A youthful Russian who inhabits this room +irritates me almost beyond endurance by singing +and whistling the same tune all day long. Poor +devil, he's got no books and nothing on earth +to do—but if only he'd go and make his noises +outside. I find myself unable to fix my mind +on anything and sometimes I feel that this life +will drive me mad. It's a <i>hell</i> of moral, physical, +and mental inactivity. I'd rather do a year +here with a room to myself than six months as +things are at present.</p> + +<p><i>November 11.</i>—Somebody got a bundle of +old <i>Daily Graphics</i> past the censor, I can't think +how. As they were the first English papers we'd +seen for ages they were most interesting.</p> + +<p><i>November 14.</i>—Howling gale and heavy rain +all yesterday and the day before. Hope the +German fleet is at sea in it! Have made great +friends with Tonnot, the French captain of +Colonial Infantry with whom I travelled from +Maubeuge. He talks interestingly on a variety +of subjects and I am learning a certain amount +of French from him. Curious how much more +well endowed with the critical spirit the average +Frenchman is than the Englishman of a corresponding +class. The latter is more inclined to +take men and affairs and life for granted.<span class="pagenum">[230]</span></p> + +<p>Am getting anxious about the non-arrival +of my parcels. Clothes, books, and tobacco +are what I want. Dozens of officers who arrived +after me have received parcels. In my saner +moments I know that it is purely a matter of +chance, but I have a tendency, when day after +day a list of names is put up and mine is not +amongst them, to grind my teeth in rage and +regard it as a personal spite on the part of the +German Government. The arrival of letters +and parcels is the only event of any importance +in this monotonous life. An officer who receives +two or three of either on the same day is regarded +in much the same light, as, at home, one regards +some lucky person who has inherited a fortune. +Every pleasure is relative and depends on circumstances. +Here, a tin of tobacco and two pairs +of pyjamas are joys untold.</p> + +<p><i>November 21.</i>—The same continuous stream +of rumours and counter-rumours continues to +flow in. Heard this week that Lille had been +retaken and that four French corps were marching +on Mons. The latter theory borne out by the +arrival of some very badly wounded prisoners +from the hospital at that place. No confirmation, +however. Learnt of the Prime Minister's +speech on War loans, in which he stated that the<span class="pagenum">[231]</span> +war will not last as long as expected. This is +comforting, as he is not given to exaggeration. +Perfect weather—dry, frosty, sunny. Long to +be on mountains instead of trudging round this +damnable square.</p> + +<p><i>November 23.</i>—Immense excitement this evening. +Two Russians attempted to escape; they +had obtained civilian clothes, passports, and a +motor, but were given away by the man whom +they had bribed to help them. They now languish +in the guardroom. The German authorities +spent two hours this evening searching all the +rooms, I suppose for money.</p> + +<p><i>November 26.</i>—All the bells in Crefeld ringing +this evening and extra editions of the papers +announcing the capture of 40,000 Russians. +Won't believe it. That's always the tendency—to +believe any rumour favourable to us, however +wild, and to discredit anything and everything +the Germans say.</p> + +<p><i>December 1.</i>—The "Allies" who live in this +room have now been more or less educated by our +pantomimic signs of disapproval and make less +noise. Have bought some more books and read +all day except for an hour's walk in the morning +and another in the afternoon or evening. Daren't +play football owing to the bullet in my neck.<span class="pagenum">[232]</span></p> + +<p><i>December 15.</i>—The deadly "even tenor of +our way" continues. Have now bought a +small table and a lamp of my own. Ensconced +in the corner behind my bed I can read or work +at French in comparative peace. But C—— has +had a box of games sent to him—amongst them +(horror of horrors!) "Pit." I do draw the line +at the room being made into more of a bear-garden +than usual by the addition of various +strangers who wish to gamble on "Minoru"—and +I foresee trouble and unpleasantness over +it. Of course it's selfish of me, but there is no +other place where I can go for peace and quiet, +and—well—we're all inclined to be irritable +here. It's a marvel to me that there haven't +been more quarrels already.</p> + +<p>Wild rumours that Austria is suing for peace +with Russia. As usual, no confirmation.</p> + +<p><i>December 18.</i>—To-day Major V—— escaped. +Having gone down to the dentist's in the town +with two other officers and a sentry, he somehow +managed to slip past the latter into the street +and find his way out of the town. He speaks +German like a native and was wearing a civilian +greatcoat. A very sporting effort, as he'll have +a bad time if he's caught, I'm afraid. If he can +get home and lay our grievances before our<span class="pagenum">[233]</span> +authorities there is a chance that, through the +American Embassy, the Germans, fearing similar +treatment for their prisoners in England, may +make things pleasanter for us.</p> + +<p><i>December 19.</i>—Wild scene in the canteen +following the announcement that no more tobacco +would be sold after the 26th of this month. +"The prisoners are being too well treated," is +apparently the popular clamour in the town. +Fierce scrimmage round the bar to purchase +what was left. However, the patriotism of the +canteen contractor (who, need I say? is making +a fortune out of us) was not equal to his love of +gain. He bought up an entire tobacconist's +shop, so that we were all able to lay in three or +four months' supply.</p> + +<p>Rumours that Major V—— had crossed the +frontier into Holland. Later, that he had been +caught in that country and interned.</p> + +<p>Somewhere about this date a score or so of +English soldiers arrived here. This was the +result of our repeated applications to be allowed +to have servants of our own nationality as the +Russians and French have. The appearance +of these men horrified me. It was not so much +that they were thin, white-faced, ragged and +dirty, though that was bad enough; but they<span class="pagenum">[234]</span> +had a cowed, bullied look such as I have never +seen on the faces of British soldiers before and +hope never to see again. Apart from what they +told us, it was evident from their appearance +that for months they had not been able to call +their souls their own and that temporarily, at +any rate, all the spirit had been knocked out of +them. Better food and treatment will doubtless +put them right again.</p> + +<p><i>December 25.</i>—Christmas Day is Christmas +Day even in prison. In the morning we held +a service and sang the proper hymns with zest. +At lunch we were given venison (said to be from +the Kaiser's preserves) and had some of an +enormous plum-pudding which T—— had had +sent him. Then suddenly we rose as one man, +toasted the King (in water and lemonade) and +sang the National Anthem. The French officers +followed with the Marseillaise and until that +moment I had never realised what a wonderful +air it is. Then the Russians, conducted by an +aged white-haired colonel, sang their National +Hymn quite beautifully. And we all shouted +and cheered together.</p> + +<p>Into our room this afternoon, when we were +all lying on our beds in a state of coma after too +liberal a ration of plum-pudding, there burst the<span class="pagenum">[235]</span> +N.C.O. of the guard and four armed men. He +shouted at us in German and we gathered from +his gestures that he was accusing us of looking +out of the window and making faces at the sentry. +However, as we all went on reading and took +not the slightest notice of him, I think we had +the best of it. I imagine that, it being Christmas +Day, he had "drink taken," as one says in +Ireland. We complained to the senior British +officer, who saw the commandant about it. This +sort of thing is becoming intolerable. The other +night the guard entered a room, seized an +unfortunate English officer (it is always the +English), accused him of having had a light on +after hours, although actually he was asleep at +the time, and dragged him off to the guardroom, +where he spent the night without blankets.</p> + +<p>This evening we feasted on a turkey which +we had bought and had had cooked for us in +the canteen, and more plum-pudding. Afterwards +we sang various songs, including "Rule, +Britannia" (which the Germans hate more than +anything) until roll-call. I think "Auld Lang +Syne" produced a choky feeling in the throats +of most of us—so many are gone for ever. The +authorities, fearing a riot, doubled all the pickets—and +it was a cold night!<span class="pagenum">[236]</span></p> + +<p><i>December 27.</i>—It has been announced that, +as a punishment for the escape of Major V——, +all smoking will be prohibited from January 2 +to 15; all tobacco is to be handed in at 10 a.m. +on the 2nd. I wonder if we'll ever see it again. +I dread this fortnight's abstention.</p> + +<p><i>December 28.</i>—Received £5; also parcels +containing food, books, clothes, and tobacco.</p> + +<p><i>January 2, 1915.</i>—Tobacco duly handed in +and receipt given for it. Some mild excitement +caused over a letter which I had received from +F. P——, who is in India, part of which had been +censored. The commandant here wanted it +back again. Fortunately I had destroyed it. +I had not been able to read the censored part, +but had gathered from the preceding sentence +that it was something about the Indian troops. +Wonder what the Boches are after. Anyway +I was hauled up before the permanent orderly +officer, who is an aged subaltern of at least sixty, +known to the French as "l'asperge" because +he is long and thin and looks exactly like an +asparagus stalk when he's got his helmet on; +and to us as "the chemist" because he has +rather the air of a suave and elderly member +of the Pharmaceutical Society. As a matter of +fact, he is a baron! For a German, he was quite<span class="pagenum">[237]</span> +polite, believed me when I told him I had +destroyed the letter, and seemed relieved when +I mentioned that it was dated September 13—which +was true.</p> + +<p>News gets scarcer and scarcer, German papers +emptier and emptier. But there are signs of +shortage in the country. No more rolls or white +bread for us, for example.</p> + +<p><i>January 5.</i>—Managed to smuggle through +the parcels office a tin of 100 cigarettes which +had arrived for me, but resisted the temptation +to open it. If any one was caught smoking +during this fortnight it would mean no more +tobacco for any of us for months if not for ever. +All the same, I find the privation hard to bear.</p> + +<p><i>January 8.</i>—It has become evident that the +authorities do not desire to take further steps +in the tobacco question. Yesterday "the +chemist" searched various rooms. Entering +one he found several Russians smoking—whereupon +he left without comment. This was the +act of a gentleman. This evening, therefore, we +broached my tin of cigarettes. Crouching round +the stove we smoked them very carefully, blowing +the smoke up the chimney. Rather like school-days +and very ridiculous. Tobacco never tasted +so good to me.<span class="pagenum">[238]</span></p> + +<p>To-day one of the Russians who was implicated +in the attempt to escape some weeks ago +returned here. His <i>rôle</i> in the affair had been +to stand at the gate and keep watch while the +other two slipped out to the motor. All three +of them, he says, have been kept handcuffed, in +solitary confinement, ever since, and fed only +on black bread and weak coffee—and this <i>whilst +awaiting trial</i>! Eventually his case was dismissed, +as it was not proved that he was attempting +to escape. The other two are to undergo +imprisonment for six more weeks. They are +desperate and want to commit suicide. And +this is civilised warfare in the twentieth century!</p> + +<p>It is nearly a month since we had any fresh +German official <i>communiqués</i> posted up in the +dining-hall. Perhaps it is a sign that things +are going badly for them. From rumours it +appears that Turkey is getting a bad time from +Russia—and so is Austria.</p> + +<p>The quality of the food is rapidly deteriorating. +The bread is black, sour, and hard, with a +large proportion of potato flour in it. The meat +is generally uneatable. Fortunately supplies are +coming fairly regularly from home and we subsist +almost entirely on potted meats, tongues, etc.</p> + +<p><i>January 14.</i>—The Russian New Year's Day.<span class="pagenum">[239]</span> +Went to their Church service and was greatly +impressed by the solemnity of it; also by their +beautiful singing. Toasted the Russian army +at lunch; much bowing and scraping and a +great interchange of compliments.</p> + +<p><i>January 25.</i>—Heard to-day of the second +battle of Heligoland and of the sinking of the +<i>Blücher</i>—Good. Amused to notice that the +German papers claim this fight as a great victory—a +Trafalgar, they called it. Prefer to believe +the statement of our Admiralty—quoted by the +Crefeld paper with many sneering comments and +notes of exclamation interspersed.</p> + +<p>There is, I think, no doubt that Germany has +begun to feel the pinch. The altered manner of +our "kindly captors" towards us is remarkable. +There is a good deal less of the haughty conqueror +about them.</p> + +<p>The authorities here are compiling a list of +those prisoners who are wounded and unfit for +further service. An astonishing number of +officers were brought forward by the doctors +of each nationality for examination by the +German medico! Particulars of our cases +were taken down, to be forwarded to Berlin. I +fear that, as far as I am concerned, there is not +much chance of getting sent home.<span class="pagenum">[240]</span></p> + +<p><i>February 3.</i>—Permission granted to us to +write eight letters a month instead of two. Perhaps +this is due to pressure brought to bear since +the arrival home of V——. We knew he'd +reached England safely some time ago, but have +heard no details as to how he did it. Women +conductors on the trams in Crefeld now; and +Carl, a German waiter, late of the Grosvenor +Hotel and at present underling here to the +canteen manager, is under orders for the front. +Both facts are significant, especially the latter, +seeing that the aforesaid Carl is as good a specimen +of the physically unfit as one could wish +to see.</p> + +<p><i>February 7.</i>—Marked improvement of German +manners continues unabated. Carl still here. +The civilian who heats the furnace for the bathroom +(doubtless an authority!) confesses quite +openly that Germany is beaten, that he has been +convinced of it for months and believes nothing +he sees in the papers.</p> + +<p>Our hosts having now condescended to allow +us to hire musical instruments, and having even +granted us a garret to play them in, we enjoyed +quite a pleasant concert this evening. But the +crowd and the atmosphere were awful. The +orchestra surprisingly good, considering its<span class="pagenum">[241]</span> +haphazard formation: and a Russian peasant +chorus beautifully rendered.</p> + +<p><i>February 8.</i>—Fine day with a grand feeling +of spring in the air. Heading in a German +paper: "The enemy takes one of our trenches +near La Bassée." But what an admission! +Am convinced that at last the German <i>people</i> +are beginning to realise what their Government +must have known from the time when the first +great rush on Paris failed—namely, that there +can only be one end to this war for them—defeat.</p> + +<p><i>February 10.</i>—Received a second £5 from +Cox within three weeks. He must have lost his +head on finding me with a balance credit for about +the first time in my career.</p> + +<p><i>February 11.</i>—There was a rumour to-night, +apparently with some foundation in it, that the +first batch of wounded to be exchanged (two +English and nine French) are to go on Monday. +I continue to hope that I may get away later on, +but can't really feel there is much chance, as +there is so little permanently wrong with me.</p> + +<p><i>February 12.</i>—The incredible has happened. +I'm to be sent home! I hardly dare believe it. +This afternoon Major D——, R——, and myself +were sent for by the commandant and told to be<span class="pagenum">[242]</span> +ready to start at 9 o'clock to-morrow. He +further informed us that the authorities knew +that our wounds were not very serious, so that +he hoped we would realise the clemency of the +Imperial Government. We were made to give +our word of honour not to take any letters, etc., +from prisoners with us. Finally, after an interview +with the paymaster, who squared up our +accounts, we went through a ceremonious leave-taking +with the commandant and "the chemist." +Felt quite sorry for the latter; he looks so old +and careworn and has lost two sons in the war, +I believe. Spent the evening packing my few +paltry possessions in a hamper I managed to buy +in the canteen. Found it very difficult to conceal +my elation from all the poor devils we will leave +behind to-morrow. Far too excited to sleep.</p> + +<p><i>February 13, Saturday.</i>—The Germans evidently +have been instructed to make things as +pleasant as possible for us. A taxi provided +at 8.30 and a most suave N.C.O. to accompany +us. A large crowd of fellow-prisoners assembled +at the gate to see us off. In spite of the depression +they all must have felt at watching us go, +not one of them showed a sign of it. They +were just splendid—French, Russians, and +English—and wished us "Good luck," "Bon<span class="pagenum">[243]</span> +voyage," and whatever the Slavonic equivalent +may be, as though they themselves might be +following at any date, instead of having to look +forward to months and months more of that +awful dreary life.</p> + +<p>At 8.35 turned out of the gate for ever.</p> + +<p>At the station H—— joined us from the +hospital; being partially paralysed he was +carried on a stretcher. R.'s kilt caused considerable +interest, but the onlookers, evidently +knowing our circumstances, were not in the least +offensive—very different from four months ago. +We were taken charge of by an N.C.O. whom we +knew well, as he was employed at the barracks. +He became most friendly, aired his small knowledge +of English, and continually asked us if we +were glad to be going home. What a question! +When we changed trains and had about an hour +to wait he ordered our lunch for us and saw +that we had everything that we wanted. Travelling +viâ Münster we reached Osnabrück at about +4 p.m. and were conveyed in a motor to the +hospital. Had thought, ever since last night, +that I could never be depressed again, but the +sight of the ward with nearly fifty empty beds +in it, the smell of iodoform and the whole atmosphere +of the place had that effect on all of us<span class="pagenum">[244]</span> +for a bit. Found another English officer here, +wounded in the head months ago, and still +partially paralysed, but recovering. He is to +join us. Gathered from listening to his experiences +that one might have been in much worse +places than Crefeld. No information as to when +we are to move on. Later in the evening another +officer arrived—one leg shorter than the other +as the result of a broken thigh. Found the soft, +comfortable hospital bed most pleasant after +the hard mattresses of the prison.</p> + +<p><i>February 14.</i>—Spent a long dull day confined +to the ward; occasionally we were visited by +some of the German wounded, of whom there +were many, more or less convalescent, in the +hospital. They were quite agreeable. Have +noticed that the hate and malice engendered by +the authorities against the English manifests +itself more amongst those Germans who have +not been to the front. Men who have actually +been there and have come back wounded are +far more inclined to sympathise with fellow-sufferers +than to make themselves offensive. +Moreover, I take it that by this time the front +line troops have acquired a wholesome respect +for the British army.</p> + +<p>About midday we were all examined by a<span class="pagenum">[245]</span> +German doctor. This was nervous work, especially +for R—— and myself—we both being +far from permanently disabled. However, we +seemed to satisfy his requirements. In the +evening an aged Teuton in shabby waiter's +evening dress came and informed us that we +could order anything we liked to eat or drink +if we chose to pay for it. Evidently he was +acting under instructions to make himself +pleasant. Anyway we ordered a good dinner but +confined ourselves to beer. Still no news of +when we are to start, but presumably it will be +soon because of the "blockade," which starts +on the 18th.</p> + +<p><i>February 15.</i>—This morning a board of four +German doctors made a careful examination of +all of us. They came in so unexpectedly that +I was obliged surreptitiously to withdraw the +plug from the hole in my palate and swallow it! +However, I managed to convince them that I +could neither eat, drink, nor speak properly, and +they passed me without demur. Am sure that +I went pale with fright at the prospect of being +dragged back to prison again, and perhaps this +fact was of assistance to me. There was a long +consultation over R——. He was asked if he +was capable of instructing troops in musketry;<span class="pagenum">[246]</span> +whereupon he proceeded to explain that, in +spite of his three years' service, he himself was +still under instruction! In the end we were all +passed as incapacitated.</p> + +<p>We were told this afternoon that we might +start to-night, but nothing definite. At 7 p.m. +were ordered to be ready in half an hour. Hurried +on our specially ordered dinner and split three +bottles of wine amongst us. At 7.45 started for +the station in motors and were then put on board +an ambulance train. The "sitting-up" cases +had distinctly the best of it here; we were in +comfortable second-class carriages, whereas the +others were put in slung-stretchers in cattle +trucks. As this same train is to fetch back the +exchanged German wounded from Flushing, +there was evidently no malice aforethought in +this rough-and-ready accommodation; presumably +it is the best they can produce. On +the train are seven officers, 200 or so N.C.O.'s +and men, a few German nurses and Red Cross +men, and one civilian doctor. Started at 8.45 +and reached the Dutch frontier just after midnight.</p> + +<p><i>February 16.</i>—Had dozed off but woke up +when we reached the frontier and was much +amused when the Dutch Customs officials came<span class="pagenum">[247]</span> +and asked us if we had anything to declare! +They even pretended to search our few miserable +belongings. Can never forget the kindness of +the Dutch both here and everywhere we stopped +all through the journey to Flushing. They +crowded into the carriages; they showered food, +tobacco, cigarettes, sweets, fruit, even English +books and papers on us; they forgot nothing. +If they'd been our own personal friends they +could have done no more for us. Dutch doctors +and guards boarded the train at the frontier, +and also an English newspaper correspondent +with whom we talked for a couple of hours, +gradually picking up the thread of all that had +happened since we were cut off from the outer +world. An exhilarating feeling to have left +Germany behind and to be amongst friends again.</p> + +<p>Reached Flushing about 10.30 and were +welcomed by the British Consul and by several +English people over there in connection with +Belgian relief work. Their hospitality was unbounded. +Had a merry lunch with them in the +hotel, and then strolled out to see the town—followed +by a large and noisy crowd of school +children. But what a joy to be a free man, to +be able to go where one likes and do what one +likes! Wired home.<span class="pagenum">[248]</span></p> + +<p>In the afternoon the boat which is to take +us back arrived from England with the German +wounded. The two batches of men were close +together on the platform. What a contrast! +the Germans, clean, well-cared for, dressed either +in comparatively serviceable uniform or new +civilian clothes; the English, white-faced, +pinched and careworn, in threadbare khaki +(some even in tattered French or Belgian +uniform) with no buttons, most of them with no +hats or badges. At first our men were indignant—they +had suffered much, and it was evident +to them that the treatment of prisoners in the +two countries was very different. But soon the +inherent chivalry of the British private soldier +overcame his other feelings. The Germans were +enemies but they were wounded—cripples for +life most of them—and they too were going +Home. It formed a bond between the two +groups. In five minutes cigarettes were being +exchanged and conversation (aided by signs) +in full swing.</p> + +<p>There was an English corporal, paralysed, +lying on a stretcher in the waiting-room. I +helped one of the English ladies to take him +some tea. She knelt beside him, put the cup +to his lips, and, when he had drunk, asked him<span class="pagenum">[249]</span> +how he felt. For a moment he didn't answer +but merely stared at her with great dark wondering +eyes. Then he said slowly: "Are you +English?" That was all, just those three words, +but they expressed everything—the misery of +all the months he had been in foreign hands, +his patience, his suffering, and now at long last +his infinite content at finding one of his own +country-women bending over him. His head +dropped wearily back on to the pillow and he +closed his eyes; he was happy.</p> + +<p>Had dinner at the hotel where we met the +doctors who had come over with the Germans +and who were to go back with us. Afterwards +went on board the boat which, however, was not +to start till the morning. To my dying day +I shall remember sitting in the saloon and watching +the sad procession of two hundred crippled +N.C.O.'s and men being brought on board. There +were paralysed cases on stretchers, blind men, +deaf men, men with an arm or a leg gone, dozens +hopelessly lame manœuvring their crutches with +difficulty, helping each other, laughing at each +other—happy enough for the moment. But oh! +the pity of it. What of the future of these +maimed and broken men? They are happy now +because they're thinking only of to-morrow, but<span class="pagenum">[250]</span> +what of the day after? what of the thousands of +days after? England is proverbially ungrateful +to her lesser kind of heroes as well as to her +greater kind of poets. Geniuses have been +known to starve in garrets—and so have +Balaclava survivors. These men deserve well +of their country. Will they be remembered or +forgotten?</p> + +<p>Went to bed late, again too excited to sleep. +Feel at last that it's a reality and not a dream.</p> + +<p><i>February 17.</i>—Woke to find that the boat +had started, that it was blowing half a gale, +raining hard and that we were in for a vile crossing. +Too happy to be ill, however. A large +number of Belgian refugees on board. Talked +to several of our men. All their stories tallied +in essentials. They had been underfed, under-clothed, +singled out for all the disagreeable work +and all the abuse—<i>because they were English</i>. +Watched them playing cards, helping anxious +Belgian mothers with their sea-sick children. +Listened to their talk and laughter and choruses, +of which the most popular was a version of +"Tipperary" which stated that the Kaiser +would have a long way to go to St. Helena. At +intervals, every half-hour or so, a mighty shout +would go up, "Are we downhearted?" and all<span class="pagenum">[251]</span> +the crutches would rattle on the deck before the +crashing answer, "No!"</p> + +<p>Disembarked at Folkestone Pier at about +six p.m. No fuss, no worry, everything done in +perfect order. A buffet on the platform provided +us with English tea and English buns (there can +be great joy in a common penny bun) served by +English ladies. The rain streamed down out +of the inky sky as the long ambulance train +puffed its way out of the station at 8 p.m. Even +the weather was typically English, as if to +welcome us! Everything for our comfort had +been thought of. In our saloon were flowers, +great bunches of violets, and a gramophone. +And so at last, just before eleven, we rolled over +the darkened Thames and drew up in Charing +Cross—Home!</p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum">[252]</span> + +<h2><a name="HENRY" id="HENRY"></a>HENRY</h2> + +<p>His real name was Henri Roman, but we called +him Henry because it was easier to pronounce. +His status in the French army was not high—he +was a private in the 1st Territorial Regiment; +it was his custom, however, when in conversation +with unsuspecting strangers, to omit the +word Territorial and by merely pointing to the +"1" on his <i>képi</i> lead them to suppose that he +belonged to the First Regiment of the Line—a +rather more distinguished unit than his own. +Like ourselves, he was a prisoner of war, and +in his capacity of <i>valet de chambre</i> he was, if +not perfect, at any rate unusual. We first +became conscious of his possibilities as a source +of merriment when, owing to the arrival of a +fresh batch of prisoners, we were ordered to +change our room.</p> + +<p>"Je viens avec messieurs," Henry announced +simply, and proceeded to help us pack our things. +It is a fact that my hair brushes and razor made<span class="pagenum">[253]</span> +the journey in one of his trouser pockets, G——'s +pipes, a half-empty pot of jam and a face towel +in the other.</p> + +<p>To us, accustomed to the diffidence of the +English soldier in the presence of his officers, +it was refreshing to watch Henry enter our room +in the afternoon bearing on his shoulder the +daily supply of coal. He would lower the large +bucket carefully to the ground and then wipe +his huge hands on his baggy and discoloured red +trousers with the air of a man who has done a +hard job of work conscientiously and well. +From a pocket, the bottom of which was apparently +somewhere in the region of his knee, +he would produce a half-smoked and much worn +cigar, readjust any loose leaves that might be +hanging from it, and then light it with all the +care that a connoisseur bestows upon a corona. +Having opened the door of the stove to satisfy +himself that the fire was "marching well," he +would draw up a stool and sit down amongst us +for five minutes' rest.</p> + +<p>Conversation with him was of course an +unequal contest. Our French was weak—his, +on the contrary, was powerful—in the sense +that an express train is powerful, that is, rushing, +noisy, and only to be stopped by signal. He<span class="pagenum">[254]</span> +was thirty-five, he told us, and it was obvious, +from the way he referred to himself as a <i>père +de famille</i> that he considered himself as a man +well past the prime of life, looking forward +hopefully to a complacent but always industrious +old age. He came from Commines, which is +north of Lille on the Belgian frontier, and he +had worked all his life in a braces factory, for +ten hours a day, six days a week, earning thirty +to forty francs, which he considered good wages. +On the outbreak of war his regiment had formed +part of the garrison of Maubeuge, which place, +in his opinion, was undoubtedly sold to the +enemy. He had spent about a month at a +prisoners' camp in Germany, and then had been +sent to us with twenty other French soldiers +who were to act as our servants and waiters. +He confessed that he found the change agreeable +because he was better fed and had some +work to do. The idleness at the soldiers' camp +had bored him. All of which led us to believe +that he was that kind of man to whom work is +a necessity. Facts proved otherwise.</p> + +<p>He used to appear in our room in the morning +at any time between seven and half-past. His +first objective was the fire. It had happened +once that the Russian officers who shared the<span class="pagenum">[255]</span> +room with us had in our absence banked the +stove up so high over-night that it was still +burning on the following morning; in consequence +Henry had been saved the trouble of laying and +lighting the fire afresh. Just as a terrier who +has once seen a cat in a certain place will +always take a glance there when passing by, +so Henry, hoping daily for a recurrence of such +luck, made straight for the stove. He was +invariably disappointed; but the action became +a habit.</p> + +<p>His next act was to go through the formality +of waking us. His procedure was to stand at +the foot of each bed in turn and place a gigantic +hand on some portion of the occupant's anatomy. +As soon as the sleeper stirred, Henry would +mutter, "Sept heures vingt, mon capitaine" +(or "mon lieutenant," as the case might be—he +was most punctilious about rank), and pass +on to the next bed. The actual time by the clock +made no difference. He always said, "Sept +heures vingt." All this, as I have stated, was +pure formality. His real method of waking us +was to make a deafening noise clearing out the +grate and laying the fire. Having done this he +abandoned us in favour of his own breakfast.</p> + +<p>He reappeared about 9 a.m. to give the room<span class="pagenum">[256]</span> +what he called <i>un coup de balai</i>—his idiom +for a superficial rite which he performed with +a soft broom after scattering water freely about +the floor. The resultant mess he picked up in +his hands and put into the coal-box or pushed +under a cupboard if he thought no one was +looking. He spent the rest of his time till his +dinner hour at eleven in cleaning the boots, +making the beds, and pretending to dust things—all +the while giving vent to his opinions on life +in general and prison life in particular. In the +afternoons we seldom saw him after two o'clock, +by which time he had brought the coal and +washed up the tea things, left dirty since the day +before.</p> + +<p>Henry possessed neither a handsome face +nor a well-knit figure. When he stood upright—which +he only did if he had some really impressive +anathema to launch against the Germans—he +was not more than five feet eight. His +skimpy blue blouse disclosed the roundness of +his shoulders and accentuated the abnormal +length of his arms. The ends of his wide trousers +were clipped tight round his ankles, so that his +heavy hobnailed boots were displayed in all their +vast unshapeliness. In walking he trailed his +short legs along, giving one the impression that<span class="pagenum">[257]</span> +he had just completed a twenty-mile march and +was about to go away and rest for some hours. +When we first knew him he had had a scraggy +beard of no particular colour, but he startled us +one morning by appearing without it, grinning +sheepishly, and exposing to view a weak chin +which already had a tendency to multiply itself +indefinitely. Except on Friday, which was his +bath day, his long moustache draggled indiscriminately +over the lower part of his face; but +after his douche he used to soap the ends and curl +them up, giving to his rather foolish countenance +a ludicrous expression of semi-martial ferocity. +On these occasions he seldom failed to pay us +a visit in the evening, shaved, clean, and +palpably delighted with himself.</p> + +<p>The first time we saw him thus we asked him +why he elected to wear his moustache like the +Kaiser. For a moment he was disconcerted; +then suddenly realising that a joke was intended, +he threw back his head and emitted a series of +startling guffaws. Being of a simple nature he +was easily amused. Jokes about the war and +the Germans, however, he considered to be in +bad taste. His political philosophy was summed +up in his simple phrase, "C'étaient <i>eux</i>" (the +Germans) "qui ont voulu la guerre," and on<span class="pagenum">[258]</span> +this count alone they stood condemned eternally +before God and man. Of history, diplomatic +situations, international crises he took no heed. +In his eyes the Germans were a race of impoverished +brigands for ever casting greedy eyes +upon the riches of peaceful France. He told me +once in all sincerity that before the war he had +never borne a grudge against any man, that he +had been content to live at peace with all the +world, but that now he was changed—he hated +the Germans bitterly—"above all," he added, +his voice quivering with impotent rage, "this fat +pig of an under-officer who occupies himself with +us orderlies. Nom d'un chien!" (his invariable +expletive) "one can only think he is put over us +on purpose to annoy us."</p> + +<p>Poor Henry! I knew the gentleman to +whom he referred—a fine type of the fat bully +rejoicing in a position of power over unfortunate +men who could in no way retaliate.</p> + +<p>At first we had accepted Henry gladly as a +kind of unconscious buffoon whose absurdities +would enliven a few of our many dull hours. +But in course of time we discovered other and +more pleasing traits in him. He was a devout +Catholic and, in his humble fashion, a staunch +Republican. One day I asked him why he<span class="pagenum">[259]</span> +attached so much importance to that form of +government.</p> + +<p>"Sous la république, mon capitaine," he +replied with dignity, "on est libre."</p> + +<p>Free! free to work sixty hours a week for +twenty years and then to march off to a war not +of his making with but twelve francs in his +pocket, leaving a wife and three children behind +him to starve!</p> + +<p>Like most Frenchmen of his class Henry was +thrifty to a degree; I doubt if he spent sixpence +a week on himself. With the blind faith of a +child he one day confided his savings to me +because he was afraid the Germans might search +him. By their regulations he was only allowed +to have ten marks in his possession at once—the +surplus he was supposed to deposit with the +paymaster. But I really think he would rather +have thrown the money away than done so. +He kept a five-franc piece sewn in the lining of +his trousers "in case," he informed me, "we +get separated when the war is over. Of course +you would send me the rest, but when I get back +to France I must be able to celebrate my return."</p> + +<p>Each week he used to add to the little hoard +which I kept for him, knowing not only the total +but even what actual coins were there.<span class="pagenum">[260]</span></p> + +<p>Upon occasions he could be courtesy itself. +One day a Russian officer came into our room +at a moment when Henry was standing idly by +the table looking at the pictures in an English +magazine. The Russian, mistaking him for a +French officer, saluted, bowed, and held out his +hand. An English private would have been +embarrassed—not so Henry. With that true +politeness which always endeavours to prevent +others from feeling uncomfortable he returned +the salute and the bow and shook the proffered +hand! Could tact have gone further?</p> + +<p>On Christmas Day we gave him a box of fifty +cigars. He was immensely touched and overwhelmingly +grateful. Tears sprang to his eyes +as he told us that he had never had so many +cigars before—even in France.</p> + +<p>"Avec ça," he exclaimed, fingering the box, +"je serai content pour un an," and he insisted +with charming grace, that we should each accept +one then and there.</p> + +<p>His musical talent was discovered when some +one received a concertina from England. Coming +into the room suddenly on the following morning +I surprised Henry sitting upon my bed giving +what was a quite passable rendering of "Tipperary." +In no way abashed, he remained where<span class="pagenum">[261]</span> +he was, only ceasing to play for a moment to +tell me that the concertina was too small—a +toy, in fact. The truth was, I rather think, +that his enormous fingers found difficulty in +pressing less than two stops at once. He +admitted that he had a passion for music, that +he had learnt the harmonium from a blind man +in Commines, and that he had had an accordion +specially made for him in Belgium at a cost of +260 francs which had taken him years to save. +He was inclined to turn up his nose at catchy +airs and music-hall songs, preferring what he +called <i>la grande musique</i>, by which I think he +meant opera. Eventually he was given the +concertina as a present and went off delighted—doing +no more work that day.</p> + +<p>The optimism with which Henry had begun +his prison life gradually faded away. At one +time he was certain that he would be home for +Christmas, then for Easter; finally I think he +had resigned himself to remaining where he was +for life. It was his habit to believe implicitly +every rumour that he heard; and since there were +seldom less than fifty new ones current every +day, he had a busy time retailing them, and was, +in consequence, always either buoyed up with false +hope or weighed down with unnecessary despair.<span class="pagenum">[262]</span></p> + +<p>But it was at about the end of December +that he began to get anxious and worried. Up +till then he had been more or less content. His +was not a super-martial spirit; he did not pine +to be "at them" again nor did he chafe under +the restrictions of a life of confinement. He +confessed frankly that he was not anxious to +fight again, but that when his day's work (!) +was done he enjoyed sitting by the stove in the +stable "avec les camarades" (the servants +lived in the stables) "tandis que chacun raconte +sa petite histoire de la guerre."</p> + +<p>One day he told me what was on his mind. +He had had no news of his family since leaving +home five months before. At first he had not +worried, knowing that letters took a long time. +But an answer was overdue by this time—others +had heard from home. "Every day," he said, +"there are letters, but none for me." I could +proffer sympathy but not, alas! advice, and +I hadn't the heart to tell him that Commines +was in the thick of the fighting, and had probably +been blown to pieces long ago. His wife and +children <i>might</i> be safe, but they were almost +certainly homeless refugees. From that day on +he used often to come and talk to me about his +happy life before the war, growing sadder and<span class="pagenum">[263]</span> +sadder as the weeks passed and still he had no +news.</p> + +<p>I shall always remember Henry's pathetic +little figure by the gate on the morning I left the +prison, his baggy trousers more discoloured than +ever, his enormous right hand at the salute, +and his lips twisted into that wistful smile of +his. I wonder what has happened to his wife +and little daughters. I wonder if he or I or +any one will ever know.<span class="pagenum">[264]</span></p> + +<hr class="chapter"> + +<h2>AUTHOR'S NOTE</h2> + +<blockquote><p><i>Of the contents of this book</i>, <span class="smcap">Snatty</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Five-Four-Eight</span> +<i>appeared in</i> <span class="smcap">Blackwood's</span>, <i>and were both +written before the war broke out—a fact which I +mention with the selfish object of excusing myself for +various technical errors therein</i>: <span class="smcap">Henry</span> <i>appeared +in</i> <span class="smcap">The New Statesman</span>. <i>My thanks are due to +the editors of both these journals for kindly allowing +me to republish the stories. The remainder have all +appeared in</i> <span class="smcap">The Cornhill Magazine</span>, <i>to the +editor of which I am deeply indebted for his unfailing +courtesy and assistance.</i></p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Flanders</span>,<br> +<i>November, 1916</i>.<br> +</p> +</blockquote> + +<br> + +<p class="h5">PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LTD., LONDON AND BECCLES, ENGLAND.</p> + +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Servants of the Guns, by Jeffery E. 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