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diff --git a/old/55261-0.txt b/old/55261-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8bf2a9f..0000000 --- a/old/55261-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8594 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Nothing of Importance, by John Bernard Pye Adams - -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/license - - -Title: Nothing of Importance - A record of eight months at the front with a Welsh - battalion, October, 1915, to June, 1916 - -Author: John Bernard Pye Adams - -Release Date: August 4, 2017 [EBook #55261] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE *** - - - - -Produced by MWS, Wayne Hammond and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - -NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE - -[Illustration: J B P Adams] - - - - - NOTHING - OF IMPORTANCE - - A RECORD OF EIGHT MONTHS AT THE - FRONT WITH A WELSH BATTALION - OCTOBER, 1915, TO JUNE, 1916 - - BY - BERNARD ADAMS - - WITH A PORTRAIT AND THREE MAPS - - METHUEN & CO. LTD. - 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. - LONDON - - -_First Published in 1917_ - - TO - T. R. G. - WHO TAUGHT ME HOW TO THINK - - - - -_IN MEMORIAM_ - -BERNARD ADAMS - - -John Bernard Pye Adams was born on November 15th, 1890, at Beckenham, -Kent. From his first school at Clare House, Beckenham, he obtained an -entrance scholarship to Malvern, where he gained many Classical and -English prizes and became House Prefect. In December, 1908, he won -an open Classical scholarship at St John’s College, Cambridge, where -he went into residence in October, 1909. He was awarded in 1911 Sir -William Browne’s gold medals (open to the University) for a Greek -epigram and a Latin ode, and in 1912 he won the medal for the Greek -epigram again, and graduated with a First Class in the Classical -Tripos. In his fourth year he read Economics. - -On leaving Cambridge he was appointed by the India Office to be Warden -and Assistant Educational Adviser at the Hostel for Indian Students -at Cromwell Road, South Kensington. “He threw himself,” writes Dr. T. -W. Arnold, C.I.E., Secretary of Indian Students, “with the enthusiasm -of his ardent nature into the various activities connected with 21 -Cromwell Road, and endeared himself both to the Indian students and to -his colleagues.” Adams was always a quiet man, but his high abilities, -despite his unobtrusiveness, could not be altogether hidden; and in -London, as in Cambridge, his intellect and his gift for friendship had -their natural outcome. Mr. E. W. Mallet, of the India Office, bears -testimony to “the very high value which we all set on his work. He had -great gifts of sympathy and character, strength as well as kindliness, -influence as well as understanding; and these qualities won him--in the -rather difficult work in which he helped so loyally and well--a rare -and noticeable measure of esteem.” On his side, he felt that the choice -had been a right one; he liked his work, and he learned a great deal -from it. - -His ultimate purpose was missionary work in India, and the London -experience brought him into close touch with Indians from every part of -India and of every religion. - -In November, 1914, he joined up as lieutenant in the Welsh regiment -with which these pages deal, and he obtained a temporary captaincy in -the following spring. When he went out to the front in October, 1915, -he resumed his lieutenancy, but was very shortly given charge of a -company, a position which he retained until he was wounded in June, -1916, when he returned to England. He only went out to the front again -on January 31st of this year. In the afternoon of February 26th he was -wounded while leading his men in an attack and died the following day -in the field hospital. - - * * * * * - -These few sentences record the bare landmarks of a career which, in the -judgment of his friends, would have been noteworthy had it not been -so prematurely cut short. For instance, here is what his friend, T. -R. Glover, of St John’s, wrote in _The Eagle_ (the St John’s College -magazine) and elsewhere: - -“Bernard Adams was my pupil during his Classical days at St John’s, and -we were brought into very close relations. He remains in my mind as -one of the very best men I have ever had to teach--best every way, in -mind and soul and all his nature. He had a natural gift for writing--a -natural habit of style; he wrote without artifice, and achieved the -expression of what he thought and what he felt in language that was -simple and direct and pleasing. (A College Prize Essay of his of those -days was printed in _The Eagle_ (vol. xxvii, 47-60)--on Wordsworth’s -_Prelude_.) He was a man of the quiet and reserved kind, who did not -talk much, for whom, perhaps, writing was a more obvious form of -utterance than speech. - -It was clear to those who knew him that he put conscience into his -thinking--he was serious, above all about religion, and he was honest -with himself. Other people will take religion at secondhand; he was -of another type. He thought things out quietly and clearly, and then -decided. His choice of Economics as a second subject at Cambridge was -dictated by the feeling that it would prepare him for his life’s work -in the Christian ministry. There was little hope in it of much academic -distinction--but that was not his object. A man who had thought more -of himself would have gone on with Classics, in the hope (a very -reasonable one) of a Fellowship. Adams was not working for his own -advancement. The quiet simple way in which, without referring to it, he -dismissed academic distinction, gives the measure of the man--clear, -definite, unselfish, and devoted. His ideal was service, and he -prepared for it--at Cambridge, and with his Indian students in London. - -When the war came he had difficulties of decision as to the course he -should pursue. Like others who had no gust for war, and no animosity -against the enemy, he took a commission, not so much to fight _against_ -as to fight _for_; the principles at stake appealed to him, and with an -inner reluctance against the whole business he went into it--once again -the quiet, thought-out sacrifice.” - - * * * * * - -In this phase of his career his characteristic conscientiousness was -shown by the thoroughness and success with which he performed his -military duties “He is a real loss to the regiment,” wrote a senior -officer; “everybody who knew him had a very high opinion of his -military efficiency.” - -As is so often the case, a quiet and reserved manner hid a brave heart. -When it came to personal danger he impressed men as being unconscious -of it. “I never met a man who displayed coolly more utter disregard for -danger.” And in this spirit he led his men against the enemy--and fell. -From the last message that he gave the nurse for his people, “Tell them -I’m all right,” it is clear that he died with as quiet a mind and as -surrendered a will as he lived. - -“What we have lost who knew him,” writes Mr. Glover, “these lines may -hint--I do not think we really know the extent of our loss. But we keep -a great deal, a very great deal--_quidquid ex illo amavimus, quidquid -mirati sumus, manet mansurumque est_. Yes, that is true; and from the -first my sorrow (it may seem an odd confession) was for those who were -not to know him, whose chance was lost, for the work he was not to do. -For himself, if ever a man lived his life, it was he; twenty-five or -twenty-six years is not much, perhaps, as a rule, but here it was life -and it was lived to some purpose; it told and it is not lost.” - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - PREFACE xv - - I. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 1 - - II. CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 19 - - III. WORKING-PARTIES 42 - - IV. REST 64 - - V. ON THE MARCH 87 - - VI. THE BOIS FRANÇAIS TRENCHES 96 - - VII. MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 117 - - VIII. SNIPING 133 - - IX. ON PATROL 154 - - X. “WHOM THE GODS LOVE” 163 - - XI. “WHOM THE GODS LOVE”--(_continued_). 181 - - XII. OFFICERS’ SERVANTS 195 - - XIII. MINES 212 - - XIV. BILLETS 229 - - XV. “A CERTAIN MAN DREW A BOW AT A VENTURE” 256 - - XVI. WOUNDED 268 - - XVII. CONCLUSION 294 - - - - -MAPS - - - FACING PAGE - - I. BÉTHUNE AND LA BASSÉE, NEIGHBOURHOOD OF 9 - - II. FRICOURT AND NEIGHBOURHOOD 97 - - III. THE TRENCHES NEAR FRICOURT 103 - - - - -ILLUSTRATION - - - PORTRAIT OF AUTHOR Frontispiece - - - - -PREFACE - - -“Then,” said my friend, “what _is_ this war like? I ask you if it is -this, or that; and you shake your head. But you will not satisfy me -with negatives. I want to know the truth; what _is_ it like?” - -There was a long silence. - -“Express that silence; that is what we want to hear.” - -“The mask of glory,” I said, “has been stripped from the face of war.” - -“And we are fighting the better for that,” continued my friend. - -“You see that?” I exclaimed. “But of course you do. We know it, and you -at home know it. And you want to know the truth?” - -“Of course,” was the reply. - -“I do not say that what you have read is not true,” said I; “but I do -say that I have read nothing that gives a complete or proportioned -picture. I have not yet found a perfect simile for this war, but the -nearest I can think of is that of a pack of cards. Life in this war -is a series of events so utterly different and disconnected, that the -effect upon the actor in the midst of them is like receiving a hand -of cards from an invisible dealer. There are four suits in the pack. -Spades represent the dullness, mud, weariness, and sordidness. Clubs -stand for another side, the humour, the cheerfulness, the jollity, -and good-fellowship. In diamonds I see the glitter of excitement and -adventure. Hearts are a tragic suit of agony, horror, and death. And to -each man the invisible dealer gives a succession of cards; sometimes -they seem all black; sometimes they are red and black alternately; and -at times they come red, red, red; and at the end is the ace of hearts.” - -“I understand,” said my friend. “And now tell me your hand.” - -“It was a long hand,” I replied; “I think I had better try and write it -down in a book. I have never written a book. I wonder how it would pan -out? At first my hand was chiefly black with a sprinkling of diamonds; -later I received more diamonds, but the hearts began to come as well; -at last the hearts seemed to be squeezing out the clubs and diamonds. -There were always plenty of spades.” - -There was another silence. - -“There was one phrase,” I resumed, “in the daily communiqués that used -to strike us rather out there;” it was, “Nothing of importance to -record on the rest of the front.” I believe that a hundred years hence -this phrase will be repeated in the history books. There will be a -passage like this: “Save for the gigantic effort of Germany to break -through the French lines at Verdun, nothing of importance occurred -on the western front between September, 1915, and the opening of the -Somme offensive on the 1st of July, 1916.” And this will be believed, -unless men have learnt to read history aright by then. For the river of -history is full of waterfalls that attract the day excursionist--such -as battles, and laws, and the deaths of kings; whereas the spirit of -the river is not in the waterfalls. There are men who were wounded in -the Somme battle, who had only seen a few weeks of war. I have yet to -see a waterfall; but I have learned something of the spirit of the deep -river in eight months of “nothing of importance.” - -This, then, is the book that I have written. It is the spirit of the -war as it came to me, first in big incoherent impressions, later as a -more intelligible whole. Perhaps it will seem that the first chapters -are somewhat light in tone and inclined to gloss over the terrible -side of War. But that is just what happens; at first, the interest and -adventure are paramount, and it is only after a time, only after all -the novelty has worn away, that one gets the real proportion. If the -first chapters do not bite deep, remember that this was my experience. -This book does not claim to be always sensational or thrilling. One -claim only I make for it: from end to end it is the truth. - -The events recorded are real and true in every detail. I have nowhere -exaggerated; for in this war there is nothing more terrible than the -truth. - -All the persons mentioned are also real, though I have thought it -better to give them pseudonyms. - -_January, 1917._ - - - - -NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE - - - - -NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE - - - - -CHAPTER I - -FIRST IMPRESSIONS - - -“Good-bye!” - -“Good-bye. Don’t forget to send me that Hun helmet!” - -“All right! Good-bye!” - - * * * * * - -The train had long ago recovered from the shock of its initial jerk; -a long steady grinding noise came up from the carriage wheels, as -though they had recovered breath and were getting into their stride -for Folkestone, regardless of the growing clatter of the South-Eastern -rhythm;--if, indeed, so noble a word may be used for the noise made by -the wheels as they passed over the rail-joints of this distinguished -line. - -“Don’t believe it’s a good thing having one’s people to see you off,” -said Terry, whose people had accompanied him in large numbers to -Charing Cross. - -“They _will_ come, though,” remarked Crowley very wisely. - -“I tried to persuade my people not to come,” said I; “but they think -you like it, I suppose. I would certainly rather say good-bye at home, -and have no one come to the station.” - -And so I started off my experience of “the great adventure” with a “lie -direct”: but it does not weigh very heavily upon my conscience. - -Six of us sat in a first-class carriage on the morning of the 5th of -October, 1915: for months we had been together in a reserve battalion -waiting to go out to the front, and now at last we had received -marching orders, and were bound for Folkestone, and thence for France. -For which battalion of our regiment any or all of us twelve officers -were destined, we had no knowledge whatever; but even the most -uncongenial pair of us would, I am sure, have preferred each other’s -company to that of complete strangers. I, at any rate, have never in -my life felt more shy and self-conscious and full of stupid qualms: -unless, indeed, it was on the occasion, ten months before, when I had -stood shaking in front of a platoon of twenty men! - -The last few days I had gone about feeling as though the news that I -was going to the front were printed in large letters round my cap. -I felt that people in the railway carriages, and in the streets, -were looking at me with an electric interest; and the necessary (and -unnecessary!) purchases, as well as the good-byes, were of the kind to -make one feel placed upon a pedestal of importance! Now, in company -with five other officers in like predicament, I felt already that I had -climbed down a step from that pedestal; in fact, the whole experience -of the first few days was one of a steady reduction from all-importance -to complete insignificance! - -As soon as we had recovered from the silence that followed my remarks -upon the disadvantages of prolonged valedictions, we commenced a -critical survey of our various properties and accoutrements. Revolvers -leapt from brand new holsters; feet were held up to show the ideal -trench-nails; flash lamps and torches, compasses, map-cases, pocket -medicine-cases, all were shown with an easy confidence of manner that -screened a sinking dread of disapprobation. The prismatic compass was -regarded rather as a joke by some of us; its use in trench warfare was -a doubtful quantity; yet there were some of us who in the depths of -our martial wisdom were half expecting that the Battle of Loos was the -prelude of an autumn campaign of open-country warfare. There was only -one man whose word we took for law in anything, and that was Barrett. -He had spent five days in the trenches last December; he had then -received his commission in our battalion. He was the “man from the -front.” And I noticed with secret misgivings that he had not removed -the badges of rank from his arm, or sewed his two stars upon his -shoulder-straps; he had not removed his bright buttons, and substituted -for them leather ones such as are worn on golfing-jackets; and in his -valise, he told us, he had his Sam Browne belt. - -“But you never wear Sam Brownes out there,” I said: “all officers now -dress as much as possible like the men.” - -That was so, we were informed; but officers used to wear them in -billets, when they were out of the firing-line. - -“Well,” said Crowley, “we could get them sent out, I expect.” - -“Yes,” said I; “I expect they would arrive safely.” - -But this infantile conversation is not worthy of record! Suffice to say -we knew nothing about war, and were just beginning to learn that fact! - -The first check to our enthusiasm was at Folkestone. We reported to -the railway transport officer, whom we then regarded as a little -demi-god; he told us to report in time for the boat at a certain hour. -This we did, signed our names with a feeling of doing some awful and -irrevocable deed, and then were told to wait another three hours: there -was no room for us on this boat! We retired to an hotel with a feeling -that perhaps after all there was no such imperious shouting for our -help over in France, such as we had all, I think (save only Barrett, -who was cynical and pessimistic!) secretly imagined. - -Darkness came ere we started. The crossing did not seem long, and I -stood up on deck with Barrett most of the time. Two destroyers followed -a little astern, one on either side; and there were lights right -across the Channel. We were picked out by searchlights more than once, -although all lights were forbidden on board. I felt that I was now fair -game for the Germans; and it was exciting to think that they would give -anything to sink me! At last I was in for “the great adventure.” - -At Boulogne we had to wait a long time on a dismal quay and in a -drizzling rain to interview an irritated and sleepy railway transport -officer. After a long, long queue had been safely negociated we were -given tickets to ----; and then again we had to wait quite an hour on -the platform. Some of our party were excited at their first visit to a -foreign soil; but their enthusiasm abated when at the buffet they were -charged exorbitant prices and their English money was rejected as “dam -fool money.” - -Then there came a long jerky journey through the night in a crowded -carriage. (As I am out for confessions, I will here state that I did -not think this could be an ordinary passenger train, and I wondered -vaguely who these men and women were who got in and out of other -carriages!) At Étaples there was a still longer wait, and a still -longer queue; but, fortunately, my signature had not lengthened. I -remember sitting tired and dazed on the top of a valise, and asking -Barrett what the time was. - -“Three forty-five!” - -“What a time to arrive!” I replied. But in war three forty-five is as -good a time as any other, I was soon to discover. - -We walked to a camp a mile distant from the station; our arrival seemed -quite unlooked for, and a quartermaster-sergeant had to be procured, -by the officer who was our guide, in order to gain access to the tent -that contained the blanket stores. Wearily, at close on five o’clock, -we fell asleep on the boarded bottom of a bell-tent. - -It must have been about 10 a.m. on the 6th when we turned out and found -ourselves in a sandy country; behind us was a small ridge, crowned by -a belt of fir trees; the sun was well up and shone warm on the face as -we washed and shaved in the open. The feeling of camp was exhilarating, -and I was in good spirits. - -But two blows immediately damped my ardour most effectively. When -I learned that I was posted to our first battalion, and I alone of -all of us twelve, the thought of my arrival among the regulars, with -no experience, and not even an acquaintance, far less a friend, was -distinctly chilling! To add to my discomfiture there befell a second -misfortune: my valise was nowhere to be seen! - -Indeed, the rest of the day was chiefly occupied in searching for my -valise, but to no purpose whatever. I did not see it until ten days -later, when by some miracle it appeared again! I can hardly convey the -sense of depression these two facts cast over me the next few days; -the interest and novelty of my experiences made me forget for short -periods, but always there would return the thought of my arrival alone -into a line regiment, and with the humiliating necessity of borrowing -at once. Unknown and inexperienced I could not help being; but as -a fool who lost all his property the first day, I should not cut a -brilliant figure! - -We obtained breakfast at an _estaminet_ by the station; omelettes, -rolls and butter, and _café noir_. I bought a French newspaper, and -thought how finely my French would improve under this daily necessity; -but I soon found that one could get the Paris edition of the _Daily -Mail_, and my French is still as sketchy as ever! I remember watching -the French children and the French women at the doors of the houses, -and wondering what they thought of this war on their own soil; I knew -that the wild enthusiasms of a year ago had died down; I did not expect -the shouting and singing, the souvenir-hunting, and the generous -impulses that greeted our troops a year ago; but I felt so vividly -myself the fact that between me and the Germans lay only a living wall -of my own countrymen, that I could not help thinking these urchins and -women must feel it too! The very way in which they swept the doorsteps -seemed to me worth noting at the moment. - -In the course of my wild peregrinations over the camp in search of my -valise, I came upon a group of Tommies undergoing instruction in the -machine-gun. Arrested by a familiar voice, I recognised as instructor -a man I had known very well at Cambridge! He recognised me at the same -moment, and in a few seconds we parted, after an invitation from him to -dinner that evening; he was on “lines of communication” work, he told -me. - -Sitting in his tent after Mess, I was amazed at the apparent permanence -of his abode; shelves, made out of boxes; novels, an army list, -magazines, maps; bed, washstand, candlesticks, a chair; baccy, and -whisky and soda! It was all so snug and comfortable. I was soon to -find myself accumulating a very similar collection in billets six -miles behind the firing-line, and taking most of it into the trenches! -I remember being impressed by the statement that the cannonade had -been heard day after day since the 25th, and still more impressed by -references to “the plans of the Staff!” - -I left Étaples early on the morning of the 7th, after receiving -instructions, and a railway warrant for “Chocques,” from a one-armed -major of the Gordons. Of our original twelve only Terry and Crowley -remained with me; with a young Scot, we had a grey-upholstered -first-class carriage to ourselves. - -In the train I commenced my first letter home; and I should here like -to state that the reason for the inclusion in these first chapters of -a good many extracts from letters is that they do really represent my -first vague, rather disconnected, impressions, and are therefore truer -than any more coherent account I might now give. First impressions -of people, houses, places, are always interesting; I hope that the -reader will not find these without interest, even though he may find -them at times lacking in style. - -[Illustration: - - _To face page 9_ - -MAP I.] - -“I am now in the train. We are passing level-crossings guarded by -horn-blowing women; the train is strolling leisurely along over -grass-grown tracks, and stopping at platformless stations. It is -very hot. At midday I shall be about ten miles from the firing-line, -and I expect the cannonade will be pretty audible. I feel strangely -indifferent to things now, though I have the feeling that all this will -be stamped indelibly on my memory.” How well I remember the thrill of -excitement when I found the name Chocques on my map, quite close to the -firing-fine! And as we got nearer, and saw R.A.M.C. and cavalry camps, -and talked to Tommies guarding the line, saw aeroplanes, and yes! a -captive balloon, excitement grew still greater! At last we reached -Chocques, and the railway transport officer calmly informed us that we -had another four miles to go. He brilliantly suggested walking. But an -A.S.C. lorry was there, and in we climbed, only to be ejected by the -corporal! Eventually we tramped to Béthune with _very_ full packs in a -hot sun. - -Walking gave us opportunity for observation; and that road was worth -seeing to those who had not seen it before. There were convoys of -A.S.C. lorries, drawn up (or “parked”) in twenties or thirties -alongside the road, each with its mystical marking, a scarlet shell, a -green shamrock, etc., painted on its side; Red Cross ambulances passed, -impelling one to turn back and look in them, sometimes containing -stretcher-cases (feet only visible), or sitting cases with bandaged -head or arm in sling. Then there were motor-cars with Staff officers; -motor-cars with youthful officers in immaculate Sam Brownes and -“slacks”; and as we drew nearer Béthune, we saw canteens with Tommies -standing and lounging outside, small squads of men, English notices, -and boards with painted inscriptions, - - +-------------+ +----------------+ - | BILLETS. | | | - such as | Officers--2 | or | H.Q. | - | Men--30 | |117th Inf. Bde. | - +-------------+ +----------------+ - -and in the distance loomed the square tower of the cathedral, which I -thought then to be a decapitated spire. - -And so we came into the bustle of a French city. - -I had never heard of Béthune before. As the crow flies it is about five -to six miles from the front trenches. The shops were doing a roaring -trade, and I was amazed to see chemists flaunting auto-strop razors, -stationers offering “Tommy’s writing-pad,” and tailors showing English -officers’ uniforms in their windows, besides all the goods of a large -and populous town. We were very hungry and tired, and fate directed -us to the famous tea-shop, where, at dainty tables, amid crowds of -officers, we obtained an English tea! I was astounded; so were we -all. To think that I had treasured a toothbrush as a thing that I -might not be able to replace for months! Here was everything to hand. -Were we really within six miles of the Germans? Yet officers were -discussing “the hot time we had yesterday”; while “we only came out -this morning,” or “they whizz-banged us pretty badly last night,” were -remarks from officers redolent of bath and the hairdresser! Buttons -brilliantly polished, boots shining like advertisements, swagger-canes, -and immaculate collars, gave the strangest first impression of “active -service” to us, with our leather equipment, packs, leather buttons, and -trench boots! - -“Old Barrett was right about the Sam Brownes,” I said to Terry, vainly -trying to look at my ease. - -“Let’s look at your map,” he answered. Then, after a moment: - -“Oh, we’re not far from the La Bassée Canal. I’ve heard of that often -enough!” - -“So have I,” I replied. “Is La Bassée ours or theirs?” - -“Ours, of course”; but he borrowed the map again to make sure! - -Refreshed, but feeling strangely “out” of everything, we eventually -found our way to the town major. Here my letter continues: - -“I was told an orderly was coming in the evening to conduct me to -the trenches, to my battalion! Suddenly, however, we were told to -go off--seven of us in the same division--to our brigades in a -motor-lorry. So we are packed off. I said good-bye to Crowley and -Terry. This was about 7 p.m. We went rattling along till within a short -distance of our front trenches. There was a lot of cannonading going -on around and behind us, and star-shells bursting continuously, with -Crystal-Palace-firework pops; we could hear rifles cracking too. At -length we got to where the lorry could go no further, and we halted for -a long time at a place where the houses were all ruins and the roofs -like spiders’-webs, with the white glare of the shells silhouetting -them against the sky. The houses had been shelled yesterday, but last -night no shells were coming our way at all. My feelings were exactly -like they are in a storm--the nearer and bigger the flashes and bangs -the more I hoped the next would be really big and really near.” Of -course, all this cannonade was _our_ artillery; at the time we were -quite muddled up as to what it all was! The snarling bangs were the -18-pounders quite close to us, about one thousand yards behind our -front line; the cracking bullets were spent bullets, though it sounded -to us as if they were from a trench about twenty yards in front of us! -Nothing is more confusing at first than the different sounds of the -different guns. I think several of us would have been ready to say -we had been under shell-fire that night! The “star-shells” should be -more accurately described as “flares” or “rockets.” But to continue my -letter: - -“Well, the next few hours were a strange mixture of sensations. We -could nowhere find our brigades, and after _ten hours_ in the lorry we -landed here at a place sixteen miles back from the firing line; here -our division had been located by a signaller, whom we had consulted -when we stopped by the cross-roads! We were left by the lorry at -5.0 a.m. at a field ambulance station ‘close to H.Q.,’ where we -slept wearily till 8.0, to awake and find ourselves miles from our -division, which is really, I believe, quite near where we had been -in the firing-line! Now we are sitting in a big old château awaiting -a telephone-message; we are in a dining-room, walls peeling, and -arm-chairs reduced to legless deformities! It is a jolly day: sun, and -the smell of autumn.” I shall not forget that long ride. I was at the -back, and could see out; innumerable villages we passed; innumerable -mistakes we made; innumerable stops, innumerable enquiries! But always -there was the throbbing engine while we halted, and the bump and rattle -as we plunged through the night. Eight officers and seven valises, -I think we were; one or two were reduced to grumbling; several were -asleep; a few, like myself, were awake, but all absolutely tired out. -It was too uncomfortable to rest, cramped up among bulky valises and -all sorts of sprawling limbs! Once, at about four o’clock, we halted at -a house with a light in the window, and found a miner just going off -to work. An old woman brewed some very black coffee, and we hungrily -devoured bits of bread and butter, coffee, and cognac; while the old -woman, fat and smiling, gabbled incessantly at us! A strange weird -picture we must have made, some of us in kilts and bonnets, standing -half-awake in the flickering candle-light. - -We were at the Château all the morning. “The R.A.M.C. fellows were -very decent to us; gave us breakfast (eggs, bread and butter, and -tinned jam) and also lunch (bully-beef, cheese, bread and butter, -and beer). These were eaten off the dining-room table in style. I -explored the Château during the morning; just a big ordinary empty -house inside; outside, it is white plaster, with steep slate roofs, -and a few ornamental turrets. The garden is mostly taken up with lines -of picketed horses; outside the orchards and enclosures the country is -bare and flat; it is a mining district, and pyramids of slag stand up -all over the plain.” - -I cannot do better than continue quoting from these first letters of -mine; of course, I did not mention places by name: - -“Well, at 2.0 p.m. the same old lorry and corporal turned up and took -us back to Béthune. I gather he got considerable ‘strafing’ for last -night’s performance, although I think he was not given clear enough -instructions. Then, with seven other officers, we were sent off again -in daylight, and dropped by twos and threes at our various Brigade -Headquarters. Our “Brigade H.Q.” was in one of the few houses left -standing. Here I reported, and was told that an orderly would take -me to my battalion transport. In half an hour the orderly arrived on -a bicycle, and by 6.0 p.m. I was only half a mile from our transport. -We were walking along, when suddenly there was a scream like a rocket, -followed by a big bang, and the sound of splinters falling all about. I -expected to see people jump into ditches; but they stood calmly in the -street, women and all, and watched, while several shells (whizz-bangs, -I believe)”--No, dear innocence, HIGH-EXPLOSIVE SHRAPNEL--“burst just -near the road about a hundred yards ahead. We were four miles back -from the firing-line. It was just the ‘evening hate,’ I expect. It -didn’t last long. Just near us was one of our own batteries firing -intermittently.” - -This was my first experience of being under fire. I hadn’t the least -idea what to do. The textbooks, I believe, said “Throw yourself on -the ground.” I therefore looked at my orderly; but he was ducking -behind his bicycle, which I am sure is not recommended by any manual -of military training! I ducked behind nothing, copying him. This all -took place in the middle of the road. But when I saw women opening -the doors of their houses and standing calmly looking at the shells, -ducking seemed out of the question; so we both stood and watched the -bursting shells. Then the salvo ceased, and I, thinking I must show -some sort of a lead, suggested that we should proceed. But my orderly, -wiser by experience, suggested waiting to see if another salvo were -forthcoming. After ten minutes, however, it was clear that the Germans -had finished, and we resumed our journey in peace. - -My letter continues: “At the transport I had a very comfortable billet. -The quartermaster and two other new officers and myself had supper in -an upstairs room. The quartermaster seemed very pessimistic, and told -us a lot about our losses. We turned in at ten o’clock, and I slept -well. It was ‘very quiet’; that is to say, only intermittent bangs -such as have continued ever since the beginning of the war, and will -continue to the end thereof! - -“October 9th. This morning a cart took us at nine o’clock to within -about a mile of the firing-line, putting us down at the corner of a -street that has been renamed ‘H---- Street.’ The country was dead flat; -the houses everywhere in ruins, though some were untouched and still -inhabited. Thence an orderly conducted us to H.Q., where we reported to -the Adjutant and the C.O. (who is quite young by the way); they were -in the ground-floor room of a house, to which we came all the way from -H---- Street along a communication trench about seven feet deep. These -trenches were originally dug by the French, I believe. I was told I -was posted to ‘D’ Company, so another orderly took me back practically -to H---- Street, which must be six or seven hundred yards behind the -firing-line. ‘D’ is in reserve; I am attached to it for the present. -There are two other officers in it, Davidson and Symons. Both have only -just joined.” - -So at last I was fairly lodged in my battalion. I had been directed, -dumped, shaken, and carried, in a kindly, yet to me most amazingly -haphazard, way to my destination, and there I found myself quite -unexpected, but immediately attached somewhere until I should sort -myself out a little and find my feet. I had a servant called Smith. -In the afternoon I went with Davidson to supervise a working party, -which was engaged in paving a communication trench with tiles from the -neighbouring houses. In the evening I set to and wrote letters. I will -close this chapter with yet one more quotation: - -“Now I am in the ground-room of one of the few standing houses in -H---- Street. Next door is a big ‘École des filles,’ which I am quite -surprised to find empty! Really the way the people go about their -work here is amazing. Still, I suppose to carry on a girls’ school -half a mile from the Boche is just beyond the capacity of even their -indifference! I’ve already got quite used to the _noise_. There are two -guns just about forty yards away, that keep on firing with a terrific -bang! I can see the flashes just behind me. I think the noise would -worry you, if you heard these blaring bangs at the end of the back -garden, which is just about the distance this battery is from me! We -are messing here in this room; half a table has been propped up, and -three chairs discovered and patched up for us. All the windows facing -the enemy have been blocked up with sand-bags. I sleep here to-night. -If the house is shelled, I shall flee to the dug-out twenty yards away. -Orders have not yet come, but I believe we go back to billets to-morrow. - -A free issue of ‘Glory Boys’ cigarettes has just arrived: two packets -for each officer and man. Please don’t forget to send my Sam Browne -belt.” - - - - -CHAPTER II - -CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY - - -Throughout October and November our battalion was in the firing-line. -This meant that we spent life in an everlasting alternation between the -trenches and our billets behind, just far enough behind, that is, to be -out of the range of the light artillery; always, though, liable to be -called suddenly into the firing-line, and never out of the atmosphere -of the trenches. Always before us was dangled a promised “rest,” and -always it was being postponed. Rumours were spread, dissected, laughed -at, and eventually treated with bored incredulity. The battalion had -had no rest, I believe, since May. Men, and especially N.C.O.‘s, who -had been out since October, 1914, were tired out in body and spirit. - -With the officers and certain new drafts of men, it was different. We -came out enthusiastic and keen. On the whole, I thoroughly enjoyed -those first two months. I am surprised now to see how much detail I -wrote in my letters home. Everything was fresh, everything new and -interesting. And things were on the whole very quiet. We had a few -casualties, but underwent no serious bombardment. And, most important -to us, of course, we had no casualties among the officers. - -Givenchy and Cuinchy are two small villages, north and south, -respectively, of the La Bassée Canal, which runs almost due east and -west between La Bassée and Béthune. Givenchy stands on a slight rise in -the flattest of flat countries. A church tower of red brick must have -been the most noticeable feature as one walked in pre-war days from -the suburbs of Béthune along the La Bassée road. Cuinchy is a village -straggling along a road. Both are as completely reduced to ruins as -villages can be, the firing-line running just east of them. Between -them flows the great sluggish canal. - -During an afternoon in Béthune one could do all the shopping one -required, and get a hair-cut and shampoo as well. Expensive cocktails -were obtainable at the local bar; there was also a famous tea-shop. We -were billeted in one of the small villages around. Sometimes we only -stayed one night at a billet: there was always change, always movement. -Sometimes I got a bed; often I did not; but a valise is comfortable -enough, when once its tricks are mastered. Anyhow it is “billets” -and not “trenches,” that is the point; a continuous night’s rest in -pyjamas, the facilities of a bath, very often a free afternoon and -evening, and no equipment and revolver to carry night and day! It was -in billets the following letters were written, which are really the -best description of my life at this period. - -“19th October, 1915. Our battalion went into the trenches on the 14th -and came out on the 17th. Our company, ‘B,’ was in support. The front -line was about 300 yards ahead, and we held the second line, everything -prepared to meet an attack in case the enemy broke through the first -line. Half-way between our first and second lines was a kind of -redoubt, to be held at all costs. Here you are: - -[Illustration: The arrows indicate the direction in which the -fire-trenches point.] - -The line here forms a big salient, so that we often used to get spent -bullets dropping into the redoubt, from right behind, it seemed. Here, -another drawing will show what I mean: - -[Illustration] - -The dotted line is the German front trench. If the enemy A fires at the -English B, the bullet will go on and fall at about C, who is facing in -the direction of the arrow, in the support line. So C has to look out -for _enfilading spent bullets_. - -For three days and nights I was in command of this redoubt, isolated, -and ready with stores, ammunition, water, barbed wire and pickets, -bombs, and tools, to hold out a little siege for several days if -necessary. I used to leave it to get meals at Company H.Q. in the -support line; otherwise, I had always to be there, ready for instant -action. No one used to get more than two or three hours’ _consecutive_ -sleep, and I could never take off boots, equipment, or revolver. - -Here is a typical scene in the redoubt. - -_Scene._ A dug-out, 6´ × 4´ × 4´: smell, earthy. - -_Time._ 2.30 a.m. - -I awake and listen. Deathly stillness. - -_A voice._ ‘What’s the time, kid?’ - -_Another voice._ ‘Dunno. About 2 o’clock, I reckon.’ - -‘Past that.’ - -Long silence. - -‘Rum job, this, ain’t it, kid?’ - -‘Why?’ - -‘Well, I reckon if the ---- Huns were coming over, we’d know it long -afore they got ’ere. I reckon we’d ’ear the boys in front firing.’ - -Long pause. - -‘I dunno. ’Spose there’s some sense in it, else we wouldn’t be ’ere.’ - -Silence. - -‘---- cold on this ---- fire step. Guess it’s time they relieved us.’ - -Long silence. - -‘Don’t them flares look funny in the mist?’ - -‘Yus, I guess old Fritz uses some of them every night. Hullo, there -they go again. ’Ear that machine-gun?’ - -Long pause, during which machine-guns pop, and snipers snipe -merrily, and flares light up the sky. Trench-mortars begin behind us -‘whizz-sh-sh-sh-h-h’--silence--‘THUD.’ Then the Germans reply, sending -two or three over which thud harmlessly behind. The invisible sentries -have now become clearly visible to me as I look out of my dug-out. Two -of them are about ten yards apart standing on the fire-platform. Theirs -is the above dialogue. - -With a sudden _thud_, a trench-mortar shell drops fifteen yards behind -us. - -‘Hullo, Fritz is getting the wind up.’ - -‘Getting the wind up’ is slang for getting nervous: this stolid comment -from a sentry is typical of the attitude adopted towards ‘Fritz’ (the -German) when he starts shelling or finding. He is supposed to be a bit -jumpy! It seems hard to realise that Fritz is really trying to kill -these sentries: the whole thing seems a weird, strange play. - -I make an effort, and crawl out of the dug-out. The ‘strafing’ has died -down. Only occasional flares climb up from the German lines, and ‘pop,’ -‘pop’ in the morning mist. I go round the sentries, standing up by them -and looking over the parapet. It is cold and raw, and the sentries are -looking forward to the next relief. Ah! there is the corporal on trench -duty coming. I can hear him routing out the snoring relief. - -‘Ping-g-g-g’ goes a stray bullet singing by--a ricochet by its sound. - -‘A near one, sir.’ - -‘Yes, Evans. Safer in the front line.’ - -‘I guess it is, sir.’ - -Then, the sentries changed, I turn back again to my dug-out. Sleeping -with revolvers and equipment requires some care of position. - -‘Half-past four, sir,’ comes after a pause and some sleep. - -Out I get, and everybody ‘stands to’ arms for an hour, each man taking -up the position allotted to him along the fire-platform. Gradually it -gets light. Some brick-stacks grow out of the mist in front, and ruined -cottages loom up in the rear, and what was a church. The fire-platform -being here pretty high, one can look back over the parados over bare -flat country, cut up by trenches and run to waste terribly. ‘Parados,’ -by the way, is the name given to the back of a trench; here is a -drawing in section: - -[Illustration: - -A. Bottom of trench. C. Parapet. B. Fire-step. D. Parados.] - -At 5.30 ‘Stand down and clean rifles’ is the order given; and the -cleaning commences--a process as oft-repeated as ‘washing up’ in -civilised lands, and as monotonous and unsatisfactory, for a few hours -later the rifles are a bit rusty and muddy again, and need another -inspection. - -7.30. ‘Tell Sergeant Summers I’m going down to Company Headquarters.’ - -‘Very good, sir.’ Then I take a long mazy journey down the -communication trench, which is six feet deep at least, and mostly -paved with bricks from a neighbouring brick-field. There are an -amazing lot of mice about the trenches, and they fall in and can’t -get out. Most of them get squashed. Frogs too, which make a green and -worse mess than the mice. Our C.O. always stops and throws a frog -out if he meets one. Tommy, needless to say, is not so sentimental. -These trenches have been built a long time, and grass-stalks, dried -scabious, and plantain-stalks grow over the edges, which must make them -very invisible from above. ‘H----Street,’ ‘L---- Lane,’ ‘C----Road,’ -‘P----Lane’ are traversed, and so into ‘S---- Street,’ where, in -the cellar of what was once a house, are two hungry officers already -started on bacon and eggs, coffee (with condensed milk), and bread and -tinned jam. We are lucky with three chairs and a table. A newspaper -makes an admirable tablecloth, and a bottle a good candlestick, and -there is room in a cellar to stand up. Breakfast done, a shave is -manipulated, Meadows, my servant, getting ready my tackle and producing -a mug of hot water. - -9.30 finds me back in the redoubt and starting a ‘working party’ on -repairing a communication trench and generally improving the trenches. -Working parties are unpopular; Tommy does not believe in improving -trenches he may never see again. And so the day goes on. Sentries -change and take their place, sitting gazing into a scrap of mirror. -Ration parties come up with dixies carried on wooden pickets, and the -pioneer generally cleans up, sprinkling chloride of lime about in white -showers, which seems as plentiful as the sand of the seashore, and the -odour of which clings to the trenches, as the smell of seaweed does to -the beach. - - * * * * * - -The redoubt was in the Cuinchy trenches, and that old cellar was really -a delightful headquarters. The first time we were in it we found a cat -there; on the second occasion the same cat appeared with three lusty -kittens! These used to keep the place clear of rats and get sat on -every half-hour or so. I soon learned to get used to smoke; on one -occasion the smoke from our brazier became so thick that Gray, the -cook, threatened to resign. For all the smoke gathers at the top of a -dug-out and seems impossibly suffocating to anyone first entering; yet -it is often practically clear two or three feet from the ground, so -that when lying or sitting one does not notice the smoke at all; but a -new-comer gets his eyes so stung that it seems impossible that anyone -can live in the dug-out at all! (Gray, by the way, was not allowed to -resign.)” - - * * * * * - -Here follows a letter describing the front trenches at Givenchy: - -“7th November. On the 29th we marched off at 9.0 and halted at 11.0 -for dinner. Luckily it was fine, and the piled arms, the steaming -dixies, and the groups of men sitting about eating and smoking formed -a pleasant sight. Our grub was put by mistake on the mess-cart which -went straight on to the trenches! Edwards, however, our Company -mess-president, came up to the scratch with bread, butter, and eggs. -Tea was easily procured from the cookers. Then off we went to our -H.Q. There we got down into the communication trench, and in single -file were taken by guides into our part of the trenches: these guides -were sent by the battalion we were relieving. I told you that all the -trenches have names (which are painted on boards hung up at the trench -corners). The first thing done was to post sentries along our company -front: until this was done the outgoing battalion could not ‘out-go.’ -Each man has his firing position allotted to him, and he always -occupies it at ‘stand to’ and ‘stand down.’ We were three days and -three nights in the trenches. Each officer was on duty for eight hours, -during which he was responsible for a sector of firing-line and must be -actually in the front trench. My watch was 12 to 4, a.m. and p.m. Work -that out with ‘stand to’ in the morning and also in the evening and you -will see that consecutive sleep is not easy! On paper 6-12 (midnight) -looks good; but then, remember, dinner at 7.0 or 7.30 according to the -fire, while you may have to turn out any time if you are being shelled -at all. For instance, one night I was just turning in early at 7.0, -when a mine went up on our right, and shelling and general ‘strafing’ -kept me out till 9.30, after which I couldn’t sleep! So at midnight I -was tired when I started my four hours, turned in at 4.0, out again for -‘stand to,’ 8.0 breakfast, 9.0 rifle inspection, and so it goes on! -That is why you can appreciate _billets_, and bed from 9.0 to 7.0 if -you want it. - -Imagine a cold November night--with a ground fog. What bliss to be -roused from a snug dug-out at midnight, and patrol the Company’s line -for four interminable hours. It is deathly quiet. Has the war stopped? -I stand up on the fire-step beside the sentry and try to see through -the fog. ‘Pip-pip-pip-pip-pip’ goes a machine-gun. So the war’s still -on. - -‘Cold?’ I ask a sentry. ‘Only me feet, sir.’ ‘Why don’t you stamp your -feet, then?’ This being equivalent to an order, Tommy stamps feebly -a few times until made to do so energetically. Unless you _make_ him -stamp, he will not stamp; would infinitely prefer to let his feet -get cold as ice. Of course, when you have gone into the next bay, he -immediately stops. Still, that is Tommy. - -I gaze across into No Man’s Land. I can just see our wire, and in front -a collection of old tins--bully tins, jam tins, butter tins--paper, old -bits of equipment. Other regiments always leave places so untidy. You -clean up, but when you come into trenches you find the other fellows -have left things about. You work hard repairing the trenches: the -relieving regiment, you find on your return, has done ‘damn all,’ which -is military slang for ‘nothing.’ And all other regiments, it seems, -have the same complaint. - -‘Swish.’ A German flare rocket lights up everything. You see our -trenches all along. Everything is as clear as day. You feel as -conspicuous as a cromlech on a hill. But the enemy can’t see you, fog -or no fog, if you only keep still. The light has fallen on the parapet -this time, and lies sizzling on the sand-bags. A flicker, and it is -gone; and in the fog you see black blobs, the size and shape of the -dazzling light you’ve just been staring at. - -‘Crack--plop.’ ‘Crack--plop.’ A couple of bullets bury themselves in -the sand-bags, or else with a long-drawn ‘ping’ go singing over the -top. Why the sentries never get hit seems extraordinary. I suppose -a mathematician would by combination and permutation tell you the -chances against bullets aimed ‘at a venture’ hitting sentries exposing -one-fourth of their persons at a given elevation at so many paces -interval. Personally I won’t try, as my whole object is to keep awake -till four o’clock. And then I shall be too sleepy. Only remember, it is -night and the sentries are invisible. - -‘Tap--tap--tap.’ ‘There’s a wiring party out, sir. I’ve heard ’em these -last five minutes.’ Undoubtedly there are a few men out in No Man’s -Land, repairing their wire. I tell the sentries near to look out and -be ready to fire, and then I send off a ‘Very’ flare, fired by a thick -cartridge from a thick-barrelled brass pistol. It makes a good row, and -has a fair kick, so it is best to rest the butt on the parapet and hold -it at arm’s length. Even so it leaves your ears singing for hours. The -first shot was a failure--only a miserable rocket tail which failed -to burst. The second was a magnificent shot. It burst beautifully, -and fell right behind the party, two Germans, and silhouetted them, -falling and burning still incandescent on the ground behind. A volley -of fire followed from our waiting sentries. I could not see if the -party were hit; most of the shots were fired after the light had died -out. Anyhow, the working party stopped. The two figures stood quite -motionless while the flare burned. - -The Germans opposite us were very lively. One could often hear them -whistling, and one night they were shouting to one another like -anything. They were Saxons, who are always at that game. No one knows -exactly what it means. It was quite cold, almost frosty, and the -sound came across the 100 yards or so of No Man’s Land with a strange -clearness in the night air. The voices seemed unnaturally near, like -voices on the water heard from a cliff. ‘Tommee--Tommee. Allemands -bon--Engleesh bon.’ ‘We hate ze _Kron_prinz.’ (I can hear now the -nasal twang with which the ‘Kron’ was emphasised.) ‘D---- the Kaiser.’ -‘Deutschland _unter_ Alles.’ I could hear these shouts most distinctly: -the same sentences were repeated again and again. They shouted to one -another from one part of the line to another, generally preceding -each sentence by ‘Kamerad.’ Often you heard loud hearty laughter. As -‘Comic Cuts’ (the name given to the daily Intelligence Reports) sagely -remarked, ‘Either this means that there is a spirit of dissatisfaction -among the Saxons, or it is a ruse to try and catch us unawares, or it -is mere foolery.’ Wisdom in high places! - -Really it was intensely interesting. ‘Come over,’ shouted Tommy. -‘We--are--not--coming--over,’ came back. Loud clapping and laughter -followed remarks like ‘We hate ze _Kron_prinz.’ Then they would yodel -and sing like anything. Tommy replied with ‘Tipperary.’ They sang, -‘God save the King,’ or rather their German equivalent of it, to the -familiar tune. Then, ‘Abide with us’ rose into the night air and -starlight. This went on for an hour and a half; though almost any night -you can hear them shout something, and give a yodel-- - -[Music] - -It is the strangest thing I have ever experienced. The authorities now -try and stop our fellows answering. The _entente_ of last Christmas -is not to be repeated! One of the officers in our battalion has shown -me several German signatures on his pay-book (he was in the ranks -then), given in friendly exchange in the middle of No Man’s Land last -Christmas Day. - -I have had my baptism of mud now. It tires me to think of it, and -I have not the effort to write fully about it! The second time we -were in these trenches the mud was two feet deep. Even our Company -Headquarters, a cellar, was covered with mud and slime. Paradoses and -communication trenches had fallen in, and the going was terrible. The -sticky mud yoicked one’s boots off nearly, and it felt as if one’s -foot would be broken in extricating it. We all wore gum-boots, of -blue-black rubber, that come right up to the waist like fishermen’s -waders. But the mud is everywhere, and we get our arms all plastered -with it as we literally “reel to and fro” along the trench, every now -and again steadying ourselves against slimy sand-bags. One or two men -actually got stuck, and had to be helped out with spades; one fellow -lost heart and left one of his gum-boots stuck in the mud, and turned -up in my platoon in a stockinged foot, of course plastered thick with -clay! We worked day and night. Gradually the problem is being tackled. -Trench-boards, or ‘mats,’ are the best, like this: - -[Illustration] - -They are put along the bottom of the trench, the long ‘runners’ resting -on bricks taken from ruined houses, so as to raise the board and allow -drainage underneath. If possible, a deep sump-pit is dug under the -centre of the board. (The shaded part represents the sump-pit: the -dotted lines are the sides of the trench; the whole drawing in plan.)” - - * * * * * - -Weariness. Mud. The next experience (not mentioned in my letter) was -Death. On our immediate right was “C” Company. Here our trench runs -out like this __Ʌ_, more or less, and the opposite trenches are very -close together. Consequently it is a great place for “mining activity.” -One evening we put up a mine; the next afternoon the Germans put up a -countermine, and accompanied it with a hail of trench-mortars. I was -on trench duty at the time, and had ample opportunity of observing -the genus trench-mortar and its habits. One can see them approaching -some time before they actually fall, as they come from a great height -(in military terms, “with a steep trajectory”), and one can see them -revolving as they topple down. Then they fall with a _thud_, and black -smoke comes up and mud spatters all about. Most of them were falling -in our second line and support trenches. I was patrolling up and down -our front trench. We were “standing to” after the mine, and for half an -hour it was rather a “hot shop.” I was delighted to find that I rather -enjoyed it: seeing one or two of the new draft with the “wind up” a -bit steadied me at once. I have hardly ever since felt the slightest -nervousness under fire. It is mainly temperament. Our company had four -casualties: one in the front trench, the three others in the platoon -in support. “C” Company suffered more heavily. At 6.0 Edwards came on -duty, and I was able to go in quest of two bombers who were said to be -wounded. Getting near the place I came on a man standing half-dazed in -the trench. “Oh, sirrh,” he cried, in the burring speech of a true -Welshman. “A terench-mohrterh hass fall-en ericht in-ter me duck-out.” -For the moment I felt like laughing at the man’s curious speech and -look, but I saw that he was greatly scared: and no wonder. A trench -mortar had dropped right into the mouth of his dug-out, and had half -buried two of his comrades. We were soon engaged in extricating them. -Both had bad head wounds, and how he escaped is a miracle. I helped -carry the two men out and over the debris of flattened trenches to -Company Headquarters. So, for the first time I looked upon two dying -men, and some of their blood was on my clothes. One died in half an -hour--the other early next morning. It was really not my job to assist: -the stretcher-bearers were better at it than I, yet in this first -little bit of “strafe” I was carried away by my instinct, whereas later -I should have been attending to the living members of my platoon, -and the defence of my sector. I left the company sergeant-major in -difficulties as to whether Randall, the man who had so miraculously -escaped, and who was temporarily dazed, should be returned as “sick” or -“wounded.” - -Another death that came into my close experience was that of a -lance-corporal in my platoon. I had only spoken to him a quarter -of an hour before, and on returning found him lying dead on the -fire-platform. He had been killed instantaneously by a rifle grenade. -I lifted the waterproof sheet and looked at him. I remember that I -was moved, but there was nothing repulsive about his recumbent figure. -I think the novelty and interest of these first casualties made them -quite easy to bear. I was so busy noticing details: the silence that -reigned for a few hours in my platoon; the details of removing the -bodies, the collecting of kit, etc. These things at first blunted my -perception of the vileness of the tragedy; nor did I feel the cruelty -of war as I did later. - -Weariness. Mud. Death. So it was with great joy that we would return -to billets, to get dry and clean, to eat, sleep, and write letters; -to drill, and carry out inspections. Company drill, bayonet-fighting, -gas-helmet drill, musketry, and lectures were usually confined to the -morning and early afternoon. We thought that we had rather an overdose -of lecturing from our medical officer (the M.O.) on sanitation and -the care of the feet. “Trench feet,” one lecture always began, “is -that state produced by excessive cold or long standing in water or -liquid mud.” We soon got to know too much, we felt, about the use of -whale-oil and anti-frostbite grease, the changing of socks and the -rubbing and stamping of feet. We did get rather “fed up” with it; yet I -believe we had only one case of trench feet in our battalion throughout -the winter; so perhaps it was worth our discomfort of attending so -many lectures! Our C.O.’s lectures on trench warfare were always -worth hearing: he was so tremendously keen and such a perfect and -whole-hearted soldier. - -A chapter might be written on billet-life. Here are a few more extracts -from letters: - -“Oct. 13th. All day long this little inn has shaken from top to bottom: -there is one battery about a hundred yards away that makes the whole -house rattle like the inside of a motor-bus. The Germans might any -time try and locate the battery, and a shell would reduce the house to -ruins. Yet the old woman here declares she will not leave the house as -long as she lives! - -It is a strange place, this belt of land behind the firing-line. The -men are out of the trenches for three days, and it is their duty, after -perhaps a running parade before breakfast and two or three hours’ -drill and inspection in the morning, to rest for the remainder of the -day. In the morning you will see all the evolutions of company drill -carried out in a small meadow behind a strip of woodland; in the next -field an old man and woman are unconcernedly hoeing a cabbage-patch; -then behind here are a battalion’s transport lines, with rows of horses -picketed. Along the road an A.S.C. convoy is passing, each lorry at -regulation distance from the next. In the afternoon you will see groups -of Tommies doing nothing most religiously, smoking cigarettes, writing -letters home. From six to eight the _estaminets_ are open, and everyone -flocks to them to get bad beer. They are also open an hour at midday, -and then the orderly officer, accompanied by the provost-sergeant, -produces an electric silence with ‘Any complaints?’ It does not pay an -_estaminet_-keeper to dilute his beer too much, or else he will lose -his licence. - -I often wonder if these peasants think much. Think they must have done -at the beginning, when their men were hastily called up. But now, after -fifteen months of war? It is the children, chiefly, who are interested -in the aeroplanes, shining like eagles silver-white against the blue -sky; or in the boom from the battery across the street. But for their -mothers and grandparents these things have settled into their lives; -they are all one with the canal and the poplar trees. If a squad starts -drilling on their lettuces, they are tremendously alert; but as for -these other things, they are not interested, only unutterably tired of -them. And after awhile you adopt the same attitude. The noise of the -guns is boring and you hardly look up at an aeroplane, unless it is -shrapnelled by the ‘Archies’ (anti-aircraft guns); then it is worth -watching the pin-prick flashes dotting the sky all round it, leaving -little white curls of smoke floating in the blue.” - - * * * * * - -That billet was close to the firing-line. Here is a letter from a -village, eight miles back: - -“20th Oct., 1915. We came out here on Monday. The whole division -marched out together. It was really an impressive sight, over a mile -of troops on the march. Perfect order, perfect arrangement. Where -the road bent you could often see the column for a mile in front, a -great snake curling along the right side of the road. Occasionally an -adjutant would break out of the line to trot back and correct some -straggling; or a C.O. would emerge for a gallop over the adjacent -ploughland. - -Our company is billeted in a big prosperous farm. The men are in a -roomy barn and look very comfortable. We are in a big room, on the -right as you enter the front door of the farm: on a tiled floor stands -a round table with an oilcloth cover, originally of a bright red -pattern, but now subdued by constant scrubbings to the palest pink with -occasional scarlet dottings. There are big tall windows, a wardrobe -and sideboard, a big chimney-place fitted with a coke stove, and on -the walls hang three very dirty old prints. The only war touch (beside -our scattered possessions) is a picture from a French Illustrated of -_L’Assaut de Vermelles_. Outside is a yard animated by cows, turkeys, -geese, chicken, and ducks: also a donkey and a peacock, not to mention -the usual dogs and cats. At 5 a.m. I am awakened by an amazing chorus. - -The ‘patron’ is a strong, competent man, with many fine buxom -daughters, who do the farm work with great capacity and energy. -Henriette with a pitchfork is strength and grace in action. Tommy is -much in awe of her. She hustles the pigs relentlessly. The sons are -at the war. Etienne and Marcelle, aged ten and eight respectively, -complete the family; with Madame, of course, who makes inimitable -coffee; and various grandparents who appear in white caps and cook and -bake all day. - -I have just ‘paid out’--all in five and twenty-franc notes. ‘In the -field’ every man has his own pay book which the officer must sign, -while the company quartermaster-sergeant sees that his acquittance -roll is also signed by Tommy. We had a small table and chair out in -the yard, and in an atmosphere of pigs and poultry I dealt out the -blue-and-white oblongs which have already in many cases been converted -into bread. For that is where most of the pay money goes, there and in -the _estaminets_. The bread ration is always small, the biscuit ration -overflowing. Bully beef, by the way, is simply ordinary corned beef. I -watched cooking operations yesterday, and saw some fifty tins cut in -half with an axe, clean hewn asunder, and the meat deftly hoicked with -a fork into the field-kitchen, or ‘cooker,’ which is a range and boiler -on wheels. This was converted into a big stew, and served out into -dixies (camp kettles) and so to the men’s canteens. - -This afternoon our company practised an attack over open country. I -was surprised to find the men so well trained. I had imagined that -prolonged trench-warfare would have made them stale. The country is -_very_ flat. There are no hedges. The only un-English characteristics -are the poplar rows, the dried beans tied round poles like mother-gamp -umbrellas, and the wayside chapels and crucifixes. - -Yesterday afternoon Edwards and I got in a little revolver practice -just near; and afterwards we had an energetic game of hockey, with -sticks and an empty cartridge-case.” - -Altogether, billet life was very enjoyable. On November 1st Captain -Dixon joined our battalion and took over “B” Company. For over four -months I worked under the most good-natured and popular officer in the -battalion. We were always in good spirits while he was with us. “I -can’t think why it is,” he used to say, “I’m not at all a jolly person, -yet you fellows are always laughing; and in my old regiment it was -always the same!” He was a fearful pessimist, but a fine soldier. His -delight used to be to get a good fire blazing in billets, sit in front -of it with a novel, and then deliver a tirade against the discomfort -of war! The great occasion used to be when the arch-pessimist, our -quartermaster, was invited to dinner. Then Edwards, the Mess president, -would produce endless courses, and the two pessimists would warm to -a delightful duologue on the fatuity of the Staff, the Army, and the -Government. - -“By Jove, we are the biggest fools on this earth!” Dixon would say at -last. - -“We’re fools enough to be led by fools,” Jim Potter would reply. - -And somehow we were all more cheerful than ever! - - - - -CHAPTER III - -WORKING-PARTIES - - -“Fall in the brick-party.” - -The six privates awoke from a state of inert dreaming, or lolling -against the barn that flanked the gateway of battalion headquarters, to -stand in two rows of three and await orders. At last the A.S.C. lorry -had turned up, an hour late, and while it turned round I despatched -one of the privates to our transport to get six sand-bags. By the time -he returned the lorry had performed its about-wheel, and, all aboard, -myself in front and the six behind, we are off for C----. - -We pass through Béthune. As we approach through the suburbs, we rattle -past motor despatch riders, A.S.C. lorries, Red Cross carts, columns -of transport horses being exercised, officers on horse-back, officers -in motor-cars, small unarmed fatigue parties, battalions on the march; -then there are carts carrying bricks, French postmen on bicycles, -French navvies in blue uniforms repairing the road, innumerable peasant -traps, coal waggons, women with baskets, and children of course -everywhere. “Business as usual”--yet, but for a line of men not so -many miles away the place would be a desolate ruin like the towns and -villages that chance has doomed to be in the firing-line. - -So I moralise. Not so the Tommies, sprawling behind, inside the lorry, -and caring not a jot for anything save that they are on a “cushy” or -soft job, as the rest of the battalion are doing four hours’ digging -under R.E. supervision. A good thing to be a Tommy, to be told to fall -in here or there, and not to know whether it is for a bayonet-charge, -or a job of carting earth! - -“Bang--Bang-bang.” We are nearing the firing-line, having left Béthune, -where military police stand at every corner directing the traffic with -flags, one road “up,” another “down”: we are once more within the -noisy but invisible chain of batteries. “Lorries 6 miles per hour.” -The shell-holes in the road, roughly filled with stones, would make -quicker going impossible anyhow. We are entering C----, and I keep an -eagle eye open for ruined houses, and soon stop by a house with two -walls and half a roof. Out come the six Tommies and proceed to fill a -sand-bag each with bricks and empty it into the lorry. The supply is -inexhaustible, and in half an hour the A.S.C. corporal refuses to take -more, declaring we have the regulation three-ton load, so I stop work -and prepare to depart. - -The corporal, however, has heard of a sister-lorry near by, which has -unfortunately slipped into a ditch and, so to speak, sprained its -ankle. Though extraordinarily unromantic in appearance, the corporal -shows himself imbued with a spirit of knight errantry, and, having -obtained my permission to rescue the fair damsel, sets off for what he -declares cannot take more than ten minutes. As I thought the process -would take probably more like twenty minutes, I let the men repair -to a house on the opposite side of the road, where was a rather more -undamaged piece of roof than usual (it was now raining), and myself -explored the place I happened to be in. - -Occasionally, at home one comes across a deserted cottage in the -country; a most desolate spirit pervades the place. Imagine, then, what -it is like in these villages half a mile or a mile behind what has been -the firing-line for now twelve months. A few steps off the main road -brought me into what had formerly been a small garden belonging to a -farm. There had been a red-brick wall all along the north side with -fruit trees trained along it. Now, the wall was mostly a rubble-heap, -and the fruit trees dead. One sickly pear tree struggled to exist -in a crumpled sort of heap, but its wilted leaves only added to the -desolation of the scene. An iron gate, between red brick pillars, -was still standing, strangely enough; but the little lawn was run to -waste, and had a crater in the middle of it about five feet across, -inside of which was some disintegrating animal, also empty tins, and -other refuse. Trees were broken, weeds were everywhere. I tried to -reconstruct the place in my imagination, but it was a chaotic tangle. -I came across a few belated raspberries, and picked one or two; they -were tasteless and watery. Rubbish and broken glass were strewn -everywhere. It was a dreary sight in the grey rain; the only sign of -life a few chattering blue-tits. - -The house was an utter ruin, only a ground-room wall left standing; -some of the outhouses had not suffered so much, but all the roofs were -gone. I saw a rusty mangle staring forlornly out of a heap of débris; -and a manger and hayrack showed what had been a stable. The pond was -just near, too, and gradually I could piece together the various -elements of the farm. Who the owners were I vaguely wondered; perhaps -they will return after the war; but I doubt if they could make much -of the old ruins. These villages will most likely remain a blighted -area for years, like the villages reclaimed by the jungle. Already the -virginia creeper and woodbine are trying to cover the ugliness.... - -The Tommies meanwhile had been smoking Gold Flakes, and one or two had -also been exploring; one had discovered a child’s elementary botany -book, and was studying the illustrations when I came up. Our combined -view now was “Where is the lorry?” and this view held the field, with -increasing curiosity, annoyance, and vituperation, for one solid hour -and a half. It was dinner-time, and a common bond of hunger held us, -until at last in exasperation I marched half the party in quest of our -errant conveyance. I was thoroughly annoyed with the gallant corporal. -Three-quarters of a mile away I found the two lorries. My little -corporal had rescued his lorn princess, but she, being a buxom wench, -had brought her rescuer into like predicament! And so we came up just -in time to see the rescue of _our_ lorry from the treacherous ditch! I -felt I could not curse, especially as the little corporal had winded -himself somehow in the stomach during the last bout. It had been a -feeble show; yet there was the lorry, and in it the bricks, on to which -the fellows climbed deliberately as men who recover a lost prize. And -so we arrived at our transport (the bricks were for a horse-stand in a -muddy yard) at half-past two; after which I dismissed the party to its -belated dinner. - -The above incident hardly deserves a place in a chapter headed -“working-parties,” being in almost every respect different from any -other I have ever conducted. I think the “working-party” is realised -less than anything else in this war by those who have not been at the -front. It does not appeal to the imagination. Yet it is essential to -realise, if one wants to know what this war is like, the amount of -sheer dogged labour performed by the infantry in digging, draining, and -improving trenches. - -The “working-party” usually consists of seventy to a hundred men from a -company, with either one or two officers. The Brigadier going round the -trenches finds a communication trench falling in, and about a foot of -mud at the bottom. “Get a working-party on to this at once,” he says to -his Staff Captain. The Staff Captain consults one of the R.E. officers, -and a note is sent to the Adjutant of one of the two battalions in -billets: “Your battalion will provide a working party of ... officers -... full ranks (sergeants and corporals) and ... other ranks to-morrow. -Report to Lt. ..., R.E., at ... at 5.0 p.m. to-morrow for work on ... -Trench. Tools will be provided.” The Staff Captain then dismisses the -matter from his head. The Adjutant then sends the same note to one or -more of the four company commanders, detailing the number of men to be -sent by the companies specified by him. (He is scrupulously careful to -divide work equally between the companies, by the way.) The company -commander on receiving the note curses volubly, declares it a “d--d -shame the hardest worked battalion in the brigade can’t be allowed -a moment’s rest, feels sure the men will mutiny one of these days,” -etc., summons the orderly, who is frowsting in the next room with the -officers’ servants, and says, “Take this to the sergeant-major,” after -scribbling on the note “Parade outside Company H.Q. 3.30 p.m.,” and -adding, as the orderly departs, “Might tell the quartermaster-sergeant -I want to see him.” Meanwhile the three subalterns are extraordinarily -engrossed in their various occupations, until the company commander -boldly states that it is “rotten luck, but he supposes as So-and-so -took the last, it is So-and-so’s turn, isn’t it?” and details the -officers; if they are new officers he tells them the sergeants will -know exactly what to do, and if they are old hands he tells them -nothing whatever. The “quarter” (company quartermaster-sergeant) then -arrives, and is told the party will not be back, probably, till 10.0 -p.m., and will he make sure, please, that hot soup is ready for the men -on return, and also dry socks if it turns out wet; he is then given a -drink, and the company commander’s work is finished. - -Meanwhile the company sergeant-major has received the orders from -the orderly, and summons unto him the orderly-sergeant, and from his -“roster,” or roll, ticks off the men and N.C.O.’s to be warned for -the working party. This the orderly-sergeant does by going round -to the various barns and personally reading out each man’s name, -and on getting the answer, saying, “You’re for working party, 3.15 -to-day.” The exact nature of the remarks when he is gone are beyond -my province. Only, as an officer taking the party, one knows that -at 3.25 p.m. the senior sergeant calls the two lines of waiting -“other ranks” to attention, and with a slap on his rifle, announces -“Working-party present, Sir,” as you stroll up. Working-parties are -dressed in “musketry order” usually--that is to say, with equipment, -but no packs; rifles and ammunition, of course, and waterproof sheets -rolled and fastened to the webbing belt. The officer then tells the -sergeant to “stand them easy,” while he asks one or two questions, and -looks once more at “orders” which the senior sergeant has probably -brought on parade, and at 3.30, with a “Company-Shern! Slo-o-ope hip! -Right-in-fours: form-fórs! Right! By the right, Quick _march_!” leads -off his party, giving “March at _ease_, march-easy!” almost in one -breath as soon as he rounds the corner. Then there is a hitching of -rifles to the favourite position, and a buzz of remarks and whistles -and song behind, while the sergeant edges up to the officer or the -officer edges back to the sergeant, according to their degree of -intimacy, and the working-party is on its way. - -One working-party I remember very well. We were in billets at ----, and -really tired out. It was Nov. 6th, and on looking up my letters I find -our movements for the last week had been as follows: - - Oct. 29th. 9.0 a.m. Moved off from billets. - 12.0 midday. Lunch. - 3.0 p.m. Arrived in front trenches. - Oct. 30th. Front trenches. - Oct. 31st. Front trenches. - Nov. 1st. Relieved at 3.0 p.m. (The Devons - were very late relieving us, owing to - bad rain and mud.) - 5.30 p.m. Reached billets. - Nov. 2nd. Rain all day. Morning spent by men - in trying to clean up. Afternoon, - baths. - Nov. 3rd. 9.0 a.m. Started off for trenches - again. It had rained incessantly. - Mud terrible. - 1.0 p.m. Arrived in front trenches. - Nov. 4th. Front trenches. Rained all day. - Nov. 5th. 2.30 p.m. Relieved late again. Mud - colossal. Billets 5.0 p.m. - Nov. 6th. Morning. Cleaning up. Inspection by - C.O. - Afternoon. SUDDEN AND UNEXPECTED - WORKING-PARTY. 3.0 p.m.--11.0 - p.m.!! - -Yet I thoroughly enjoyed those eight hours, I remember. There were, -I suppose, about eighty N.C.O.’s and men from “B” Company. I was in -charge, with one other officer. We halted at a place whither the -“cooker” had been previously despatched, and where the men had their -tea. Luckily it was fine. The men sat about on lumps of trench-boards -and coils of barbed wire, for the place was an “R.E. Dump,” where a -large accumulation of R.E. stores of all description was to be found. -I apologised to the R.E. officer for keeping him a few minutes while -the men finished their tea; he, however, a second-lieutenant, was in -no hurry whatever, it seemed, and waited about a quarter of an hour -for us. Then I fell the men in, and they “drew tools,” so many men a -pick, so many a shovel (the usual proportion is one pick, two shovels), -and we splodged along through whitish clay of the stickiest calibre -in the gathering twilight. An R.E. corporal and two R.E. privates had -joined us mysteriously by now, as well as the second-lieutenant, and -crossing H---- Street we plunged down into a communication trench, and -started the long mazy grope. The R.E. corporal was guide. The trench -was all paved with trench-mats, but these were not “laid,” only “shoved -down” anyhow; consequently they wobbled, and one’s boot slipped off -the side into squelch, rubbing the ankle. Continually came up the -message from behind, “Lost touch, Sir!” This involved a wait--one, two -minutes--until the “All-up” or “All-in” came up. (One hears it coming -in a hoarse whisper, and starts before it actually arrives. Infinite -patience is necessary. R.E. officers are sometimes eager to go ahead; -but once lose the last ten men at night in an unknown trench, and it -may take three hours to find them.) The other officer was bringing up -the rear. - -At last we reached our destination, and the R.E. officer and myself -told off the men to work along the trench. This particular work was -clearing what is known as a “berm,” that is, the flat strip of ground -between the edge of the trench and the thrown-up earth, each side of a -C.T. (communication trench). - -When a trench is first dug, the earth is thrown up each side; the -recent rains were, however, causing the trenches to crumble in -everywhere, and the weight of the thrown-up earth was especially the -cause of this. Consequently, if the earth were cleared away a yard on -each side of the trench, and thrown further back, the trench would -probably be saved from falling in to any serious extent, and the light -labour of shovelling dry earth a yard or so back would be substituted -for the heart-breaking toil of throwing sloppy mud or sticky clay out -of a trench higher than yourself. - -[Illustration] - -The work to be done had been explained to the sergeants before we left -our starting-point. As we went along, the R.E. officer told off men -at ten or five yards’ interval, according to the amount of earth to -be moved. Each man stopped when told off, and the rest of the company -passed him. Sergeants and corporals stopped with their section or -platoon, and got the men started as soon as the last man of the company -had passed. At last up came the last man, sergeant, and the other -officer, and together we went back all along. The men were on top -(that is why the working-party was a night one); sometimes they had -not understood their orders and were doing something wrong (a slack -sergeant would then probably have to be routed out and told off). The -men worked like fun, of course, it being known, to every one’s joy, -that this was a piece-job, and that we went home as soon as it was -finished. There was absolute silence, except the sound of falling -earth, and an occasional chink of iron against stone; or a swish, and -muttered cursings, as a bit of trench fell in with a slide, dragging -a man with it; for it is not always easy to clear a yard-wide “berm” -without crumbling the trench-edge in. One would not think these men -were “worn out,” to see them working as no other men in the world can -work; for nearly every man was a miner. The novice will do only half -the work a trained miner will do, with the same effort. - -Sometimes I was appealed to as to the “yard.” Was this wide enough? One -man had had an unlucky bit given him with a lot of extra earth from a -dug-out thrown on to the original lot. So I redivided the task. It is -amazing the way the time passes while going along a line of workers, -noticing, talking, correcting, praising. By the time I got to the first -men of the company, they were half-way through the task. - -At last the job was finished. As many men as space allowed were put on -to help one section that somehow was behind; whether it was bad luck -in distribution or slack work no one knew or cared. The work must be -finished. The men wanted to smoke, but I would not let them; it was -too near the front trenches. And then I did a foolish thing, which -might have been disastrous! The R.E. corporal had remained, though the -officer had left long ago. The corporal was to act as guide back, and -this he was quite ready to do if I was not quite sure of the way. I, -however, felt sure of it, and as the corporal would be saved a long -tramp if he could go off to his dug-out direct without coming with us, -I foolishly said I had no need of him, and let him go. I then lost my -way completely. We had never been in that section before, and none of -the sergeants knew it. We had come from the “R.E. Dump,” and thither -we must return, leaving our tools on the way. But I had been told to -take the men to the Divisional Soup Kitchen first, which was about -four hundred yards north of X, the spot where we entered the C.T. and -which I was trying to find. For all I knew I was going miles in the -wrong direction. My only guide was the flares behind, which assured -me I was not walking to the Germans but away from them. The unknown -trenches began to excite among the sergeants the suspicion that all -was not well. But I took the most colossal risk of stating that I knew -perfectly well what I was doing, and strode on ahead. - -There was silence behind after that, save for splashings and -splodgings. My heart misgave me that I was coming to undrained trenches -of the worst description, or to water-logged impasses! Still I -strode on, or waited interminable waits for the “All up” signal. At -last we reached houses, grim and black, new and awfully unknown. I -nearly tumbled down a cellar as a sentry challenged. I was preparing -for humble questions as to where we were, the nearest way to X, and -a possible joke to the sergeant (this joke had not materialised, and -seemed unlikely to be of the easiest), when I recovered myself from -the cellar, mounted some steps, and found myself on a road beside a -group of Tommies emerging from the Soup Kitchen! My star (the only one -visible, I believe, that inky night) had led me there direct! I said -nothing, as every one warmed up in spirits as well as bodies with that -excellent soup; and no one ever knew of the quailings of my heart along -those unknown trenches! To lead men wrong is always bad; but when they -are tired out it is unpardonable, and not quickly forgotten. As it was, -canteens were soon brimming with thick vegetable soup, filled from a -bubbling cauldron with a mighty ladle. In the hot room men glistened -and perspired, while a regular steam arose from muddied boots and -puttees; every one, from officer to latest joined private, was sipping -with dangerous avidity the boiling fluid. Many charges have been laid -against divisional staffs, but never a complaint have I heard against a -soup kitchen! So in good spirits we tramped along, and dumped our tools -in the place where we had found them. “Clank-clank, clank,” as spade -fell on spade. Then, “You may smoke” was passed down. The sergeant -reported “All correct, Sir!” and we tramped along in file. Soon the -bursts of song were swallowed up in a great whistling concert, and we -were all merry. The fit passed, and there was silence; then came the -singing again, which developed into hymns, and that took us into our -billets. Here we were greeted with the most abominable news of réveillé -at 5.0 a.m., but I think most of the men were too sleepy to hear it; we -two officers deplored our fate while eating a supper set out for us in -a greenhouse, our temporary mess-room! - -That is a working-party: interesting as a first experience to an -officer; but when multiplied exceedingly, by day, by night, in rain, -mud, sleet, and snow, carrying trench boards, filling sand-bags, -digging clay, bailing out liquid mud, and returning cold and drenched, -without soup--then, working-parties became a monotonous succession of -discomforts that wore out the spirit as well as the body. - -The last six nights before the promised rest were spent in -working-parties at Festubert. There the ground was low and wet, and it -was decided to build a line of breastwork trenches a few hundred yards -behind the existing line, so that we could retire on to dry ground -in case of getting swamped out. For six nights in succession we left -billets at 10.0 p.m. and returned by 4.0 a.m. The weather was the -coldest, it turned out eventually, that winter. It started with snow; -then followed hard frost for four nights; and, last but not least, a -thaw and incessant sleet and rain. I have never before experienced -such cold; but, on the other hand, I have never before had to stand -about all night in a severe frost (it was actually, I believe, from -10° to 15° below freezing point). At 2.0 a.m. the stars would glitter -with relentless mirth, as the cold pierced through two cardigans and -a sheepskin waistcoat. I have skated at night, but always to return -by midnight to fire and bed. Bed! At home people were sleeping as -comfortably as usual; a few extra blankets, perhaps, or more coals in -the grate! - -I was out five nights of the six. Captain Dixon was on leave, so we -only had three officers in “B,” and two had to go every night. Every -night at 9.30 the company would be fallen in and marched off to the -rendezvous, there, at 10.0, to join the rest of the battalion. There -was no singing; very little talking. In parts the road was very bad, -and we marched in file. The road was full of shell-holes, and bad -generally; the ice crackled and tinkled in the ruts and puddles; the -frozen mud inclined you to stumble over its ridges and bumps. It took -us the best part of an hour to reach our destination. The first night -we must have gone earlier than the other nights, as I distinctly -remember viewing by daylight those most amazing ruins. There was a -barrier across the road just before you entered the village; (a -barrier is usually made like this-- - -[Illustration] - -you can defend the road without blocking it to traffic; at the same -time it cannot be rushed by motor-cycles or armoured cars); then just -opposite were the few standing fragments of the church; bits of wall -and mullion here and there; and all around tombstones leaning in every -direction, rooted up, shattered, split. There was one of the crucifixes -standing untouched in the middle of it all, about which so much has -been written; whether it had fallen and been erected again I cannot -say. The houses were more smashed, crumpled, and chaotic than even -Cuinchy or Givenchy. - -I remember that corner very vividly, because at that spot came one of -the few occasions on which I had the “wind up” a little. Why, I know -not. We were halted a few moments, when two whizz-bangs shot suddenly -into a garden about twenty yards to our right, with a vicious “Vee-bm -... Vee-bm.” We moved on, and just as we got round the corner I saw -two flashes on my left, and two more shells hissed right over us and -fell with the same stinging snarl into the same spot, just twenty -yards _over_ us this time. I was, luckily, marching at the rear of the -company at the time, as I ducked and almost sprawled in alarm. For the -next minute or two I was all quivery. I am glad to know what it feels -like, as I have never experienced since such an abject windiness! I -believe it was mainly due to being so exposed on the hard hedgeless -road; or, perhaps that last pair did actually go particularly near me. -At any rate, such was my experience, and so I record it. - -[Illustration] - -At the entrance to the communication trench R.E. officers told us -off: “A” Company, “carrying party”; “B” Company to draw shovels and -picks and “follow me.” Then we started off along about a mile and a -half of communication trenches. I have already said that Festubert is -a very wet district, and it can easily be imagined that the drainage -problem is none of the easiest. This long communication trench had -been mastered by trench-mats fastened down on long pickets which were -driven deep down into the mud. The result was that the trench floor was -raised about two feet from the original bottom, and one walked along a -hollow-sounding platform over stagnant water. The sound reminded me of -walking along a wooden landing-stage off the end of a pier. Every few -hundred yards were “passing points,” presumably to facilitate passing -other troops coming in the other direction; but as I never had the good -fortune to meet the other troops at these particular spots, though -I did in many others, I cannot say they were particularly useful. -Another disadvantage about these water-logged trenches was that the bad -rains had made the water rise in several places even over the raised -trench-board platform; others were fastened on top; but even these were -often not enough. And when the frost came and froze the water on top of -the boards, the procession became a veritable cake-walk, humorous no -doubt to the stars and sky, but to the performers, feeling their way -in the thick darkness and ever slipping and plunging a boot and puttee -into the icy water at the side, a nightmare of painful and jarring -experiences. - -There was one junction of trenches where one had to cross a dyke full -of half-frozen water; there was always a congestion of troops here, -ration-parties, relieving-parties, and ourselves. All relieving had to -be done at night, as the trenches with their artificially raised floors -were no longer deep enough to give cover from view. This crossing had -to be negociated in a most gingerly fashion, and several men got wet to -their waists when compelled to cross while carrying an awkward-shaped -hurdle. After this, the trench was worse than ever; in parts it was -built with fire-steps on one side, and one could scramble on to this -and proceed on the dry for awhile; but even here the slippery sand-bags -would often treacherously slide you back into the worst part of the -iced platform, and so gave but a doubtful advantage. At last the open -was gained; then came the crossing of the old German trench, full -of all kinds of grim relics from the spring fighting. And so to our -destination. - -On the open ground lay a tracing of white tape like this-- - -[Illustration] - -forming a serpentine series of contacting squares; in the blackness -only two white-bordered squares were visible from one position. Each -man was given a square to dig. I forget the measurements; about two -yards square, I think, and two feet deep. The earth had to be thrown -about eight yards back against a breastwork of hurdles. These hurdles -were being brought up by the “carrying-parties” and fastened by wires -by the R.E’s; the R.E. officers had, of course, laid our white tapes -for us previously. Eventually the sentries will stand behind the -hurdle breastwork with a water-ditch ten yards in front of them, which -obstacle will be suitably enhanced by strong wire entanglements. - -But all this vision of completion is hid from the eyes of Private -Jones, who only knows he has his white-taped square to dig. Arms and -equipment are laid carefully on the side of the trench furthest from -the breastwork; and nothing can be heard but the hard breathing and -the shovelling and scraping of the “other ranks.” For two hours those -men worked their hardest; indeed, it was much the best job to have on -those cold nights. I did more digging then than I have ever done before -or since. “Come on, Davies, you’re all behind,” and for ten minutes -I would do an abnormal amount of shovelling, until, out of breath, I -would hand the boy back his shovel, and tell him to carry on, while all -aglow I went along the line examining the progress of the work. We had -quite a number of bullets singing and cracking across, and there were -one or two casualties every night. Sometimes flares would pop over, and -every one would freeze into static posture; but on the whole things -were very quiet, the enemy doubtless as full of water as ourselves. - -That intense cold! Yet I did not know then that it is far worse being -on sentry in the frost than marching and digging. And I am not sure -that the last night, when it rained incessantly, was not worse than -all the rest. We had a particularly bad piece of ground that night, -pitted with shell-holes, full of frozen water: you were bound to fall -in one at last, and get wet to the waist; but even if you did escape -that sticky humiliation, the driving sleet and rain were bad enough in -themselves. That was a night when I found certain sergeants sheltered -together in a corner; and certain other sergeants in the middle of -their men and the howling gale. I soon routed the former out, but did -not forget; and have since discovered how valuable a test of the good -and the useless N.C.O. is a working party in the rain. - -Never have I longed for 2.0 a.m. as I did that night! My feet were -wet, my body tired, my whole frame shivering with an approaching -cold. The men could do nothing any longer in that stinking slush -(for these old shell-holes of stagnant water were, to say the least -of it, unsavoury!). I was so heavy with sleep I could scarce keep my -eyes open. But when at last the order came from our second-in-command -“Cease work,” I was filled with a dogged energy that carried me back -to billets in the best of spirits, though I actually fell asleep -as I marched behind the company, and bumped into the last four, -when they halted suddenly half-way home! And so at four o’clock the -men tumbled upstairs to breakfast and braziers (thanks to a good -quartermaster-sergeant). I drank Bovril down below, and then, in -pyjamas, sweaters, and innumerable blankets, turned in till 11.0 a.m. -Next afternoon we left Rue de l’Epinette and halted at a village on the -road to Lillers, whence we were to train to “a more northern part of -the line,” and enjoy at last our long-earned rest. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -REST - - -Rumours were rife again, and mostly right this time. “The C.O. knew the -part we were going to: a chalk country ... rolling downs ... four or -five weeks’ rest ... field training thirty miles from the firing-line.” -Chalk downs! To a Kentish man the words were magic, after the dull -sodden flats of Flanders. I longed for a map of France, but could not -get hold of one. As we marched to Lillers I looked at the flat straight -roads and the ditches, at the weary monotony, uninspired by hill or -view, at the floods on the roads, and the uninteresting straightness of -the villages; and I felt that I was at the end of a chapter. Any change -must be better than this. And chalk! chalk! short dry turf, and slopes -with purple woods! I had forgotten these things existed. - -I forget the name of the village where we halted for two nights. I -had a little room to myself, reached by a rickety staircase from the -yard. One shut the staircase door to keep out the yard. Here several -new officers joined us, Clark being posted to our company, and soon I -began to see my last two months as history. For we began to tell our -adventures to Clark, who had never been in the firing-line! Think of -it! He was envious of our experiences! So I listened in awe and heard a -tale develop, a true tale, the tale of the night the mine went up. It -was no longer a case of disputing how many trench-mortars came over, -but telling an interested audience that trench-mortars _did_ come -over! Clark had never seen one. And I listened agape to hear myself -the hero of a humorous story. When the mine went up, I had come out of -my dug-out rather late and asked if anything had happened. This tale -became elaborated: I was putting my gloves on calmly, it seems, as -I strolled out casually and asked if anyone had heard a rather loud -noise! And so stories crystallised, a word altered here and there for -effect, but true, and as past history quite interesting. - -The move was made the occasion, by our C.O., of very elaborate and -careful operation orders. No details were left to chance, and a -conference of officers was called to explain the procedure of getting -a battalion on a train and getting it off again. As usual, the -officers’ valises had to be ready at a very early hour, and the company -mess-boxes packed correspondingly early. Edwards, I think, was detailed -as O.C. loading-party. Everything like this was down in the operation -orders. The adjutant had had a time of it. - -Certainly the entraining went like clockwork, and once more I was -seated in a grey-upholstered corridor carriage; the men were in those -useful adaptable carriages inscribed “Chevaux 10. Hommes 30.” Our -Tommies were evidently a kind of centaur class, for they went in -by twenties. As far as I can remember, we entrained at 10.0 a.m.; -we arrived at a station a few miles from Amiens at 9.0 p.m. A slow -journey, but I felt excited like a child. I must keep going to the -corridor to put my head out of the window. It was a sparkling, nippy -air; the smell of the steam, the grit of the engine--these were things -I had forgotten; and soon there were rolling plains, hills, clustering -villages. The route, through St. Pol, Doullens, and Canaples, is -ordinary enough, no doubt; and so, too, the gleam of white chalk -that came at last. But if you think that ordinary things cannot be -wonderful beyond measure, then go and live above ground and underground -in Flanders for two months on end in winter; then, perhaps, you will -understand a little of my good spirits. - -It was quite dark when we arrived. Then for three and a half hours -we waited in a meadow outside the station, arms piled, the men -sitting about on their waterproof sheets. Meanwhile the transport -detrained, a lengthy business. Tea was produced from those marvellous -field-kitchens. The night was cold, though, and it was too damp to sit -down. For hours we stood about, tired. Then came the news that our -six-mile march would be more like double six; that the billets had -been altered!... At half-past twelve we marched off. It was starlight, -but pretty dark. Eighteen miles we marched, reaching Montagne at -half-past seven; every man was in full marching kit, and most of them -carried sandbagfuls of extras. It was a big effort, especially as -the men had done nothing in the nature of a long march for months. -Well I remember it--the tired silence, the steady tramp, along the -interminable road. Sometimes the band would strike up for a little, but -even bands tire, and cannot play continuously. Mile after mile of hard -road, and then the hedges would spring up into houses, and from the -opened windows would gaze down awakened women. Hardly ever was a light -shown in any house. Then the village would be left behind, and men -shifted their packs and exchanged a sand-bag, unslung a rifle from one -shoulder to the other, and settled down to another stretch, wondering -if the next village would be the last. - -So it went on interminably all through the winter night. Once we -halted in a village, and I sat on a doorstep with O’Brien discussing -methods of keeping our eyes open. Edwards had been riding the horse, -and had nearly tumbled off asleep. At another halt, half-way up a hill, -I discovered a box of beef lozenges and distributed it among No. 6 -platoon. All the last ten miles I was carrying a rifle and a sand-bag. -Sergeant Callaghan had the same, besides all his own kit. Sergeant -Andrews kept on as steady as a rock. There were falterers, but we kept -them in; only in the last two miles did one or two drop out. And all -the while I was elated beyond measure; partly at seeing men like Ginger -Joe, with his dry wit flashing, and Tudor, with his stolid power; but -partly, too, at the climb uphill, the swing down, mysterious woods, and -the unmistakable trunks of pines. And all the time we were steadily -climbing; we must be upon a regular tableland. - -Dawn broke, and it got lighter and lighter--and so we entered Montagne. -The quartermaster had had a nice job billeting at 2.0 a.m., but he -had done it, and the men dropped on to their straw, into outhouses, -anywhere. The accommodation seemed small and bad, but that could be -arranged later. To get the men in, that was the main thing. One old -woman fussed terribly, and the men looked like bayoneting her! We soon -got the men in somehow. Then for our own billets. We agreed to have a -scratch breakfast as soon as it could be procured. Meanwhile I went to -the end of the village and found myself on the edge of the tableland; -before me was spread out a great valley, with a poplar-lined road flung -right across it; villages were dotted about; there were woods, and -white ribbon by-roads. And over it all glowed the slant morning sun. I -was on the edge of a chalky plateau; it was all just as I had imagined. -I slept from 11.0 a.m. to 7.0 p.m., when I got up for a meal at which -we were all short-tempered! And at 9.0 p.m. I retired again to sleep -till 7.0 next morning. - -Montagne--How shall I be able to create a picture of Montagne? As I -look back at all those eight months, the whole adventure seems unreal, -a dream; yet somehow those first few days in the little village had -for me a dream-like quality, unlike any other time. I think that then -I felt that I was living in an unreality; whereas at other times life -was real enough; and it is only now, afterwards, that these days are -gradually melting through distance into dreams. At any rate, if the -next few pages are dull to the reader, let him try and weave into -them a sort of fairy glamour, and imagine a kind of spell cast over -everything in which people moved as in a dream. - -First, there was the country itself. The next day (after a day’s sleep -and a night’s on top of it) was, if I remember right, rather wet, and -we had kit inspection in billets, and tried to eke out the hours by -gas-helmet drill, and arm-drill in squads distributed about the various -farmyards and barns. Then Captain Dixon decided to take the company -out on a short route march, and as it was raining very steadily we -took half the company with _two_ waterproof sheets per man. One sheet -was thrown round the shoulders in the usual way; the other was tied -kilt-wise round the waist. The result was an effective rainproof, if -unmilitary-looking dress! We set off and soon came to a large wood -with a broad ride through it. - -Along this ride we marched, two-deep now, and I at the rear as -second-in-command. Here I felt most strongly that strange glamour -of unreality. It was but three months ago, and I was in the heart -of Wales, yet such was the effect of a few months that I looked on -everything with the most exuberant sense of novelty. The rain-beads on -the red-brown birch trees; the ivy; the oaks; the strange stillness in -the thick wood after the gusts of wind and slashes of rain; especially -the sounds--chattering jays, invisible peeping birds, the squelching of -boots on a wet grass track--everything reminded me of a past world that -seemed immeasurably distant, of past winters that had been completely -forgotten. Then we emerged into a wide clearing along the edge of -the wood, full of stunted gorse and junipers. Long coarse grass grew -in tussocks that matted under foot; and now I could see the whole -company straggling along in front of me, slipping and sliding about -on the wet grass in their curious kilt-like costumes, some of which -were now showing signs of uneasiness and tending to slip in rings to -the ground. Everyone was very pleased with life. A halt was called -at length, and while officers discussed buying shot-guns at Amiens, -or stalking the wily hare with a revolver, Tommy, I have reason to -believe, was planning more effective means of snaring Brer rabbit. Next -day in orders appeared an extract from corps orders _re_ prohibition -of poaching and destruction of game. It was all part of the dream that -we were surprised, almost shocked, at this unwarranted exhibition of -property rights! Not that there was much game about, anyhow. - -The next day we did an advance guard scheme, down in the plain. It -was a crisp winter day, and I remember the great view from the top of -the hill, on the edge of the plateau as you leave Montagne. It was -all mapped out, with its hedgeless fields, its curling white roads, -and its few dark triangles and polygons of fir woods. But we had not -long to see it, for we came into observation then (so this dream game -pretended!) and were soon in extended order working our way along over -the plain. It all came back to one, this “open warfare” business, the -advancing in short rushes, the flurried messages from excited officers -to stolid platoon-sergeants, the taking cover, the fire-orders, the -rattling of the bolts, the lying on the belly in a ploughed field; and -yes! the spectator, old man or woman, gazing in stupid amazement at the -khaki figures rushing over his fields. Then came the assault, bayonets -fixed, and the C.O.’s whistle, ending the game for that day. “Game,” -that was it: it is all a game, and when you get tired you go home to a -good meal, and discuss the humour of it, and probably have a pow-wow in -the evening in which the O.C. “A” is asked why he went off to the left, -the real answer being that he lost direction badly, but the actual -answer given explaining the subtlety of a detour round a piece of dead -ground! Which is the dream? this, or the mud-slogging in the trenches -and the interminable nights? - -For, every night we went to bed! Think of it! Every night! Always that -bed, that silence, that priceless privacy of sleep! I had a rather cold -ground-floor billet with a door that would not shut; yet it was worth -any of your beds at home! And I should be here for a month, perhaps -six weeks! I wrote for my basin and stand, for books, for all sorts of -things. I felt I could accumulate, and spread myself. It was like home -after hotels! For always we had been moving, moving; even our six days -out were often in two or even three different billets. - -So, too, with our mess. The dream here consisted of a jolly little -parlour that was the envy of all the other company messes. As usual, -the rooms led into one another, the kitchen into the parlour, the -parlour into a bedroom; I might almost continue, and say the bedroom -into a bed! For the four-poster, when curtained off, is a little room -in itself. It was a good billet, but best of all was Madame herself. -Suffice it to say she would not take a penny for use of crockery; and -she would insist on us making full use of everything; she allowed -all our cooking to be done in her kitchen; and on cold nights she -would insist on our servants sitting in the kitchen, though that was -her only sitting-room. Often have I come in about seven o’clock to -find our dinner frizzling merrily on the fire under the supervision -of Gray, the cook, while Madame sat humbly in the corner eating a -frugal supper of bread and milk, before retiring to her little room -upstairs. Ah, Madame! there are many who have done what you have done, -but few, I think, more graciously. If we tried to thank her for some -extra kindness, she had always the same reply “You are welcome, M. -l’Officier. I have heard the guns, and the Germans passed through -Amiens; if it were not for the English, where should we be to-day?” - -So we settled down for our “rest,” for long field days, lectures -after tea, football matches, and week-ends; I wrote for my Field -Service Regulations, and rubbed up my knowledge of outposts and visual -training. But scarcely had I been a week at Montagne when off I went -suddenly, on a Sunday morning, to the Third Army School. I had been -told my name was down for it, a few days before, but I had forgotten -all about it, when I received instructions to bicycle off with Sergeant -Roberts; my kit and servant to follow in a limber. I had no idea -what the “Third Army School” was, but with “note-book, pencil, and -protractor” I cycled off at 11.0 a.m. “to fields and pastures new.” - -Most people, I imagine, have had the following experience. They have -a great interest in some particular subject, yet they have somehow not -got the key to it. They regret that they were never taught the elements -of it at school; or it is some new science or interest that has arisen -since their schooldays, such as flying or motoring. They are really -ashamed of asking questions; and all books on the subject are technical -and presuppose just that elementary knowledge that the interested -amateur does not possess. Then suddenly he comes on a book with those -delicious phrases in the preface promising “to avoid all technical -details,” apologising for “what may seem almost childishly elementary,” -and containing at the end an expert bibliography. These are the books -written by very wise and very kind men, and because they are worth so -much they usually cost least of all! - -Such was my delightful experience at the Army School. I will confess to -a terrible ignorance of my profession--I did not know how many brigades -made up a division; “the artillery” were to me vague people whom the -company commander rang up on the telephone, and who appeared in gaiters -in Béthune; a bomb was a thing I avoided with a peculiar aversion; and -as to the general conduct of the war I was the most ignorant of pawns. -The wildest things were said about Loos; the _Daily Mail_ had just -heard of the Fokker, and I had not the remotest idea whether we were -hopelessly outclassed in the air, or whether perhaps after all there -were people “up top” who were not so surprised or disconcerted at the -appearance of the Fokker as the Northcliffe Press. Moreover, I had been -impressed with the reiteration of my C.O., that my battalion was the -finest in the Army, and that my division was likewise the best. Yet I -had always felt that there were other good battalions, and that “K.’s -Army” was, to say the least of it, in a considerable majority when -compared with the contemptible little original which I had had the luck -to join! - -Imagine my delight, then, at finding myself one of over a hundred -captains and senior subalterns representing their various battalions. -Regulars, Territorials, and Kitcheners, we were all there together; -one’s vision widened like that of a boy first going to school. Here -at least was a great opportunity, if only the staff was good. And any -doubt on that question was instantly set at rest by the Commandant’s -opening address, explaining that the instructors were all picked men -with a large experience in this war, that in the previous month’s -course mostly subalterns had been sent and this time it had been -the aim to secure captains only (oh! balm in Gilead this!) and that -apologies were due if some of the lectures and instructions were -elementary; that bombing experts, for instance, must not mind if the -bombing course started right at the very beginning, as it had been -found in the previous course that it was wrong to presume _any_ -military knowledge to be the common possession of all officers in the -school. Those who understood my simile of the expert’s kind book to the -amateur will understand that there were few of us who did not welcome -such a promising bill of fare. - -I do not intend to say much about the instruction at the Army School--a -good deal of what I learnt there is unconsciously embodied in the rest -of this book--but it is the spirit of the place that I want to record. -I can best describe it as the opposite of what is generally known as -academic. Theories and text-books about the war were at a discount: -here were men who had been through the fire, every phase of it. It was -not a question of opinions, but of facts. This came out most clearly in -discussions after the lectures; a point would be raised about advancing -over the open: “We attacked at St. Julien over open ground under heavy -fire, and such and such a thing was our experience” would at once come -out from someone. And there was no scoring of debating points! We were -all out to pool our knowledge and experience all the time. - -The Commandant inspired in everyone a most tremendous enthusiasm. His -lectures on “Morale” were the finest I have ever heard anywhere. “Put -yourself in your men’s position on every occasion; continually think -for them, give them the best possible time, be in the best spirits -always;” “long faces” were anathema! No one can forget his tale of the -doctor who never laughed, and whom he put in a barn and taught him how -to! “‘Hail fellow well met’ to all other officers and regiments” was -another of his great points. “Give ’em a d--d good lunch--a _d--d_ -good lunch.” “Get a good mess going.” “Ask your Brigadier into lunch -in the trenches: _make_ him come in.” “Concerts?--plenty of concerts -in billets.” “An extra tot of rum to men coming off patrol.” All this -was a “good show.” But long faces, inhospitality, men not cheerful -and singing, officers not seeing that their men get their dinners, -after getting into billets, before getting their own; officers -supervising working-parties by sitting under haystacks instead of -going about cheering the men; brigadiers not knowing their officers; -poor lunches--all these things were a “bad show, a d--d bad show!” -These lectures were full of the most delicious anecdotes and thrilling -stories, and backed up by a huge enthusiasm and a most emphatic -practice of his preaching. We had a concert every Wednesday, and every -Saturday the four motor-buses took the officers into Amiens, and the -sergeants on Sundays--week-ends were in fact “good shows.” - -Then there were the lectures. The second week, for instance, was a -succession of lectures on the Battle of Loos. These lectures used to -take place after tea, and the discussion usually lasted till dinner. -First was a lecture by an infantry major of the Seventh Division (who -needless to say had been very much in it!). Then followed one by an -artillery officer, giving his version of it; then followed an R.E. -officer. There was nothing hidden away in a corner. It was all facts, -facts, facts. An enlarged map of our own and the German trenches was -most fascinating to us who had for the most part never handled one -before. I remember the Major’s description of the fighting in the -Quarries; it was one of the most vivid bits of narrative I have ever -heard. Then there were other fascinating lectures--Captain Jefferies, -the big game hunter, on Sniping: the Commandant again on Patrol work -and discipline, and Dealing with prisoners: two lectures from the Royal -Flying Corps, perhaps most fascinating of all. - -We drilled hard with rifles: we took a bombing course and threw live -bombs: we went through the gas, and had a big demonstration with smoke -bombs: we went to a squadron of the R.F.C., inspected the sheds, saw -the aeroplanes, and had anything we liked explained: we went out in -motor-buses and carried out schemes of attack and defence: we did -outpost schemes: drew maps: dug trenches and revetted them. In short, -there was very little we did not do at the School. - -It was, in fact, a “good show.” The School was in a big white château -on the main road--a new house built by the owner of a factory. The -village really lies like a sediment at the bottom of a basin, with -houses clustering and scrambling up the sides along the high road -running out of it east and west, getting thinner and fewer up the hill, -to disappear altogether on the tableland. The jute factory was working -hard night and day: we used to have hot baths in the long wooden -troughs that are used for dyeing long rolls of matting, and I know no -hot baths to equal those forty-footers! - -Needless to say, we took advantage of our commandant’s arrangement for -free ‘bus rides into Amiens every Saturday. Christmas Day falling on -a Saturday, we all had a Christmas dinner at the Hôtel de l’Univers. -This, needless to say, was a “good show.” It was a pity, though, that -turkey had been insisted on, as turkey with salad, minus sausages, -bread-sauce, and brussels sprouts did not seem somehow the real thing; -the chef had jibbed at sausages especially! Better at Rome to have -done completely as Rome does. After all we cannot give the French much -advice in cooking or in war. Otherwise the dinner was good, and unlike -our folk at home we had a merry Christmas. - -Of course I went to see the Cathedral that Ruskin has claimed to be -the most perfect building in the world; indeed, each Saturday found me -there; for like all true beauty the edifice does not attract merely -by novelty but satisfies the far truer test of familiarity. Yet I -confess to a thrill on first entering that dream in stone, which could -not come a second time. For down in the mud I had forgotten, in the -obsession of the present, man’s dreams and aspirations for the future. -Now, here again I was in touch with eternal things that wars do not -affect. I remember once at Malvern we had been groping and choking in -a thick fog all day; then someone suggested a walk, and three of us -ventured out and climbed the Beacon. Half-way up the fog began to thin, -and soon we emerged into a clear sunshine. Below lay all the plain -wrapped in a great level blanket of white fog; here and there the top -of a tall tree or a small hill protruded its head out of the mist and -seemed to be laughing at its poor hidden companions; and in a cloudless -blue the sun was smiling at mankind below who had forgotten his very -existence. So in Amiens Cathedral I used to get my head out of the -thick fog of war for a time, and in that stately silence recover my -vision of the sun. - -The cathedral is a building full of all the freshness of spring. I -was at vespers there on Christmas afternoon, and was then impressed -by the wonderful lightness of the building: so often there is gloom -in a cathedral, that gives a heavy feeling. But Amiens Cathedral is -perfectly lighted, and in the east window glows a blue that reminded -me of viper’s bugloss in a Swiss meadow. My imagination flew back to -the building of the cathedral, and to the brain that conceived it, and -beyond that again to the tradition that through long years moulded -the conception; and behind all to the idea, the ultimate birth of -this perfect creation. And one seemed to be straining almost beyond -humanity, to see the first spring flowers looking up in wonder at the -sky. The stately pillars were man’s aspiration towards his Creator, the -floating music his attempt at praise. - -Yet it was only as I left the building that I found the key to the -full understanding of this perfect expression of an idea. Round the -chancel is a set of bas-reliefs depicting a saint labouring among his -people. But what people! They live, they speak! The relief is so deep, -that some of the figures are almost in the round, and several come -outside the slabs altogether. They are the people of mediæval Amiens; -they are the very people who were living in the town while their great -cathedral rose stone by stone to be the wonder of their city, the pride -of all Picardy. Almost grotesque in their vivid humanity, they are the -same people who walk outside the cathedral to-day. The master-artist, -greater in his dreams than his fellow men, was yet blessed with that -divine sense of humour that made him love them for their quaint -smallnesses! So in Amiens I felt a double inspiration: there was -man’s offering of his noblest and most beautiful to his Creator, and -there was also the reminder, in the saint among the Amiens populace, -that God’s answer was not a proud bend of the head as He deigned to -accept the offering of poor little man, but a coming down among them, -a claiming of equality with them, even though they refuse still to -realise their divinity, and choose to live in a self-made suffering and -to degrade themselves in a fog of war. - -All too quickly the month went by. The enthusiasm and interest of -everybody grew in a steady crescendo, and no one, I am sure, will -ever forget the impression left by the Major-General who was deputed -to come and “tell us one or two things” from the General Staff. In a -quiet voice, with a quiet smile, he compared our position with that of -a year ago; told us facts about our numbers compared with the enemy’s; -our guns compared with his; the real position in the air, the temporary -superiority of the Fokker that would vanish completely and finally -in a month or so; in everything we were now superior except heavy -trench-mortars, and in a month or so we should have a big supply of -them too, and a d--d sight heavier! And we could afford to wait. One -got the impression that all our grousings and doubtings were completely -out of date, that up at the top now was a unity of command that had -thought everything out and could afford to wait. Later on I forgot -this impression, but I remember it so well now. Even through Verdun we -could afford to wait. We had all the cards now. There was a sort of -breathless silence throughout this quiet speech. And when it ended with -a “Good luck to you, gentlemen,” there was applause; but one’s chief -desire was to go outside and shout. It was a bonfire mood: best of all -would have been a bonfire of _Daily Mails_! - -We returned to our units on Sunday, 9th January, 1916, by motor-bus, -which conveyed us some sixty or seventy miles, when we were dropped, -Sergeant Roberts, myself, and Lewis, my servant. Leaving Lewis with -my valise, we walked in the moonlight up to Montagne, where I got the -transport officer to send a limber for my valise. “O’Brien on leave” -was the first thing I grasped, as I tried to acclimatise myself to my -surroundings. Leave! My three months was up, so I ought to get leave -myself in a week or so; in a few days in fact. My first leave! The next -week was rosy from the prospect. My second impression was like that of -a poet full of a great sunset and trying to adjust himself to the dry -unimaginative remarks of the rest of the community who have relegated -sunsets to perdition during dinner. For every one was so dull! They -groused, they maligned the Staff, they were pessimistic, they were -ignorant, oh! profoundly ignorant; they were in fact in a state of not -having seen a vision! I could not believe then that the time would come -when I, too, should forget the vision, and fix my eyes on the mud! -Still, for the moment, I was immensely surprised, though I was not such -a fool as to start at once on a general reform of everyone, starting -with the Brigadier. For under the Commandant’s influence one felt -ready to tell off the Brigadier, if he didn’t get motor-’buses to take -your men to a divisional concert instead of saying the men must march -three miles to it. But, as I say, I restrained myself. - -A week of field days, of advance guards and attacks in open order, of -battalion drill, company drill, arm-drill, gas-helmet drill; lectures -in the school in the evening, and running drill before breakfast. Yet -all the time I felt chafing to get back into the firing-line. I felt so -much better equipped to command my men. I wanted to practise all my new -ideas. Then my leave came through. - -Leave “comes through” in the following manner. The lucky man receives -an envelope from the orderly room, in the corner of which is written -“Leave.” Inside is an “A” Form (Army Form C 2121) with this magic -inscription: “Please note you will take charge of ---- other ranks -proceeding on leave to-morrow morning, 17th inst. They will parade -outside orderly room at 7.0 a.m. sharp.” Then follow instructions as -to where to meet the ’bus. “Take charge!” If you blind-folded those -fellows they would find their way somehow by the quickest route to -Blighty! The officer is then an impossible person to live with. He is -continually jumping about, upsetting everybody, getting sandwiches, and -discussing England, looking at the paper to see “What’s on” in town, -talking, being unnecessarily bright and cheery. He is particularly -offensive in the eyes of the man just come back from leave. Still, it -is his day; abide with him until he clears off! So they abode with me -until the evening, and next morning Oliver and I started off in the -darkness with our four followers. As we left the village it was just -beginning to lighten a little, and we met the drums just turning out, -cold and sleepy. As we sprang down the hill, leaving Montagne behind -us, faintly through the dawn we heard réveillé rousing our unfortunate -comrades to another Monday morning! - -Then came the long, long journey that nobody minds really, though every -one grumbles at it. At B---- an hour’s halt for omelettes and coffee -and bread and jam, while the Y.M.C.A. stall supplied tea and buns -innumerable. B---- will be a station known for all time to thousands. -“Do you remember B----?” we shall ask each other. “Oh! yes. Good -omelettes one got there.” Then the port, and fussy R.T.O’s again. Why -make a fuss, when everyone is magnetised towards the boat? Under the -light of a blazing gas-jet squirting from a pendant ball, we crossed -the gangway. - - * * * * * - -There were men of old time who fell on their native earth and kissed -it, on returning after exile. We did not kiss the boards of Southampton -pier-head, but we understood the spirit that inspired that action as -we steamed quietly along the Solent over a grey and violet sea. There -were mists that morning, and the Hampshire coast was grey and vague; -but steadily the engine throbbed, and we glided nearer and nearer, -entered Southampton Water, and at last were near enough to see houses -and fields and people. People. English women. - -We disembarked. But what dull people to meet us! Officials and watermen -who have seen hundreds of leave-boats arrive--every day in fact! The -last people to be able to respond to your feelings. Still, what does it -matter? There is the train, and an English First! Some one started to -run for one, and in a moment we were all running!... - -But you have met us on leave. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -ON THE MARCH - - -On this leave I most religiously visited relations and graciously -received guests. For one thing, I felt it my duty to dispel all this -ignorant pessimism that I found rolling about in large chunks, like the -thunder in _Alice in Wonderland_. I exacted apologies, humble apologies -from them. “How can we help it?” they pleaded. “We have no means of -knowing anything except through the papers.” - -“No, I suppose you can’t help it,” I would reply, and forgive them from -my throne of optimism. Eight days passed easily enough. - -After dinner sometimes comes indigestion: people enjoy the one and -not the other. So after leave comes the return from leave, the one -in Tommy-French _bon_, the other _no bon_. I hope I do not offend by -calling the state of the latter a mental indigestion! It was with a -kind of fierce joy that we threw out our bully and biscuits to the -crowds of French children who lined the railway banks crying out, -“Bullee-beef,” “Biskeet.” The custom of supplying these rations on the -leave train has long since been discontinued now, but in those days -the little beggars used to know the time of the train to a nicety, and -must have made a good trade of it. - -As soon as I got back to Montagne I heard a “move” was in the air, and -I was delighted. I was fearfully keen to get back into the firing-line -again. I was full of life, and in the mood for adventure. I started a -diary. Here are some extracts. - -“29th January, 1916. Lewis (my servant) brought in a bucket of water -this morning which contained 10% of mud. As the mud dribbled on to the -green canvas of my bath during the end of the pouring, he saw it for -the first time. Apparently the well is running dry.... He managed to -get some clean water at length and I had a great bath. Madame asked -me as I went in to breakfast why I whistled getting up that morning. -I tried to explain that I was in good spirits. It was an exhilarating -morning; outside was a great cawing of rooks, and the slant sunlight -lit up everything with a rich colour; the mouldy green on the twigs of -the apple trees was a joy to see. Later in the day I noticed how all -this delicious morning light had gone. - -“7 p.m. Orders have just come in for the move to-morrow. Loading party -at 6.0 a.m. under Edwards, who is inwardly fed up but outwardly quite -pleased. Valises to be ready by 6.45 a.m. Dixon grouses as usual at -orders coming in late. These moves always try the tempers of all -concerned. O’Brien and Edwards are now on the rustle, collecting kit. -We have accumulated rather a lot of papers, books, tins of ration, -tobacco, etc.” - -Madame was genuinely sorry to see us go. We gave her a large but -beautiful ornament for her mantelpiece, suitably inscribed. The dear -soul was overwhelmed, and drew cider from a cellar hitherto unknown to -us, which she pressed on our servants as well as on us. We made the -fellows drink it, though they were not very keen on it! - - * * * * * - -“30 Jan., 1916. Montagne--Vaux-en-Amienois. I found myself suddenly -detailed as O.C. rear party, in lieu of Edwards, who has to remain -in Montagne and hand over to the incoming battalion. At 9.30 three -A.S.C. lorries arrived, and we loaded up. I had about forty men for the -job. It was good to see these boys heaving up rolls of many-coloured -blankets, which filled nearly two lorries; the third was packed with -a mixture of boilers, dixies, brooms, spades, lamps, etc. The leather -and skin waistcoats had to be left behind for a second journey: I left -the shoemaker-sergeant and four men with these to await the return of -one of the lorries. As we worked a fog rolled up, which was to stay all -day. Edwards meanwhile saw to it that all the odd coal and wood left -at the transport was taken to our good Madame; this much annoyed the -groups of women who peered like vultures from the doorways, ready to -squabble over the pickings as soon as the last of us had departed. - -Farewell to Montagne. All the fellows were dull. Even Sawyer the -smiling, who had been prominent with his cheery face in the loading-up, -was silent and dull. No life. No spirit. A mournful lot, save for the -plum-pudding dog that galloped ahead and on either flank, smelling and -pouncing and tossing his mongrel ears in delight. He belonged to one of -the men, a gift from a warm-hearted daughter of France. - -A dull lot, I say. I rallied them. I persuaded. I whistled, hoping -to put a tune into their dull hearts; and as we swung downhill into -Riencourt they began to sing. It was but a sorry thin sort of singing -though, like a winter sunshine; there was no power behind it, no joy, -no spontaneity. Suddenly, however, as we came into the village, there -was a company of the Warwicks falling in, and everyone sang like fury. -Baker, one of the last draft, was the moving spirit. But he is young to -this life, and later on, when the fog had entered their souls again, he -said he could not well sing with a pack on. Yet is not that the very -time to sing, is not that the very virtue of singing, the conquest of -the poor old body by the indomitable spirit? - -It was a fifteen-mile march. At the third halt I gave half an hour for -the eating of bread and cheese. Then was the hour of the plum-pudding -hound; also appeared a sort of Newfoundland collie, very big in the -hind-quarters, and very dirty as well as ill-bred. Between them they -made rich harvest of crusts and cheese. We sat on a bank along the -road, but after half an hour we were all getting cold in the raw air, -and I fell them in again, and we got on our way. Soon they warmed up -and whistled and sang for a quarter of an hour; then silence returned, -and eyes turned to the ground again. This march began to tell on the -older men. Halford fell out, and I sent Corporal Dewey to bring him -along, hastily scribbling the name of our destination on a slip torn -from my field-message book, and giving it to him. Then Riley fell out, -and Flynn. I began to dread the appearance of Sergeant Hayman from -the rear, to tell me of some one else. They were men, these, who had -been employed on various jobs; the older and weaker men. There was no -skrim-shanking, for there was no Red Cross cart behind us. But no one -else fell out; the pace was steady and they were as fit as anything, -these fellows. Then happened an incident. We had just turned off the -main Amiens road, and come to a forked road. I halted a moment to -make sure of the way by the map, and while I did so apparently some -sergeant from a regiment billeted in the village there told Sergeant -Hayman that the battalion had taken the left road. The way was to the -right, and as I struck up a steep hill, Sergeant Hayman ran up and told -me the battalion (which had started nearly two hours before us) had -gone to the left. ‘I’m going to the right, sergeant,’ said I. And the -sergeant returned to the rear. Up, up, up. Grind, grind, grind. I began -to hear signs of doubt behind. ‘Did you hear that? Said the battalion -went t’other way,’ and so on. ‘Ain’t ’e got a map all right?’ from a -believer. ‘Three kilos more,’ I said at the next stop. But some of the -fellows had got it into their heads, I could see, that we were wrong. -I studied the map; there was no doubt we were all right. Yet a mistake -would be calamitous, as the men were very done. Ah! a kilo-stone! ‘Two -kilos to ----,’ a place not named on the map at all. This gave me a -qualm; and behind came the usual mispronunciations of this annoying -village on the stone. But lo! on the left came a turning as per map. -Round we swung, downhill, and suddenly we were in a village. Another -qualm as I saw it full of Jocks. The doubters were just beginning to -realise this fact, when we turned another corner, and almost fell on -top of the C.O.! In five minutes we were in billets....” - - * * * * * - -The next day we marched to the village of Querrieux. There I heard the -guns again after two months. - - * * * * * - -“31st January. This evening was full of the walking tour spirit, the -spirit of good company. We were billeted at a farmhouse, and the -farmer showed Captain Dixon and me all round his farm. He was full of -pride in everything; of his horses first of all. There were three in -the first stable, sleek and strong; then we saw _la mère_, a beautiful -mare in foal; then lastly there was ‘Piccaninny,’ a yearling. All the -stables were spotlessly clean, and the animals well kept. But to see -him with his lambs was best of all. The ewes were feeding from racks -that ran all along both sides of the sheds, and his lantern showed -two long rows of level backs, solid and uniform and dull; while in -the middle of the shed was a jocund company of close-cropped lambs, -frisking, pushing, jostling, or pulling at their dams; as lively and -naughty a crew as you could imagine. ‘Ah! _voleur_,’ cried our friend, -picking up a lamb that was stealing a drink from the wrong tap, and -pointing to its dam at the other end of the shed; he fondled and -stroked it like a puppy, making us hold it, and assuring us it was not -_méchant_! - -At 7.0 we had our dinner in the kitchen. The farmer, his wife, and the -_domestique_ (a manservant, whose history I will tell in a few minutes) -had just finished, and were going to clear off; but we asked them to -stay and let us drink their health in whiskey and soda. The farmer said -this was wont to make the _domestique_ go ‘zigzag’; for himself, he -would drink, not for the inherent pleasure of the whiskey, which was -a strong drink to which he was unused, he being of the land of light -wines, but to give us pleasure! So the usual healths were given in Old -Orkney and Perrier. Then we were told the history of the _domestique_, -which brought one very close to the spirit in which France is fighting. -He had eight children in Peronne, barely ten miles the other side of -the line. Called up in September, 1914, he was in the trenches until -March, 1915, when he was released on account of his eight children. -But by then the living line had set between them in steel and blood, -and never a word yet has he heard of his wife and eight children, the -youngest of whom he left nine days old! There are times when our cause -seems clouded with false motives; but there seemed no doubt on this -score to-night, as we watched this man in his own land, creeping up, -as it were, as near as possible to his wife and children and home, -and yet barred from his own village, and without the knowledge even -that his own dear ones were alive. The farmer told us he had gone half -crazed. Yet he had a fine face, though furrowed with deep lines down -his forehead. ‘Ten minutes in the yard with the Germans--ah! what would -he do!’ And vividly he drew his hand across his throat. But the Germans -would never go back: that was another of his opinions. No wonder he -told us he doubted the _bon Dieu_: no wonder he sometimes went zigzag. - -The farmer was well educated, and had very intelligent views on -the war; one son was a captain; the other was also serving in some -capacity. The wife made us good coffee, but got very sleepy. I learnt -she rose every morning at 4.0 a.m. to milk the cows. - -To-night we can hear the guns. There seems a considerable liveliness at -several parts of the line, and strange rumours of the Germans breaking -through, which I do not believe. To-morrow we shall be within the -shell-zone again.” - -“Feb. 1st. To-day we marched to Morlancourt and are spending the night -in huts. It is very cold, and we have a brazier made out of a biscuit -tin, but it smokes abominably. We are busy getting trench-kit ready -for the next day. From outside the hut I can see star-lights, and hear -machine-guns tapping. It thrills like the turning up of the footlights.” - - * * * * * - -And it was a long act. The curtain did not fall till June. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE BOIS FRANÇAIS TRENCHES - - -This is a chapter of maps, diagrams, and technicalities. There are -people, I know, who do not want maps, to whom maps convey practically -nothing. These people can skip this chapter, and (from their point of -view) they will lose nothing. The main interest of life lies in what -is done and thought, and it does not much matter exactly where these -acts and thoughts take place. Maps are like anatomy: to some people it -is of absorbing interest to know where our bones, muscles, arteries -and all the rest of our interior lie; to others these things are of no -account whatever. Yet all are alike interested in human people. And -so, quite understanding (I think you are really very romantic in your -dislike of maps: you associate them with the duller kind of history, -and examination papers!), I bid you mapless ones farewell till page -117, promising you (again) that you shall lose nothing. - - * * * * * - -Now to work. We understand each other, we map-lovers. The other folk -have gone on to the next chapter, so we can take our time. - -[Illustration: - - _To face page 97_ - -MAP II.] - -Now look at Map II. The River Ancre runs down west of the Thiepval -ridge, through Albert, and then in a south-westerly course through -Méricourt-l’abbé down to Corbie, where it joins the Somme on its way to -Amiens. On each side of the Ancre is high ground of about 100 metres. -The high ground between the Ancre and the Somme forms a long tableland. -There is no ridge, it is just high flat country, from three hundred and -thirty to three hundred and forty feet, cultivated and hedgeless. Now -look at Fricourt. It is a break in this high ground running on the left -bank of the Ancre, and this break is caused by a nameless tributary of -that river, that joins it just west of Méaulte. And now you will see -that this little streamlet was for over a year and a half the cause of -much thought and labour to very many men indeed: for this stream formed -the valley in which Fricourt lies; and right across this valley, just -south of that unimportant little village, ran for some twenty months or -so the Franco-German and later the Anglo-German lines. - -Now look at the dotted line (--·--·) which represents the trenches. -From Thiepval down to Fricourt they run almost due north and south; -then they run up out of the valley on to the high ground at Bois -Français (a small copse, I suppose, once; I have never discovered any -vestige of a tree-stump among the shell-holes), and then abruptly run -due east. It is as though someone had appeared suddenly on the corner -of the shoulder at Bois Français, and pushed them off, compelling -them to make a détour. After five miles they manage to regain their -direction and run south again. - -It is these trenches at Bois Français that we held for over four -months. I may fairly claim to know every inch of them, I think! It is -obvious that if you are at Bois Français, and look north, you have -an uninterrupted view not only of both front lines running down into -Fricourt valley, but of both lines running up on to the high ground -north of Fricourt, and a very fine view indeed of Fricourt itself, -and Fricourt wood. It is also quite clear that from their front lines -north of Fricourt the Germans had a good view of _our_ front lines and -communications in the valley; but of Bois Français and our trenches -east of it they had no enfilade view, as all our communications were -on the reverse slope of this shoulder of high ground. So as regards -observation we were best off. Moreover, whereas they could not possibly -see our support lines and communications at Bois Français, we could get -a certain amount of enfilade observation of their trenches opposite -from point 87, where was a work called Boute Redoubt and an artillery -observation post. - -The position of the artillery immediately becomes clear, when the -lie of the ground is once grasped. For field artillery enfilade fire -is far most effective, as the trajectory is lower than that of heavy -artillery. That is to say, a whizz-bang (the name given to an 18-lb. -shell) more or less skims along the ground and comes _at_ you; whereas -howitzers fire up in the air, and the shell rushes down on top of you. -To be explicit at the risk of boring:-- - -If a battery of eighteen-pounders can fire up a trench like this:-- - -[Illustration: (_a_)] - -it has far more effect against the nine men in that trench than if it -fires like this: - -[Illustration: (_b_)] - -The same applies of course to howitzers, but as howitzers drop shells -down almost perpendicularly, they can be used with great effect -traversing along a trench, that is to say, getting the exact range of -the trench in sketch (_b_), and dropping shells methodically from right -to left, or left to right, so many to each fire-bay, and dodging about -a bit, and going back on to a bit out of turn so that the enemy cannot -tell where the next coal-box is coming. Oh! it is a great game this for -the actors, but not for the unwilling audience. - -So you can see now why a battery of field artillery was stationed in -the gully called Gibraltar, and another just west of Albert (at B): -each of these batteries could bring excellent enfilade fire on to the -German trenches. There was another battery that fired from the place -I have marked C, and another at D. The howitzers lived in all sorts -of secret places, as far back as Morlancourt some of them. One never -worried about them. They knew their own business. Once, in June, on our -way into the trenches we halted close by a battery at E, and I looked -into one of the gun-pits and saw the terrible monster sitting with its -long nose in the air. And I saw the great shells (it was a 9·6) waiting -in rows. But I felt like an interloper, and fled at the approach of a -gunner. All these howitzers you see firing on the Somme films, we never -saw or thought about; only we loved to hear their shells whistling and -“griding” (if there is no such word, I cannot help it: there is an “r” -and a “d” in the sound anyway!) over our head, and falling “crump,” -“crump,” “crump” along the German support trenches. There were a lot -of batteries in the Bois des Tailles; the woods were full of them, and -grew fuller and fuller. I do not know what they all were. - -As one brigade contains four battalions, we almost invariably had -two battalions in the line, and two “in billets.” So it was usually -“six days in and six days out.” During these six days out we also -invariably supplied four working-parties per company, which lasted -nine hours from the time of falling in outside company headquarters -to dismissing after marching back. Still, it was “billets.” One -slept uninterruptedly, and with equipment and boots off. Now we were -undeniably lucky in being invariably (from February to June, 1916) -billeted in Morlancourt, which, as you can see from the map, is -situated in a regular cup with high ground all round it. I have put in -the 50-metre contour line to show exactly how the roads all run down -into it from every quarter. It was a cosy spot, and a very jolly thing -after that long, long weary grind up from Méaulte at the end of a weary -six days in, to look down on the snug little village waiting for you -below. For once over the hill and “swinging” down into Morlancourt, -one became, as it were, cut off from the war suddenly and completely. -It was somewhat like shutting the door on a stormy night: everything -outside was going on just the same, but with it was shut out also a -wearing, straining tension of body and mind. - -Yes, we were very lucky in being billeted at Morlancourt. It was just -too far off to be worth shelling, whereas Bray was shelled regularly -almost every day. So was Méaulte. And there were brigades billeted -in both Bray and Méaulte. There were troops in tents in the Bois des -Tailles, and this too was sometimes shelled. - -Now just look, please, at the two thick lines, which represent -alternative routes to the trenches. We were always able to relieve -by day, thanks to the rolling nature of the country. (Where the line -is dotted, this represents a trench.) We always used to go by the -route through Méaulte at one time, until they took to shelling the -road at the point I have marked Z; whether they could see us from -an observation post up la-Boiselle way, or whether they spotted us -by observation balloon or aeroplane, one cannot say. But latterly -we always used the route by the Bois des Tailles and Gibraltar. -In both cases we had to cross the high ground S.W. of point 71 by -trench, but on arrival at that point we were again in a valley and -out of observation. All along this road were a series of dug-outs, -and here were companies in reserve, R.E. headquarters, R.A.M.C. -dressing-station, field kitchens, stores, etc. And here the transport -brought up rations every evening viâ Bray. One could walk about here, -completely secure from view; but latterly they took to shelling it, and -it was not a healthy spot then. It was also enfiladed occasionally by -long-range machine-gun fire. But on the whole it was a good spot, and -one had a curious sensation being able to walk about on an open road -within a thousand yards of the Germans. The dug-outs called “71 North” -were the best. The bank sloped up very steeply from the road, thus -protecting the dug-outs along it from anything but shell-fire of very -high trajectory. And this the Germans never used. However, one did not -want to walk too far along the road, for it led round the corner -into full view of Fricourt at X. There was a trench at the side of the -road that ought to be hopped down into, but it could easily be missed, -and there was no barrier across the road! I saw a motor-cyclist dash -right along to the corner once, and return very speedily when he found -himself gazing full view at Fricourt! - -[Illustration: - - _To face page 103_ - -MAP III.] - - * * * * * - -Map III is an enlargement of the area in Map II, and gives details of -our trenches and the German trenches opposite. I wish I could convey -the sense of intimacy with which I am filled when I look at this -map. It is something like the feelings I should ascribe to a farmer -looking at a map of his property, every inch of which he knows by -heart; every field, every copse, every lane, every hollow and hill are -intimate things to him. With every corner he has some association; -every tree cut down, every fence repaired, every road made up, every -few hundred yards of shaw grubbed up, every acre of orchard enclosed -and planted--all these he can call back to memory at his will. So do -I know every corner, every turning in these trenches; every traverse -has its peculiar familiarity, very often its peculiar history. This -traverse was built the night after P----’s death; this trench was dug -because “75 Street” was so marked down by the enemy rifle-grenades; -another was a terrible straight trench till we built those traverses -in it; another was a morass until we boarded it. How well I remember -being half buried by a canister at the corner of “78 Street”; and the -night the mine blew in all the trench between the Fort and the Loop; -what an awful dug-out that was at Trafalgar Square; how we loathed the -straightness of Watling Street. And so on, _ad infinitum_. We were in -those trenches for over four months, and I know them as one knows the -creakings of the doors at home, the subtle smell of the bath-room, -the dusty atmosphere of the box-room, or the lowness of the cellar -door. Particularly intimate are the recollections of dug-outs, with -their good or bad conveniences in the way of beds and tables, their -beams that smote you on the head as regularly as clockwork, or their -peculiarly musty smell. One dug-out invariably smelt of high rodent; -another of sand-bag, nothing but sand-bag. - -From February, then, to June we kept on going into these trenches drawn -on Map III, and then back to Morlancourt for rest and working-parties, -all as regular as clockwork. Once or twice the actual front line held -by our battalion was altered, so that I have been in the trenches all -along from the Cemetery (down in the valley) to the end of the craters -opposite Danube Trench. But every time except twice my company held -part of the trench between 83 B (the end of the craters) and the Lewis -gun position to the right of 76 Street. The usual distribution of the -battalion was as follows:-- - - A Company. From 80 A to L. G. (Lewis gun) - on right of 76. - - B ” Maple Redoubt. - - C ” 71 North. - - D ” L. G. on right of 76 to 73 Street. - - (After three days A and B, and C and D, - relieved each other.) - - Battalion Headquarters, } - Headquarter Bombers, } Maple - M.O. and H.Q. Stretcher-bearers} Redoubt. - R.S.M. } - -Maple Redoubt was what is known as a “strong point.” In case of an -enemy attack piercing our front line, the company in Maple Redoubt held -out at all costs to the last man, even if the enemy got right past and -down the hill. There was a dug-out which was provisioned full up with -bully-beef and water (in empty petrol cans) ready for this emergency. -There was a certain amount of barbed-wire put out in front of the -trenches to N., W., and E.; and there were two Lewis-gun positions at -A and B. Really it was not a bad little place, although the “Defences -of Maple Redoubt” were always looked on by us as rather more of a big -joke than anything. No one ever really took seriously the thought of -the enemy coming over and reaching Maple Redoubt. Raid the front line -he was liable to do at any moment; but attack on such a big scale as -to come right through, no, no one really ever (beneath the rank of -battalion commander, anyway) worried about that. Still, if he did, -there was the redoubt anyway; and there was another called “Redoubt -A” on the hill facing us, as one looked from Maple Redoubt across the -smoke rising from dug-outs which could just not be seen under the -bank at 71 North. Here was rumoured to be bully-beef and water also, -and the Machine-gun Corps had some positions in it which they visited -occasionally; but even a notice “No one allowed this way,” failed to -tempt me to explore its interior. One saw it, traced out on the hill, -from Maple Redoubt, and there I have no doubt it still is, with its -bully-beef intact and its water a little stale! - -So much for Maple Redoubt. In case of attack, as I have said, it was -a strong point that must hold out at all costs, while the company -at 71 North came up to Rue Albert, and would support either of the -front companies as the C.O. directed. The front companies of course -held the front line to the last man. Meanwhile, the two battalions -in billets would be marching up from Morlancourt, to the high ground -above Redoubt A (that is, just east of D on Map II). Up there were a -series of entrenched “works,” known as the “intermediate line.” (The -“second line” ran a little north of point 90, N.E. of Morlancourt. But -no one took _that_ seriously, anyway.) The battalions marching up from -billets might have to hold these positions, or, what was more likely, -be ordered to counter-attack immediately. Such was the defence scheme. - -“Six days in billets: three days in support. Not particularly hard, -that sounds,” I can hear someone say. I tried to disillusion people -in an earlier chapter about the easiness of the “rest” in billets, -owing to the incessant working-parties. These were even more incessant -during these four months. Let me say a few words then, also, about life -in support trenches. I admit that for officers it was not always an -over-strenuous time; but look at Tommy’s ordinary programme:-- - -This would be a typical day, say, in April. - - 4 a.m. Stand to, until it got light enough to clean your rifle; - then clean it. - - About 5 a.m. Get your rifle inspected, and turn in again. - - 6.30 a.m. Turn out to carry breakfast up to company in front - line. (Old Kent Road very muddy after rain. A heavy dixie to be - carried from top of Weymouth Avenue, up viâ Trafalgar Square, and - 76 Street to the platoon holding the trench at the Loop.) - - 7.45 a.m. Get your own breakfast. - - 9 a.m. Turn out for working-party; spend morning filling sandbags - for building traverses in Maple Redoubt. - - 11.30 a.m. Carry dinner up to front company. Same as 6.30 a.m. - - 1 p.m. Get your own dinner. - - 1 to 4 p.m. (With luck) rest. - - 4 p.m. Carry tea up to front company. - - 5 p.m. Get your own tea. - - 5.15 to 7.15 p.m. (With luck) rest. - - 7.15 p.m. Clean rifle. - - 7.30 p.m. Stand to. Rifle inspected. - - Jones puts his big ugly boot out suddenly, just after you have - finished cleaning rifle, and upsets it. Result--mud all over - barrel and nose-cap. - - 8.30 p.m. Stand down. Have to clean rifle again and show platoon - sergeant. - - 9 p.m. Turn out for working-party till 12 midnight in front line. - - 12 midnight. Hot soup. - - 12.15 a.m. Dug-out at last till - - 4 a.m. Stand to. - - -And so on for three days and nights. This is really quite a moderate -programme: it is one that you would aim at for your men. But there are -disturbing elements that sometimes compel you to dock a man’s afternoon -rest, for instance. A couple of canisters block Watling Street; you -_must_ send a party of ten men and an N.C.O. to clear it at once: or -you suddenly have to supply a party to carry “footballs” up to Rue -Albert for the trench-mortar man. The Adjutant is sorry; he could not -let you know before; but they have just come up to the Citadel, and -must be unloaded at once. So you have to find the men for this on the -spur of the moment. And so it goes on night and day. Oh, it’s not all -rum and sleep, is life in Maple Redoubt. - -Three days and nights in support, and then comes the three days in the -front line. - -Now we will take it that “B” Company is holding from 80 A to the -Lewis-gun position to the right of 76 Street. You will notice at once -that almost the whole of No Man’s Land in front of this sector of -trenches is a chain of mine craters. No one can have much idea of a -crater until he actually sees one. I can best describe it as a hollow -like a quarry or chalk hole about fifty yards in diameter and some -forty or fifty feet deep. (They vary in size, of course, but that is -about the average.) The sides, which are steepish, and vary in angle -between thirty and sixty degrees, are composed of a very fine thin -soil, which is, in point of fact, a thick sediment of powdered soil -that has returned to earth after a tempestuous ascent into the sky. A -large mine always causes a “lip” above the ground level, which appears -in section somewhat like this:-- - -[Illustration] - -There is usually water in the bottom of the deeper craters. When a -series of craters is formed, running into one another, you get a very -uneven floor that appears in lengthwise section thus:-- - -[Illustration: - -The dotted line is the ground level: the uneven line is the course -that would be taken by a man walking along the bottom of the chain of -craters, and keeping in the centre. Actually, of course, (on patrol) -one would not keep in the centre where the crater contained water, but -would skirt the water by going to one side of it. The “bridges” are -important, as they are naturally the easiest way across the craters; a -bombing patrol, for instance, could crawl over a bridge, without having -to go right down to the bottom level, and (which is more important) -will not have a steep climb up over very soft and spongy soil. These -bridges are the “lips” of the larger craters where they join the -smaller; looking at a crater-chain _in plan_ X is a “bridge,” whereas -Y and Z are “lips” rising above ground level. - -[Illustration] - -This crater-chain being understood, the system of sentries is easily -grasped. Originally, before mining commenced, our front line ran -(roughly) from left to right along Rue Albert up 80 A Street and along -to the top of 76 Street in a straight line. Then began the great game -of mining under the enemy parapet and blowing him up; and its corollary -countermining, or blowing up the enemy’s mine galleries before he -reached your parapet. Such is the game as played underground by the -tunnelling companies, R.E. To the infantry belongs the work (if not -blown up) of consolidating the crater, whether made by your or an enemy -mine, that is to say, of seizing your side of the crater and guarding -it by bombing-posts in such a way as to prevent the enemy from doing -anything except hold his side of the crater. - -[Illustration: German front line - -Our front line] - -For instance, take a single crater, caused by us blowing up the German -gallery before it reaches our parapet. If we do nothing, the enemy digs -a trench into the crater at A, and can get into the crater any time he -likes and bomb our front line, and return to his trench unseen. This, -of course, never happens, as we dig a sap into the crater from our -side, and the result is stale-mate; each side can see into the crater, -so neither can go into it. - -That is all. 83 B, 81 A, the Matterhorn sap, the Loop, the Fort--they -are all saps up to crater-edges, in some cases joined up along the edge -(as between 83 B and 83 A, or at the Loop and the Fort.) And these saps -are held by bombing-posts. Where there are no craters in front (as, for -instance, between the Fort and the Loop), there the trench is held by -sentry groups in the ordinary way. The most important bombing-posts are -at the “bridges,” which are the points that most want guarding. - -Each platoon has so many posts to “find” men for. No. 5 Platoon has -three posts between the Lewis-gun position and the top of 76 Street; -No. 6 finds two in the Fort and one between the Fort and the Loop; -there is another post before you reach the Loop, found by No. 7, who -also finds two in the Loop itself; while No. 8 finds the Matterhorn -post and the top of 80 A. All these posts are composed of one bomber, -who has a box of bombs with him and his rifle without bayonet fixed, -and one bayonet man. There is no special structure about a “post”: it -is just the spot in the trench where the sentries are placed. Sometimes -one or two posts could be dispensed with by day, if one post could with -a periscope watch the ground in front of both. The sentry groups are -relieved every two hours by the platoon N.C.O. on trench duty. There -is always an N.C.O. on trench duty, going the rounds of his sentry -groups, in every platoon; and one officer going round the groups in -the company. Thus is secured the endless chain of unwinking eyes that -stretches from Dunkirk to Switzerland. - -There were two Lewis guns to every company. One had a position at the -Fort, covering the ground between the Fort and the Loop; the other was -just to the right of 80 A, where it had a good position sweeping the -craters. The Lewis-gun teams found their sentries independently of the -platoons, and had their dug-outs. A nice compact little affair was a -Lewis-gun team; always very snug and self-contained. - -Company Headquarters were at Trafalgar Square, though later we changed -to a dug-out half-way up 76 Street. Each platoon had a dug-out about -fifty yards behind the front line, and as far as possible one arranged -to get the men a few hours’ sleep in them every day; but only a certain -percentage at a time. There were four stretcher-bearers and two -signallers also at Trafalgar Square. Also a permanent wiring-party had -its quarters here, a corporal and five men; they made up “concertina” -or “gooseberry” wire by day, and were out three or four hours every -night putting it out. They were, of course, exempt from other platoon -duties. Each platoon had a pioneer to attend to sanitary arrangements, -and other odd jobs such as fetching up soup; and each platoon had an -orderly ready to take messages. At Company Headquarters, besides the -officers’ servants, were the company orderly, and company officers’ -cook. An officer on trench duty was accompanied by his servant as -orderly. - -This was the distribution of the company in the front line. Every -morning from 9 to 12 all men not on sentry worked at repairing and -improving the trenches; and the same for four hours during the night. -Work done to strengthen the parapet can only be done by night. Every -night wire was put out. Every night a patrol went out. Every day one -“stood to” arms for an hour before dawn, and an hour after dusk. -And day and night there was an intermittent stinging and buzzing of -black-winged instruments between the opposing trenches. Of shells I -have already spoken; next in deadliness were rifle-grenades, which are -bombs with a rod attachment that is put down the barrel of an ordinary -rifle. Four of these rifles are stood in a rack fixed to the ground, -and fired by a string from a few yards away, at a very high trajectory. -They are a very deadly weapon, as you cannot see them dropping on to -you. Then there is a multiform genus called “trench-mortar,” being -projectiles of all kinds and shapes lobbed over from close range. The -canister was the most loathed. It was simply a tin oil-can, the size -of a lady’s muff (large); one heard a thud, and watched the beast -rising, rising, then stationary, it seemed, in mid-air, and then come -toppling down, down, down on top of one with a crash--three seconds’ -silence--and then a most colossal explosion, blowing everything in -its vicinity to atoms. These canisters were loathed by the men with a -most personal and intense aversion. Yet they were really not nearly so -dangerous as rifle-grenades, as one had time to dodge them very often, -unless enfiladed in a communication trench. They were, moreover, very -local in their effects. A shell has splinters that spread far and wide; -a trench-mortar is a clumsy monster with a thin skin, no splinters, -and an abominable, noisy, vulgar way of making the most of itself. -“Sausages” were another but milder form of the vulgar trench-mortar; -aerial torpedoes were daintier people with wings, who looked so -cherubic as they came sailing over, that one almost forgot their deadly -stinging powers; they, too, were a species of trench-mortar. - -It is natural to write lightly of these things; yet they were no light -matters. They were the instruments of death that took their daily toll -of lives. In this chapter describing the system and routine of ordinary -trench warfare, I have tried to prepare the canvas for several pictures -I have drawn in bold bare lines; now I am putting in a wash of colour, -the atmosphere of Death. - -Sometimes we forgot it in the interest of the present activity; -sometimes we saw it face to face, without a qualm; but always it was -there with its relentless overhanging presence, dulling our spirits, -wearing out our lives. The papers are always full of Tommy smiling: -Bairnsfather has immortalised his indomitable humour. Yes, it is true. -We laugh, we smile. But for an hour of laughter, there are how many -hours of weariness, strain, and grim agony! It is great that Tommy’s -laughter has been immortalised; but do not forget that its greatness -lies in this, that it was uttered beneath the canopy of ever-impending -Death. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS - - -It must not be imagined that I at once grasped all the essential -details of our trench system, as I have tried to put them concisely -in the preceding chapter. On the contrary, it was only very gradually -that I accumulated my intimate knowledge of our maze of trenches, only -by degrees that I learnt the lie of the land, and only by personal -patrolling that I learnt the interior economy of the craters. At -first the front line, with its loops and bombing-posts, and portions -“patrolled only,” its sand-bag dumps, its unexpected visions of R.E.’s -scurrying like bolted rabbits from mine-shafts, its sudden jerk -round a corner that brought you in full view of the German parapet -across a crater that made you gaze fascinated several seconds before -you realised that you should be stooping low, as here was a bad bit -of trench that wanted deepening _at once_ and had not been cleared -properly after being blown in last night--all this, I say, was at first -a most perplexing labyrinth. It was only gradually that I solved its -mysteries, and discovered an order in its complexity. - -I will give a few more extracts from my diary, some of which seem to me -now delightfully naïve! Here they are, though. - - * * * * * - -“2nd Feb., 1916. In the trenches. Everything very quiet. We are in -support, in a place called Maple Redoubt, on the reverse slope of a big -ridge. Good dug-outs (_sic_), and a view behind, over a big expanse -of chalk-downs, which is most exhilarating. A day with blue sky and -a tingle of frost. Being on the reverse slope, you can walk about -anywhere, and so can see everything. Have just been up in the front -trenches, which are over the ridge, and a regular, or rather very -irregular, rabbit-warren. The Boche generally only about thirty to -forty yards away. The trenches are _dry_, that is the glorious thing. -DRY. Just off to pow-wow to the new members of my platoon.” - - * * * * * - -Here I will merely remark that the “good” dug-out in which we were -living was blown in by a 4·2 shell exactly four days later, killing -one officer and wounding the other two badly. With regard to the state -of the trenches, it was dry weather, and “when they were dry they were -dry, and when they were wet they were wet!” - - * * * * * - -“3rd Feb. Another beautiful February morning. Slept quite well, despite -rats overhead. O’Brien and Dixon awfully dull and heavy; can’t think -why. Everything outside is full of life; there is a crispness in the -air, and a delightful sharp shadow and light contrast as you look up -Maple Redoubt. - -Meditations on coldness, and how it unmans--on hunger, and how it -weakens--on the art of feeding and warming, and how women realise this, -while men do not usually know there is any art in keeping house at all! - -Meditations, too, on the stupidity, slowness, and clumsiness of -officers’ servants.” - - * * * * * - -Dixon’s snores make me bucked with life; so, too, this same clumsiness -of the servants. Lewis came in just now. ‘Why are you waiting, Lewis?’ -I asked. ‘I thought Watson was waiting to-day.’ (This after a great -strafing of servants for general stupidity and incompetence.) ‘None of -the others dared come in, sir,’ he replied, in his high piping voice, -and a broad grin on his face. Oh! they are good fellows! Why be fed -up with life? Why long faces? Long faces, these are the bad things of -life, the things to fight against....” - -So did my vision of the Third Army School bear fruit, I see now! - - * * * * * - -“Philosophy from the trenches. Does it cover everything? Does it -explain the fellows I passed this morning being carried to the Aid -Post, one with blood and orange iodine all over his face, and the -other wounded in both legs? It always comes as a surprise when the -bombs and shells produce wounds and death.... - - * * * * * - -Watched a mine go up this evening--great yellow-brown mass of smoke, -followed by a beautiful under-cloud of orange-pink that steamed up in -a soft creamy way. No firing and shelling followed as at Givenchy.... - -Take over from ‘A’ to-morrow morning. - -10 p.m. Great starlight. Jupiter and Venus both up, and the Great -Bear and Orion glittering hard and clean in the steely sky. I wish I -had a Homer. I am sure he has just one perfect epithet for Orion on a -night like this. I shall read Homer in a new light after these times. -I begin to understand the spirit of the Homeric heroes; it was all -words, words, words before. Now I see. Billet life--where is that in -the _Iliad_? In the tents, of course. And the eating and drinking, the -‘word that puts heart into men,’ the cool stolid facing of death, all -those gruesome details of wounds and weapons, all is being enacted here -every day exactly as in the Homeric age. Human nature has not altered. - -And did not Homer tell, too, how utterly ‘fed up’ they were with it -all? Can one not read between the lines and see, besides the glamour -of physical courage, the strain, the weariness, the ‘fed-upness’ of -them all! I think so. ‘Νόστος’ is a word I remember so well. They were -all longing for the day of their return. As here, the big fights were -few and far between; and as here, there were the months and years of -waiting. - -And on them, too, the stars looked down, winking alike at Greeks and -Trojans; just as to-night thousands of German and British faces, -dull-witted or sharp, sour-faced or smiling, sad or happy, are gazing -up and wondering if there is any wisdom in the world yet. - -Four thousand years ago? And all the time the stars in the Great Bear -have been hurtling apart at thousands of miles an hour, and the human -eye sees no difference. No wonder they wink at us.... - -And our mothers, and wives ... the women-folk--Euripides understood -their views on war. Ten years they waited.... - -_Must_ go to bed. D---- these scuffling rats.” - - * * * * * - -Frequently I found my thoughts flying back through the years, and more -especially on starlit nights, or on a breathless spring evening, to the -Greeks and Romans. Life out here was so primitive; so much a matter -of eating and drinking, and digging, and sleeping, and so full of the -elements, of cold, and frost, and wind, and rain; there were so many -definite and positive physical goods and bads, that the barrier of an -unreal civilisation was completely swept away. Under the stars and in -a trench you were as good as any Homeric warrior; but you were little -better. And so you felt you understood him. And here I will add that -it was especially at sunset that the passionate desire to live would -sometimes surge up, so intense, so clamorous, that it swept every other -feeling clean aside for the time. - -But to return to Maple Redoubt, or rather to Gibraltar, where the next -entry in my diary was written. - - * * * * * - -“6th Feb. Rather an uncomfortable dug-out in Gibraltar. Yesterday was -a divine day. I sat up in ‘the Fort’ most of the day, watching the -bombardment. Blue sky, on the top of a high chalk down; larks singing; -and a real sunny dance in the air. We watched four aeroplanes sail -over, amid white puffs of shrapnel; and a German ’plane came over. I -could see the black crosses very plainly with my glasses. Most godlike -it must have been up there on such a morning. I felt very pleased with -life, and did two sketches, one of Sawyer, another of Richards.... - -A dull thud, and then ‘there goes another,’ shouts someone. It reminds -me of Bill the lizard coming out of the chimney-pot in _Alice in -Wonderland_. Everyone gazes and waits for the crash! Toppling through -the sky comes a big tin oil-can, followed immediately by another; both -fall and explode with a tremendous din, sending up a fifty-foot spurt -of black earth and flying débris, while down the wind comes the scud of -sand-bag fluff and the smell of powder. This alternated with the 4·2’s, -which come over with a scream and wait politely a second or two before -bursting so inelegantly.” (I seem to have got mixed up a bit here: it -was usually the canisters that “waited.”) - - * * * * * - -“The mining is a great mystery to me at present. One part of the trench -is only patrolled, as the Boche may ‘blow’ there at any moment. I must -say it is an uncomfortable feeling, this liability to sudden projection -skywards! The first night I had a sort of nightmare all the time, and -kept waking up, and thinking about a mine going up under one. The -second night I was too tired to have nightmares. - -The rats _swarm_. I woke up last night, and saw one sitting on Edwards, -licking its whiskers. Then it ran on to the box by the candle. It was a -pretty brown fellow, rather attractive, I thought. I felt no repulsion -whatever at sight of it.... - -The front trenches are a _maze_. I cannot disentangle all the loops -and saps; and now we are cut off from ‘C,’ as the front trench is all -blown in; one has to have a connecting patrol that goes viâ Rue Albert. -A very weird affair. The only consolation is that the Boche would be -_more_ lost if he got in! - -I cannot help feeling that ‘B’ company has been very lucky. We were in -Maple Redoubt, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday; everything was quite -quiet with us, but ‘D’ had seven casualties in the front trench. On -Friday we relieved ‘A,’ and all Saturday the enemy bombarded a spot -just behind our company’s left, putting over 4·2’s and canisters all -day long from 9.0 a.m. onwards, and absolutely smashing up our trenches -there. Then Trafalgar Square has been rather a hot shop: two of our own -whizz-bangs fell short there, and several rifle grenades fell _very_ -close--also, splinters of the 4·2’s came humming round, ending with -little plops quite close. O’Brien picked up a large splinter that fell -in the trench right outside the dug-out. Again, at ‘stand-down,’ when -Dixon, Clark, Edwards, and I were standing talking together at the -top of 76 Street, two canisters fell most alarmingly near us, about -ten yards behind, covering us with dirt. Yet we have not had a single -casualty. - -To-day we were to have been relieved by the Manchesters at midday, -but this morning at ‘stand to’ we heard the time had been altered to -8.0 a.m. ‘B’ was duly relieved, and No. 5 Platoon had just changed -gum-boots, while 6, 7, and 8 were sitting at the corner of Maple -Redoubt enthralled in the same process, when over came two canisters, -one smashing in Old Kent Road, down which we had just come, and the -other falling right into an ‘A’ Company dug-out, twenty yards to -my left, killing two men and wounding three others, one probably -mortally. And now I have just had the news that the Manchester have had -twenty-three casualties to-day, including three officers, their R.S.M., -and a company sergeant-major.” - - * * * * * - -As I read some of these sentences, true in every detail as they are, -I cannot help smiling. For it was no “bombardment” that took place -on our left all day; it was merely the Germans potting one of our -trench-mortar positions! And Trafalgar Square was really very quiet, -that first time in. But what I notice most is the way in which I record -the fall of _individual_ canisters and rifle grenades, even if they -were twenty yards away! Never a six days in, latterly, that we did not -have to clear Old Kent Road and Watling Street two or three times; and -we used to fire off a hundred rifle grenades a day very often, and -received as many in return always. And the record of casualties one -did not keep. We _were_ lucky, it is true. Once, and once only, after, -did “B” Company go in and come out without a casualty. Those first -two days in Maple Redoubt, when “everything was quiet,” were the most -deceitful harbingers of the future that could have been imagined. “Why -long faces?” I could write. The Manchesters had a ruder but a truer -introduction to the Bois Français trenches, and especially to Maple -Redoubt. For the dug-outs were abominable; not one was shell-proof; -and there was no parados or traverse for a hundred and fifty yards. -The truth of the matter was that these trenches had been some of the -quietest in the line; for some reason or other, when our Division -took them over, they immediately changed face about, and took upon -themselves the task of growing in a steady relentless crescendo into -one of the hottest sectors in the line. - -On the 22nd of February the Germans raided our trenches on the left -opposite Fricourt. They did not get much change out of it. I can -remember at least four raids close on our left or right during those -four months; they never actually came over on our front, but we usually -came in for the bombardment. The plan is to isolate the sector to be -raided by an intense bombardment on that sector, and on the sectors -on each side; to “lift” the barrage, or curtain of fire, at a given -moment off the front line of the sector raided “what time” (as the old -phrase goes) they come over, enter the trench, if they can, make a few -prisoners, and get back quickly. All the while the sectors to right and -left are being bombarded heavily. It was this isolating bombardment -that our front line was receiving, while we were left unmolested in 71 -North. All this I did not know at the time. Here is my record of it. - -“25 Feb., 1916. It is snowing hard. We are in a very comfortable -tubular dug-out in 71 North. This dug-out is the latest pattern, being -on the twopenny-tube model; very warm, and free from draughts. It is -_not_ shell-proof, but then shells never seem to come near here. - -Let me try and record the raid on our left on the 22nd, before I forget -it. - -The Manchesters were in the front line and Maple Redoubt. During the -afternoon the Boche started putting heavies on to Maple Redoubt, and -the corner of Canterbury Avenue. ‘Bad luck on the Manchesters again,’ -we all agreed--and turned in for tea. There was a wonderful good fire -going. - -‘By Jove, they are going it,’ I said, as we sat down and Gray brought -in the teapot. Thud! Thud! Thud--thud! We simply had to go out and -watch. Regular coal-boxes, sending up great columns of mud, and -splinters humming and splashing right over us, a good hundred yards or -more. ‘Better keep inside,’ from Dixon. - -We had tea, and things seemed to quiet down. - -Then about six o’clock the bombardment got louder, and our guns woke -up like fun. ‘Vee-bm ... vee-bm’ from our whizz-bangs going over, -and then the machine-guns began on our left. Simultaneously, in came -Richards (Dixon’s servant) with an excited air. ‘Gas,’ he exclaimed. -Instinctively, I felt for my gas helmet. Meanwhile Dixon had gone -outside. ‘Absurd,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘The wind’s wrong. Who -brought that message?’ - -Then up came a telephone orderly. I heard him running on the hard -road. ‘Stand to,’ he said breathlessly, and Dixon went off to the -’phone with him. Nicolson appeared in a gas helmet. I was looking for -my pipe, but could not find it. Then at last I went out without it. - -Outside it was getting dark. It was a fairly nippy air. The bombardment -was going strong. All the sky was flickering, and our guns were -screaming over. ‘Crump, crump,’ the Boche shells were bursting up by -Maple Redoubt. ‘Scream, scream,’ went our guns back; and right overhead -our big guns went griding. - -All this I noticed gradually. My first impression was the strong smell -of gas helmets in the cold air. The gas alarm had spread, and some -of the men had their helmets on. I felt undecided. I simply did not -_know_, whether the men should wear them or not. What was happening? I -wished Dixon would come back. Ah! there he was. What news? - -‘I can’t get through,’ he said, ‘but we shall get a message all right -if necessary.’ - -‘What’s happening?’ I asked. ‘Do you think they are coming over.’ - -‘No. It won’t last long, I expect. Still, just let’s see if the men -have got their emergency rations with them.’ - -A few had not, and were sent into the dug-outs for them. Gas helmets -were ordered back into their satchels. - -‘No possibility of gas,’ said Dixon; ‘wind’s dead south.’ - -I was immensely bucked now. There was a feeling of tenseness and -bracing-up. I felt the importance of essentials--rifles and bayonets -in good order--the men fit, and able to run. This was the real thing, -somehow. - -I made Lewis go in and get my pipe. I found I had no pouch, and stuffed -loose baccy in my pocket. - -I realised I had not thought out what I would do in case of attack. I -did not know what was happening. I was glad Dixon was there.... - -It was great, though, to hear the continuous roar of the cannonade, -and the machine-guns rapping, not for five minutes, but all the time. -That I think was the most novel sound of all. No news. That was a new -feature. A Manchester officer came up and said all their communications -were cut with the left. - -I was immensely bucked, especially with my pipe. Our servants were good -friends to have behind us, and Dixon was a man in his element. The men -were all cool. ‘Germans have broken through,’ I heard one man say. -‘Where?’ said someone rather excitedly. ‘In the North Sea,’ was the -stolid reply. - -At last the cannonade developed into a roar on our left, and we -realised that any show was there, and not on our sector. Then up came -the quartermaster with some boots for Dixon and me, and we all went -into the dug-out, where was a splendid fire. And we stayed there, and -certain humorous remarks from the quartermaster suddenly turned my -feelings, and I felt that the tension was gone, the thing was over; and -that outside the bombardment was slackening. In half an hour it was -‘stand down’ at 7.40. - -I was immensely bucked. I knew I should be all right now in an attack. -And the cannonade at night was a magnificent sight. Of course we had -not been shelled, though some whizz-bangs had been fired fifty yards -behind us just above ‘Redoubt A,’ trying for the battery just over the -hill. - -My chief impression was, ‘This is the real thing.’ You must know your -men. They await clear orders, that is all. It was dark. I remember -thinking of Brigade and Division behind, invisible, seeing nothing, -yet alone knowing what was happening. No news, that was interesting. -An entirely false rumour came along, ‘All dug-outs blown in in Maple -Redoubt.’ - -I had sent Evans to Bray to try and buy coal: he returned in the middle -of the bombardment with a long explanation of why he had been unable to -get it. - -‘Afterwards,’ I said. Somehow coal could wait. - -All the while I have been writing this, there is a regular blizzard -outside.” - -Such is my record of my first bombardment. The Manchesters, who were -in the front line, suffered rather heavily, but not in Maple Redoubt. -No dug-outs were smashed in at all there, though Canterbury Avenue was -blocked in two places, and Old Kent Road in one. The Germans came over -from just north of Fricourt, but only a very few reached our trenches, -and of them about a dozen were made prisoners, and the rest killed. It -was a “bad show” from the enemy point of view. - -And now I will leave my diary. These first impressions are interesting -enough, but later the entries became more and more spasmodic, and -usually introspective. The remaining chapters are not exactly, though -very nearly, chronological. From February 6th to March 8th I was -Sniping and Intelligence officer to the battalion. Chapters VIII, IX, -and XII describe incidents in that period. Then on March 8th Captain -Dixon was transferred as Second-in-Command to our ----th Battalion, and -on that date I took over the command of “B” Company, which I held until -I was wounded on the 7th of June. These were the three months in which -I learnt the strain of responsibility as well as the true tragedy of -this war. - -During all these four months I was fortunate in having as a commanding -officer a really great soldier. The C.O. had inaugurated his arrival -by a vigorous emphasis of the following principle: “No Man’s Land -belongs to _US_; if the Boche dare show his face in it, he’s going to -be d--d sorry for it. We are top-dogs, and if there is any strafing, -the last word must always be ours.” Such was the policy of the man -behind me during those four months. Meanwhile, from eight to midnight -every night, trenches were being deepened, the parapet thickened, -and fire-steps and traverses being put in the front line, which had -hitherto been a maze of hasty improvisations; barbed wire was put out -at an unprecedented pace, and patrols were going out every night. If -things went wrong, there was the devil to pay; but if things went well, -one was left entirely unmolested; and if there was a bombardment on, -the orders came quick and clear. And any company commander will know -that those three qualities in a commanding officer are worth almost -anything. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -SNIPING - - -I - -The snow was coming down in big white flakes, whirling and dancing -against a grey sky. I shivered as I looked out from the top of the -dug-out steps in Maple Redoubt. It was half-past seven, a good hour -since the snipers had reported to me before going to their posts. It -was quite dark then, for a sniper must always be up on his post a good -hour before dawn to catch the enemy working a few minutes too late. -It is so easy to miss those first faint glimmerings of twilight when -you are just finishing off an interesting piece of wiring in “No Man’s -Land.” I speak from experience. For so a sniper got me. - -“U--u--u--gh,” I shuddered, “it’s no good keeping the men on in this”; -so, putting my whiskey-bottle full of rum in my haversack, I set off -up Old Kent Road to visit my posts and withdraw the men _pro tem_. -I expected to find the fellows unutterably cold, shrivelled up, and -bored. To my surprise, at No. 1 post Thomas and Everton were in a state -of huge excitement, eyes glowing, and faces full of life. There seemed -to be a great rivalry, too, for the possession of the rifle. For the -snipers always worked in pairs: a man cannot gaze out at the opposing -lines with acute interest for more than about half an hour on end; so -I used to work them by pairs, and give them shifts according to the -weather. In summer you could put a pair on for four hours, and they -would work well, taking half-hour shifts; but in cold weather two hours -was quite enough. - -“We’ve got them, sir,” from 75 Thomas; “they was working in the trench -over there--by all them blue sand-bags, sir--four of them, sir----” - -“Yes, and I saw him throw up his arms, sir,” put in Everton, excited -for the first time I have ever seen him, and trying to push Thomas out -of the box, and have another look. But Thomas would not be pushed. - -“Splendid,” I said: “by Jove, that’s good work. Can I see?” But it -was snowing hard, and I could see very little. I tried the telescope. -“Put it right up to your eye, sir,” said Thomas, forgetting that I had -myself taught him this in billets as he vainly tried to see through it -holding it about four inches from his face, and declaring that he could -see everything just as well with his own eyes! - -“Yes, I think I see where you mean,” said I; “up by that sand-bag dump. -There’s a mine-shaft there, and they were probably some of their R.E.’s -piling up sand-bags, or emptying them out. I believe that is what they -usually do now, fill the sand-bags below in their galleries, bring them -up, empty them, and use the same ones again.” - -Thomas and Everton gaped at this. It had not occurred to them to -consider that the Boche had R.E.’s. They were of the unimaginative -class of snipers, who “saw, did, and reported,” and on the whole I -preferred them to those who saw, and immediately “concluded.” For their -conclusions were usually wrong. To men like Thomas I was, I think, -looked upon as one who had some slightly supernatural knowledge of -the German lines; he did not realise that by careful compass-bearings -I knew the exact ground visible from his post, and that my map of -the German lines, showing every trench as revealed by aeroplane -photographs, was accurate to a yard. He was like a retriever, who keeps -to heel, noses out his bird with unerring skill, and brings it in with -the softest of mouths; yet the cunning and strategy he leaves to his -master, who is decidedly his inferior in nose and mouth. So 75 Thomas -could see and shoot far better than I; but it was I who thought out the -strategy of the shoot. - -“Well,” said I, as I doled out a rather more liberal rum ration than -usual, “that’s d---- good work, anyway. Two you got, you say? Not sure -about the second? Anyway you had two good shots, and remember what -I told you, a sniper only shoots to kill. So two it’s going to be, -anyhow.” (They both grinned at this, which was the nearest they could -get to a wink.) “I’m very pleased about it. Now it’s not much good -staying up here in this thick snow, so you can go off till I send word -to your dug-out for you to go on again.” - -I turned to go away, thinking that the other posts, rumless, and in all -probability quarryless, must be in a state of exasperating coldness by -now. But Thomas and Everton did not move. There was something wanted. - -“Well, what is it?” - -“Please sir, can we stay on here a bit? P’raps one of those R.E. -fellows may come back for something.” - -“Good heavens, yes,” I said, “stay on as long as you like,” and smiled -as I made off to my other posts. (Later I used to get the snipers to -report to me coming off their posts, and get their rum ration then; -as I found it gave a bad appearance and damaged the reputation of the -snipers when people saw me going about with the nose of a bottle of -“O.V.H.” whiskey sticking out of my haversack!) There, as I expected, -I found the men blue and bored. - -“You can’t see nothing to-day, sir, at all,” was the sentence with -which I was immediately greeted. Even the rum seemed to inspire very -little outward enthusiasm. - -“You can go off to your dug-outs till I send for you,” I replied, -carefully corking the bottle and not looking at them while I spoke: “if -you like,” I added after a pause, looking up. But the post was empty. - -That afternoon I was up on No. 1 post, with a sniper who was new to -the work. It was still freezing, but the snow-clouds had cleared -right away, and the wind had dropped. There was a tingle in the air; -everything was as still as death; the sun was shining from a very -blue sky, and throwing longer and longer shadows in the snow as the -afternoon wore on. It was a valuable afternoon, the enemy’s wire -showing up very clearly against the white ground, and I was showing the -new sniper how to search the trench systematically from left to right, -noting the exact position of anything that looked like a loophole, -or steel-plate, and especially the thickness of the wire, what kind, -whether it was grey and new, or rusty-red and old; whether there were -any gaps in it, and where. All these things a sniper should note every -morning when he comes on to his post. Gaps are important, as patrols -must come out through gaps, and the Lewis gunners should know these, -and be ready to fire at them if a patrol is heard thereabouts in No -Man’s Land. Similarly, old gaps closed up must be reported. - -It was very still. “Has the war stopped?” one felt inclined to ask. No, -there is the sound of shells exploding far away on the right somewhere; -in the French lines it must be, somewhere about Frise. Then a “phut” -from just opposite, and a long whining “we’oo--we’oo--we’oo--we’-oo -... bzung,” and a rifle-grenade burst with a snarl about a hundred -yards behind. Then another, and another, and another. “They’re trying -for Trafalgar Square,” said I. No. 1 post was a little to the right -of the top of 76 Street. I waited. There were no more. It was just -about touch and go whether we replied. If they went on up to about a -dozen, the chances were that the bombing-corporal in charge of our -rifle-grenade battery would rouse himself, and loose off twenty in -retaliation. But, no. Perhaps the German had repented him of the evil -of desecrating the peace of such an afternoon; or perhaps he was just -ranging, and had an observer away on the flank somewhere to watch the -effect of his shooting. Anyway he did not fire again, and the afternoon -slumber was resumed, till the evening “strafe” came on in due course. - -“I can see something over on the left, sir. It is a man’s head, sir! -Look!” - -I looked. Yes! - -“No,” I almost shouted. “It’s a dummy head. Just have a look. And -don’t, whatever you do, fire.” - -Sure enough, a cardboard head appeared over the front parapet opposite, -with a grey cap on. Slowly it disappeared. Without the telescope it -would have been next to impossible to see it was not a man. Again it -appeared, then slowly sank out of view. It was well away on the left, -just in front of where the “R.E.’s” had been hit at dawn. For this -post was well-sited, having an oblique field of vision, as all good -sniping-posts should. That is to say, they should be sited something -like this: - -[Illustration] - -The ideal is to have all your posts in the supports, and _not_ in the -front line, and at about three hundred yards from the enemy front -line. Of course if the ground slopes _away_ behind you, you cannot get -positions in the supports unless there are buildings to make posts in. -By getting an _oblique_ view, you gain two advantages: - -(_a_) If A gets a shot at C, C’s friends look out for “that d----d -sniper opposite,” and look in the direction of B, who is carefully -concealed from direct view. - -(_b_) A’s loophole is invisible from direct observation by D, as it is -pointing slantwise at C. - -All this I now explained to my new sniper. - -“But why not smash up his old dummy, sir? Might put the wind up the -fellow working it.” - -“No,” I explained. “Look at the paper again. (I had drawn it out for -him, as I have on the previous page.) Thomas shot at those R.E.’s this -morning, don’t you see? He was here (B), and they’re at D. Now they’re -trying to find _you_, or the man who shot their pal; and you can bet -anything you like they’ve got a man watching either at C or right -away on the left to spot you if you fire at the dummy. No. Lie doggo, -and see if you can spot that man on the flank. He’s probably got a -periscope.” - -“Can’t see him, sir,” at length. - -“No. Never mind; he’s probably far too well concealed. Always remember -the Boche is as clever as you, and sometimes cleverer.” - -“Ah, but he wants me to shoot, sir, and I won’t,” came the cheery -answer. “What about smashing up his old dummy?” I reminded him. His -face fell. He had forgotten his old un-sniper-like self already. “Never -mind,” said I. “Now when Thomas and Everton come up here, mind you -tell them all about the dummy; and tell Thomas from me that the Boche -doesn’t spend his time dummy-wagging for nothing. Probably it was an -R.E. sergeant.” - - -II - -“Swis-s-sh--báng. Swis-s-sh--báng.” - -“That settles it,” said I, as I scrambled hastily down into the trench, -preceded by the sniper I had with me that day as orderly. I more or -less pushed him along for ten yards--then halted; we faced each other -both very much out of breath and “blowy.” The whole place was reeking -with the smell of powder, and the air full of sand-bag fluff. - -“That settles it,” I repeated: “I always thought that was a rotten -post; and I object to being whizz-banged. ‘A sniper’s job is to see and -not be seen.’ Isn’t that right, Morris?” - -“Yes, sir,” replied Morris, adding with a sad lack of humour “They must -have seen us, sir!” - -“Exactly: they did. And they weren’t very far off hitting one of us -into the bargain. As I say, that settles it. We’ll leave that post for -ever and ever; and to-night we’ll build a new one that they _won’t_ -see.” - -At ten o’clock that night we were well at work. Just on the one hundred -metre contour line there was a small quarry, at the west end of which -had been the too conspicuous post where the Boche had spotted us. Every -loophole must by its very nature be “spottable”; but when the natural -ground is so little disturbed that it looks exactly the same as it -did before the post was made, then indeed this “spottability” is so -much reduced that it verges on invisibility. So, leaving the old post -exactly as before, we were building a new one about twenty yards to the -west of it. - -There was a disused support trench running west from the Quarry, -and this suited my purpose admirably. It ran just along the crest -of the hill, and commanded even a better view of Fricourt than the -Quarry itself. Moreover, there was enough earth thrown up in front -of the trench to enable us to fix in the steel-plate (at an angle of -45°: this increases its impenetrability) on ground level, without -the top protruding above the top of the earth. The soil in front was -not touched at all until the plate was fixed in, and then enough -was carefully scooped away from the front of the actual loophole to -secure a fair field of view. The earth in front of the loophole is -then exactly like a castle wall, with a splay window. If you think -of a Norman castle you will know exactly what I mean. The loophole -represents the inch-wide aperture in the inner side of the splay. -Similarly an embrasure is built behind the loophole, with room for one -man to stand and fire, and the second man to sit by him. A rainproof -shelter of corrugated iron is placed over this embrasure, and covered -over with earth; this prevents it being spotted by aeroplane; also it -makes the place habitable in the rain. Here is a section of a typical -sniper’s post: - -[Illustration] - -“Click, click click” went the pick into the chalk, cutting room for the -embrasure; there was a tinny sound as some of the loose surface soil -came away with a spurt, spilling on to the two sheets of corrugated -iron waiting to go on to the roof. Added to this were the few quiet -whispers, such as “Where’s that sand-bag?” or “Is this low enough, -sir?”, and the heavy breathing of Private Evans as he returned from the -Quarry after emptying his sand-bag. For all the chalk cut away had to -be carried to the Quarry and emptied there; new earth on the top there -would not give any clue to those gentlemen in Fricourt Wood who put the -smell of powder in my nostrils a few hours back. - -It was a darkish night, but not so dark but what you could see the top -of the trench. There are very few nights when the sky does not show -lighter than the trench-sides. There are a few, though, especially when -it is raining; and they are bad, very bad. But that night I could just -distinguish the outline of the big crater-top, half-right, and follow -the near skyline along the German parapet down into Fricourt valley. -I was gazing down into that silent blackness, when a machine-gun -started popping; I could see the flashes very clearly from my position. -Somewhere in Fricourt they must be. - -Meanwhile the post was nearly finished; the corrugated iron was being -fixed to the wooden upright, and Jones was on the parapet sprinkling -earth over it. The others were deepening the trench from the Quarry to -the post. - -“That’s the machine-gun that goes every night, sir,” said Jones. -“Enfilading, that’s what it is.” - -“Pop--pop--pop,” answered the machine-gun. - -“Look here, Jones,” said I. “You know No. 5 post, opposite Aeroplane -Trench?” - -“Yes, sir!” - -“Well, go down there, and see if you can see the flashes from there; -and if you can, mark it down. See?” - -“Yes, sir!” and he had his equipment on in no time, and was starting -off when I called him back. - -“Be very careful to mark your own position,” I warned him. “You know -what I mean.” - -He knew, and I knew that he knew. - -Meanwhile, I stuck an empty cartridge case in the parados behind my -head and waited. - -Five flashes spat out again, and “pop--pop--pop--pop--pop” came up out -of the valley: and between me and them in the parapet I stuck a second -cartridge case---- - -I looked at my watch. It was half-past twelve. The post was finished, -and the trench deep enough to get along, crawling anyway. - -“Cease work.” - - * * * * * - -The next day was so misty that you could see practically nothing over -five hundred yards, and the new post was useless. The following day -it had frozen again, and an inch of snow lay on the ground. It was -a sunny morning, and from the new post all Fricourt lay in full view -before me. How well I remember every detail of that city of the dead! -In the centre stood the white ruin of the church, still higher than the -houses around it, though a stubby stump compared to what it must have -been before thousands of shells reduced it to its present state. All -around were houses; roofless, wall-less skeletons all of them, save in -a few cases, where a red roof still remained, or a house seemed by some -magic to be still untouched. On the extreme right was Rose Cottage, a -well-known artillery mark; just to its left were some large park-gates, -with stone pillars, leading into Fricourt Wood; and just inside the -wood was a small cottage--a lodge, I suppose. The extreme northern part -of the village was invisible, as the ground fell away north of the -church. I could see where the road disappeared from view; then beyond, -clear of the houses, the road reappeared and ran straight up to the -skyline, a mile further on. A communication trench crossed this road: -(I remember we saw some men digging there one morning). With my glasses -I could see every detail; beyond the communication trench were various -small copses, and tracks running over the field; and on the skyline, -about three thousand yards away, was a long row of bushes. - -And just to the left of it all ran the two white lace-borders of -chalk trenches, winding and wobbling along, up, up, up until they -disappeared over the hill to La Boiselle. Sometimes they diverged as -much as three hundred yards, but only to come in together again, so -close that it was hard to see which was ours and which the German. Due -west of Fricourt church they touched in a small crater chain. - -It was a fascinating view. I could not realise that there lay a -_French_ village; I think we often forgot that we were on French soil, -and not on a sort of unreal earth that would disappear when the war was -over; especially was No Man’s Land a kind of neutral stage, whereon -was played the great game. To a Frenchman, of course, Fricourt was as -French as ever it had been. But I often forgot, when I watched the -shells demolishing a few more houses, that these were not German houses -deserving of their fate. Perhaps people will not understand this: it is -true, anyway. - -I was drawing a sketch of the village, when lo! and behold! coolly -walking down the road into Fricourt came a solitary man. I had to -think rapidly, and decide it must be a German, because the thing was -so unexpected; I could not for the moment get out of my head the -unreasonable idea that it might be one of our own men! However, I soon -got over that. - -“Sight your rifle at two thousand yards,” said I to Morgan, who was -with me. “Now, give it to me.” - -Carefully I took aim. I seemed to be holding the rifle up at an absurd -angle. I squeezed, and squeezed---- - -The German jumped to one side, on to the grass at the side of the road, -and doubled for all he was worth out of sight into Fricourt! Needless -to say, I did not see him again to get another shot! - - * * * * * - -“They’ve been using that road last night, sir,” said 58 Morgan, while I -was taking a careful bearing on my empty cartridge case. (A prismatic -compass is invaluable for taking accurate cross-bearings.) - -“Yes,” I said. “Why yes, of course, they must have used it last night. -I never thought of that. Good. We’ll get the artillery on there -to-night, and upset their ration-carts.” - -This pleased the fancy of Sniper 58 Morgan, and a broad grin came over -his face at the thought of the Boche losing his breakfast. - -“Maybe, sir, we’ll see the sausages on the road to-morrow morning.” - -For which thought I commended him not a little: a sense of humour is -one of the attributes of a good sniper, just as rash conclusions are -not. - -I then went down to No. 5 Post, where Jones was awaiting me, according -to arrangement. There I took a second bearing, and retired to my -dug-out to work out the two angles on the map. “From map to compass -add: from compass to map subtract” I repeated to myself, and disposed -of the magnetic variation summarily. Then with the protractor I -plotted out the angles. “Exactly. The small house with the grey roof -standing out by itself on the left. So that’s where you live, my -friend, is it?” - -Once more I was up at the new post, scrutinising the grey-roofed house -with the telescope. After a long gaze, I almost jumped. I gave the -telescope to Morgan. He gazed intently for a moment. - -Then, “Is that a hole, sir, over the door, in the shadow, like ...?” - -“It is,” I answered - -That night the machine-gun started popping as usual, when suddenly a -salvo of whizz-bangs screamed over, and H.E.’s joined in the game. All -round and about the little grey-roofed house flickered the flashes of -bursting shells. Then the enemy retaliated, and for a quarter of an -hour “a certain liveliness prevailed.” Then came peace. But there was -no sound all night of a machine-gun popping from Fricourt village; on -the other hand, our machine-guns had taken up the tune, with short -bursts of overhead fire, searching for those Boche ration carts. And -in the morning the grey-roofed cottage appeared with two tiles left on -the right-hand bottom corner of the roof, and the front wall had a huge -gap in it big enough to act as a mouth for fifty machine-guns. Only -Morgan was disappointed: all marks of the sausages had been cleared -away before dawn! After all, are not the Germans pre-eminently a tidy -people? - - -III - -Private Ellis had hard blue eyes that looked at you, and looked, and -went on looking; they always reminded me of the colour of the sea when -a north wind is blowing and the blue is hard and bright. I have seen -two other pairs of eyes like them. One belonged to Captain Jefferies, -the big game shooter, who lectured on Sniping at the Third Army School. -The other pair were the property of a sergeant I met this week for the -first time. “Are you a marksman?” I asked him. “Yes, sir! Always a -marksman, sir.” - -There is no mistaking those eyes. They are the eyes of a man who has -used them all his life, and found them grow steadier and surer every -year. They are essentially the eyes of a man who can watch, watch, -watch all day, and not get tired of watching; and they were the eyes of -my best sniper. - -For Private Ellis had all the instincts of a cunning hunter. I had no -need to tell him to keep his telescope well inside the loophole, lest -the sun should catch on the glass; no need to remind him to stuff a -bit of sand-bag in the loophole when he left the post unoccupied. He -never forgot to let the sand-bag curtain drop behind him as he entered -the box, to prevent light coming into it and showing white through -a loophole set in dark earth. There was no need either to make sure -that he understood the telescopic sights on his rifle; and there -was no need to tell him that the Boches were clever people. He never -under-estimated his foe. - -It was a warm day in early March. Private Ellis was in No. 5 Box, -opposite Aeroplane Trench. This post was very cunningly concealed. Our -front trench ran along a road, immediately behind which was a steep -chalk bank, the road having originally been cut out of a rather steep -slope. You will see the lie of the ground clearly enough on Map III. -Just about five yards behind this bank was cut a deep narrow trench, -and in this trench were built several snipers’ posts, with loopholes -looking out of the chalk bank. These loopholes were almost impossible -to see, as they were very nearly indistinguishable from the shadows in -the bank. Anyone who has hunted for oyster-catchers’ eggs on a pebbly -beach knows that black and white is the most protective colour scheme -existing. And so these little black loopholes were almost invisible in -the black and white of the chalk bank. - -All the morning Private Ellis had been watching out of the corner -of his eye a little bit of glass shining in Aeroplane Trench. Now -Aeroplane Trench (as you will also see from the map) was a sap running -out from the German front trench into a sunken road. From the centre -sap two little branch saps ran up and down the road, and then slightly -forward; the whole plan of it rather resembled an aeroplane and gave -it its name. In it to-day was a Boche with a periscopic rifle; and -it was this little bit of glass at the top of the periscope, and the -nose of the rifle-barrel that Private Ellis was watching. Every now -and again the glass and nose-cap would give a little jump, and “plop” -a bullet would bury itself in our front parapet. One of our sentries -had had his periscope smashed during the morning, I was informed by a -company commander with rather the air of “What’s the use of you and -your snipers, if you can’t stop them sniping us?” I told Ellis about -the periscope, to which he replied: “It won’t break us, I guess, -sir--twopenn’orth of new glass for a periscope. It’s heads that count.” -In which remark was no little wisdom. - -“Crack--plop,” and after a long interval another “Crack--zin--n--n--g,” -as a bullet ricocheted off a stone, and went away over the ridge and -fell with a little sigh somewhere in the ground right away beyond -Redoubt A. So it went on all the afternoon, while the sun was warming -everyone up and one dreamed of the summer, and warm days, dry trenches, -and short nights. Ellis had gone off rather reluctantly at midday, -and the other relief was there. There was a slumbrous sensation about -that brought on the feeling that there was no one really in the enemy -trenches at all. Yet there was the little glass eye looking at us: it -reminded one of a snake in the grass. It glittered, unblinking. - -At about six o’clock I again visited the post. Ellis was back there, -and watching as keenly as ever. - -“No luck?” I remarked. “I’m afraid your friend is too wily for you; -he’s not going to put his head over, when he can see through a -periscope as well.” - -Still Private Ellis said little, but his eye was as clear and keen as -ever; and still the periscope remained. - -“We must shell him out to-morrow,” I said, and went off. - -At half-past seven we had “stood down,” and I was messing with “B” -Company, when I heard a voice at the top of the dug-out, and the -servant who was waiting--Lewis, I think it was--said a sniper wanted to -see me. - -“Tell him to come down.” - -Private Ellis appeared at the door. Not a muscle in his body or face -moved, but his eyes were glowing and glittering. “Got him, sir,” was -all he said. - -“What?” I cried. “Got that Boche in Aeroplane Trench? By Jove, tell us -all about it.” - -And so to the accompaniment of a whiskey and Perrier he told us exactly -what happened. It was not till well after “stand-to,” it appeared, that -any change had occurred in Aeroplane Trench. Then the periscope had -wobbled and disappeared below ground. Then there had been another long -wait, and the outline of the sunken road had begun to get faint. Then -slowly, very slowly, a pink forehead had appeared over the top, and as -slowly disappeared. I wish I had been there to watch Ellis then. I can -imagine him coolly, methodically sighting his rifle on the trench-edge, -and waiting. “I had to wait another minute, sir; then it appeared -again, the whole head this time. He thought it was too dark to be seen -... Oh, he won’t worry us any more, sir! I saw one of his arms go up, -and I thought I could see him fall against the back of the trench. But -it was getting so dark, I couldn’t have seen him five minutes later at -all.” - -And if Ellis couldn’t, who could? - - * * * * * - -Next day, and for many days, there was no sniping from Aeroplane -Trench. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -ON PATROL - - -“Hullo, Bill!” from Will Todd, as he passed me going up 76 Street. - -“Hullo,” I answered, “where are you off to?” - -“Going on patrol,” was the reply. “Oh, by the way, you probably know -something about this rotten sap opposite the Quarry. I’m going out to -find out if it’s occupied at night or not.” - -“Opposite the Quarry?” said I. “Oh, yes, I know it. We get rather a -good view of it from No. 1 Post.” - -“That post up on the right here? Yes, I was up there this afternoon, -but you can’t see much from anywhere here. The worst of it is I was -going with 52 Jones; only his leave has just come through. You see, -I’ve never been out before. I’m trying a fellow called Edwards, but I -don’t know him.” - -“If you can’t get Edwards,” I said suddenly, “I’ve a good mind to come -out with you. Meet me at Trafalgar Square, and let me know.” - -As Will disappeared, I immediately repented of my offer, repented -heartily, repented abjectly. I had never been on patrol, and a great -sinking feeling came over me. I hoped with all my might that Edwards -would be bubbling over with enthusiasm for patrolling. I was afraid. -With all the indifference to shells and canisters that was gradually -growing upon me, I had never been out into No Man’s Land. And yet I had -volunteered to go out, and at the time of doing so I felt quite excited -at the prospect. “Fool,” I said to myself. - -“Edwards doesn’t seem at all enthusiastic about it,” said Will. “Will -you really come out?” - -“Yes, rather. I’m awfully keen to go. I’ve never been before, either. -How are you going?” - -We exchanged views on how best to dress and carry our revolvers, which -instantly assumed a new interest. - -“What time are you going out?” - -“Eight o’clock.” - -It was a quarter to already. - -In the dug-out I was emptying my pockets, taking off my equipment, and -putting on a cap-comforter. I had my compass with me, and put it in -my pocket. I looked on the map and saw that the sap was practically -due north of the Quarry. And I took a nip of brandy out of my flask. -Will had gone to arrange with Captain Robertson about warning the -sentries. I was alone, and still cursing myself for this unnecessary -adventure. When I was ready, I stodged up 76 Street to the Quarry. It -was certainly a good night, very black. - -When I saw Will and Captain Robertson together on the fire-step peering -over, I felt rather bucked with myself. Hitherto I had felt like an -enthusiastic bather undressing, nearly everyone else having decided it -was not warm enough to bathe; now it was as if I suddenly found that -they were watching me as I ran down the beach, and I no longer repented -of my resolution. Next moment I was climbing up on to the slimy sandbag -wall, and dropping over the other side. I was surprised to find there -was very little drop at all. There was an old ditch to be crossed, and -then we came to our wire, which was very thin at this point. While -Will was cursing, and making, it seemed to me, rather an unnecessary -rattling and shaking of the wire (you know how wire reverberates if you -hit a fence by the road), I looked back at our own parapet. I felt it -would be a good thing to see on one’s return; again, it struck me how -low it was, regarded from this side; I saw a head move along the top of -it. This made me jump. Already our trench seemed immeasurably far off. - -I looked in front again, as the noise of Will’s wire-rattling had -ceased. In fact he was clean out of sight. This made me jump again, and -I hurried on. It was “knife-rest” wire (see next page). - -I stepped over it, and my foot came down on to more wire, which rattled -with a noise that made me stand stock still awaiting something to -happen. I felt like a cat who has upset a tablecloth and all the tea -things. I stood appalled at the unexpected clatter. But really it was -hardly audible to _our_ sentries, much less to the Germans at least a -hundred and twenty yards away. - -[Illustration] - -At last I got through and flopped down. Immediately Will’s form showed -up dark in front of me. When I was standing up, I had been unable to -see him against the black ground. We lay about a minute absolutely -quiet, according to arrangement. - -I had fairly made the plunge now, and I felt like the bather shaking -his hair as he comes up for the first time, and shouting out how -glorious it is. I was elated. The feel of the wet grass was good under -my hands; the silence was good; the immense loneliness, save for Will’s -black form, was good; and a slight rustle of wind in the grass was good -also. I just wanted to lie, and enjoy it. I hoped Will would not go on -for another minute. But soon he began to crawl. - -Have you done much crawling? It is slow work. You take knee-steps, and -they are not like footsteps: they are not a hundred and twenty to the -hundred yards They are more like fifty to ten yards, I should think. -Anyway it seemed endless. The end of the sap was, to be precise, just -one hundred and twenty-five yards from our front trench. Yet when I had -gone, I suppose, forty yards, I expected to be on it any minute. Will -must be going wrong. I thought of the map. Could we be going north-east -instead of north? Will halted. I nearly bumped into his right foot, -which raised itself twice, signalling a halt. I took out my compass, -and looked at it. I shaded it with my hand, the luminous arrow seemed -so bright: “rather absurd,” I thought immediately, “as if the Boches -could possibly see it from the trench.” But we were going straight -enough. Then the figure in front moved on, and I came up to where he -had halted. It was the edge of a big shell-hole, full of water; I put -my left hand in up to the wrist, I don’t know why. - -Still the figure crawled on, with a sort of hump-backed sidle that I -had got to know by now. It was interminable this crawling.... - -“Swis--s--sh.” A German flare shot up from ever so close. It seemed to -be falling right over us. Then it burst with a “pop.” I had my head -down on my arms, but I could squint out sideways. It seemed impossible -we should not be seen; for there, hardly twenty yards away, was the -German wire, as clear as anything. Meanwhile the flare had fallen -behind us. Would it never go out? I noticed the way the blades of grass -were lit up by it; and there was an old tin or something.... I started -as a rat ran across the grass past me. I wondered if it were a German -rat, or one of ours. - -Then at last the flare went out, and the blackness was intense. For a -while longer we lay still as death; then I saw Will’s foot move again. -I listened intently, and on my right I heard a metallic sound. Quite -close it was; it sounded like the clank of a dixie. I peered hard in -the direction of the sound. Faintly I could distinguish earth above the -ground-line. I had not looked to my right when the flare went up, and -realised, as Will already had done, that we were out as far as the end -of the sap. It was perhaps ten yards off, due right. I lay with my ear -cocked sideways to catch the faintest sound. Clearly there was someone -in the sap. But there was a wind swishing in the grass, and I could not -hear anything more. Then my tense attitude relaxed, and I gradually -sank my chin on my arm. I felt very comfortable. I did not want to -move.... - -“Bang!!” and then a flame spat out; then came that gritty metallic -sound I had heard before, and another “Bang!” I kept my head down and -waited for the next, but it did not come. Then I heard a most human -scroopy cough, which also sounded _very_ near. The “bangs” were -objectionably near; I literally shrank from them. To tell the truth, I -had the “wind up” a bit. Those bullets seemed to me vicious personal -spits that were distinctly unpleasant and near; and I wanted to get -away from so close a proximity to them. I remembered a maxim of some -famous General to the intent that if you are afraid of the enemy, the -best thing was to remember that in all probability he was just as -afraid of you. The maxim did not seem to apply somehow here. At the -first “bang” I had thought we were seen; but I now realised that the -sentry was merely blazing off occasional shots, and that the bullets -had just plopped into our parapet. - -Then Will turned round, and I did the same. Our business was certainly -ended, for there was no doubt about the sap being occupied. Then I -heard a thud behind us, and looking up saw the slow climbing trail of a -canister blazing up into the sky; up it mounted, up, up, up, hovered a -moment, then turned, and with a gathering impetus blazed down somewhere -well behind our front trench. - -“Trafalgar Square,” I thought, as I lay doggo, for the blaze lit up the -sky somewhat. - -“Bomp.” The earth shook as the canister exploded. - -“Thud,” and the process was repeated exactly as before, ending in -another quaking “Bomp!” - -I enjoyed this. It was rather a novel way of seeing canisters, and -moreover a very safe way. - -Two more streamed over. - -Then our footballs answered, and burst with a bang in the air not so -_very_ far over into the German lines. The trench-mortar fellow was -evidently trying short fuses, for usually our trench-mortar shells -burst on percussion. - -Then in the distance I heard four bangs, and the Boche 4·2’s started, -screaming over at Maple Redoubt. I determined to move on. - -Then suddenly came four distant bangs from the right of our lines (as -we faced them), and with “wang--wang ... wang--wang” four whizz-bangs -burst right around us, with most appalling flickers. “Bang--bang ... -bang--bang” in the distance again, and I braced every muscle tightly, -as you do when you prepare to meet a shock. Behind us, and just in -front, the beastly things burst. I lay with every fibre in my body -strained to the uttermost. And yet I confess I enjoyed the sensation! - -There was a lull, and I began crawling as fast as I could. I stopped to -see if Will was following. “By God,” I heard, “let’s get out of this.” -So I was thinking! Then as I went on I saw the edge of a crater. Where -on earth? - -I halted and pulled out my compass. Due south I wanted. I found I -was bearing off to the right far too much, so with compass in hand I -corrected my course. Some crawling this time! It was not long before -we could see wire in the distance. Then I got up and ran. How I got -through that wire I don’t know; I tore my puttees badly, and must have -made a most unnecessary rattling. After which I fell into the ditch. - -“Thank heaven you’re all right,” was the greeting from Captain -Robertson. “I was just coming out after you. Those d--d artillery -fellows. I sent down at once to ’phone to them to stop....” - -And so on. I hardly heard a word. I was so elated, I could not listen. -As we went back to Trafalgar Square for dinner, I heard them warning -the sentries “The patrol’s in.” I looked up at the sandbag parapet. -“In,” I thought. “One does not realise what ‘in’ is, till one’s been -out.” - -I have been out several times later. I never had any adventures much. -But always, before going out, I felt the shivers of the bather; and -always, after I came in, a most splendid glow. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -“WHOM THE GODS LOVE” - - -“No officer wounded since we came out in October,” said Edwards: “we’re -really awfully lucky, you know.” - -“For heaven’s sake, touch wood,” I cried. - -We laughed, for the whole of our establishment was wood. We were -sitting on a wooden seat, leaning our hands against wooden uprights, -eating off a wooden table, and resting our feet on a wooden floor. -Sometimes, too, we found splinters of wood in the soup--but it was -more often straw. For this dining-room in Trafalgar Square was known -sometimes as the “Summer-house” and sometimes as the “Straw Palace.” -It was really the maddest so-called “dug-out” in the British lines, -I should think; I might further add, “in any trench in Europe.” For -the French, although they presumably built it in the summer days of -1915 when the Bois Français trenches were a sort of summer-rest for -tired-out soldiers, would never have tolerated the “Summer-house” since -the advent of the canister-age. As for the Boche, he would have merely -stared if anyone had suggested him using it as a Company Headquarters. -“But,” he would have said, “it is not shell-proof.” - -Exactly. It would not have stood even a whizz-bang. A rifle-grenade -would almost certainly have come right through it. As for a canister -or H.E., it would have gone through like a stone piercing wet paper. -But it had been Company Headquarters for so long--it was so light and, -being next door to the servants’ dug-out, so convenient--that we always -lived in it still; though we slept in a dug-out a little way down Old -Kent Road, which was certainly whizz-bang--if not canister--proof. - -At any rate, here were Edwards and myself, drinking rather watery -ox-tail soup out of very dinted tin-plates--the spoons were scraping -noisily on the metal; overhead, a rat appeared out of the straw thatch, -looked at me, blinked, turned about, and disappeared again, sending a -little spill of earth on to the table. - -“Hang these rats,” I exclaimed, for the tenth time that day. - -Outside, it was brilliant moonlight: whenever the door opened, I saw -it. It was very quiet. Then I heard voices, the sound of a lot of men, -moving in the shuffling sort of way that men do move at night in a -communication trench. - -The door flew open, and Captain Robertson looked in. - -“Hullo, Robertson; you’re early!” - -It was not much past half-past seven. - -“You’ve got those sand-bags up by 78 Street?” he said, sitting down. - -“Yes, 250 there, and 250 right up in the Loop. The rest I shall use on -the Fort. Oh! by the way, you know we are strafing at 12.5? We just had -a message up from Dale. I shall knock off at 11.45 to-night!” - -“I’ll see how we get on. I want to finish that traverse. Righto. I’m -just drawing tools and going up now.” - -“See you up there in a few minutes.” - -And the muttering stream of “A” Company filed past the dug-out, going -up to the front line. The door swung open suddenly, and each man looked -in as he went by. - -“Shut the door,” I shouted. Our plates themselves somehow suddenly -looked epicurean. - -Soon after eight I was up in the front line. It was the brightest -night we had had, and ideal for sand-bag work. The men were already at -it. There was a certain amount of inevitable talking going on, before -everyone got really started. We were working on the Fort, completing -two box dug-outs that we had half put in the night before; also, -we were thickening the parapet, between the Fort and the Loop, and -building a new fire-step. - -“Can’t see any b---- sand-bags here,” came from one man. - -“We’ll have to pick this, sir,” from another. - -“Where’s Mullens gone off to?” sharply from a sergeant. - -[Illustration: Good sand-bag work.] - -But for the most part the moonlight made everything straightforward, -and there was only the spitting sound of picks, the heavy, smothered -noise of men lifting sand-bags, or the “slap, slap” of others patting -them into a wall with the back of a shovel, that broke the stillness. -On the left “A” Company were working full steam ahead, heightening the -parapet and building a big traverse at the entrance to the Matterhorn -sap. “Robertson’s traverse” we always called it afterwards. He got his -men working in a long chain, passing filled sand-bags along from a -big miners’ sand-bag dump, the accumulation of months of patient R.E. -tunnelling. These huge dumps rose up in gigantic piles where-ever there -was a shaft-head; and they were a windfall to us if they were anywhere -near where we were working. On this occasion quite a thousand must have -been passed along and built into that traverse, and the parapet there, -by the Matterhorn. It was fascinating work, passing these dry, small -sacks as big as medium-sized babies, only as knobby and angular under -their outer cover as a baby is soft and rounded. Meanwhile the builders -laid them, like bricks, alternate “headers” and “stretchers.” - - * * * * * - -And so the work went on under the moon. - -“Davies,” I cried, in that low questioning tone that might well be -called “trench voice.” It is not a whisper; yet it is not a full, -confident sound. If a man speaks loudly in the front trench, you tell -him to remember the Boche is a hundred yards away; if he whispers in a -hoarse voice that sounds a little nervy, you tell him that the Boche’s -ears are not a hundred yards long. The result is a restrained and -serious-toned medium. - -“Sirr,” answered a voice close beside me, in a pitch rather louder than -the usual trench-voice. Davies always spoke clear and loud. He was my -orderly. - -“Oh! there you are.” Like a dog he had got tired of standing, and -while I stood watching the fascinating progress of the erection of a -box dug-out under Sergeant Hayman’s direction, he was sitting on the -fire-step immediately behind me. Had he been a collie, his tongue would -have been out, and he would have yawned occasionally; or his nose might -even have been between his paws. Now he jumped up, giving a hitch to -his rifle that was slung over his left shoulder. - -“I’m going round the sentries,” I said. - -Davies said nothing, but followed about two paces behind, stopping when -I stopped, and gazing at me silently when I got up on the fire-step to -look over. - -The low-ground in the quarry was very wet, and the trench there two -feet deep in water, so it was temporarily abandoned, and the little -trench out of 76 Street by No. 1 Sniping Post was my way to No. 5 -Platoon. It was a very narrow bit of trench, and on a dark night -one kept knocking one’s thighs and elbows against hard corners of -chalk-filled sand-bags. To-night it was easy in the white moonlight. -It was really not a trench at all, but a path behind a sand-bag dump. -Behind was the open field. There was no parados. - -All correct on the two posts in No. 5. It seemed almost unnecessary -to have two posts on such a bright night. The outline of the German -parapet looked clear enough. Surely the sentries must be almost visible -to-night? Right opposite was the dark earth of a sap-head. Our wire -looked very near and thin. - -“Everything all right?” - -“Yes, sir!” - -I saw the bombs lying ready in the crease between two sand-bags that -formed the parapet top. The pins were bent straight, ready for quick -drawing. The bomber was all right; and there was not much wrong with -his pal’s bayonet, that glistened in the moonlight. - -As usual, I went beyond our right post, until I was met by a peering, -suspicious head from the left-hand sentry of “C” Company. - -“Who’s that?” in a hoarse low voice, as the figure bent down off the -fire-step. - -“All right. Officer. ‘B’ Company.” - -Then I passed back along the trench to the top of 76 Street; and so on, -visiting all the sentries up to 80 A trench, and disturbing all the -working-parties. - -“Way, please,” I would say to the hindquarters of an energetic wielder -of the pick. - -“Hi! make way there!” Davies would say in a higher and louder voice -when necessary. Then the figure would straighten itself, and flatten -itself against the trench, while I squeezed past between perspiring -man and slimy sand-bag. This “passing” was an eternal business. It was -unavoidable. No one ever said anything, or apologised. No one ever -grumbled. It was like passing strap-hangers in the crowded carriage of -a Tube. Only it went on day and night. - -Craters by moonlight are really beautiful; the white chalk-dust gives -them the appearance of snow-mountains. And they look much larger than -they really are. On this occasion, as I looked into them from the -various bombing-posts, it needed little imagination to suppose I was up -in the snows of the Welsh hills. There was such a death-like stillness -over it all, too. The view from the Matterhorn was across the widest -and deepest of all the craters, and I stood a long time peering across -that yawning chasm at the dark, irregular rim of German sand-bags. I -gazed fascinated. What was it all about? The sentry beside me came -from a village near Dolgelly: was a farmer’s boy. He, too, was gazing -across, hardly liking to shuffle his feet lest he broke the silence. - -“Good God!” I felt inclined to exclaim. “Has there ever been anything -more idiotic than this? What in the name of goodness are you and I -doing here?” - -So I thought, and so I believe he was thinking. - -“Everything all right?” was all I said, as I jumped back into the -trench. - -“Yes, sir,” was all the answer. - -About ten o’clock I went back to Trafalgar Square. There I heard that -Thompson of “C” Company had been wounded. From what I could gather he -had been able to walk down to the dressing-station, so I concluded he -was only slightly hit. But it came as rather a shock, and I wondered -whether he would go to “Blighty.” - -At eleven I started off for the front trench again, viâ Rue Albert and -78 Street. There was a bit of a “strafe” on. It started with canisters; -it had now reached the stage of whizz-bangs as well. I thought -little of it, when “woo--woo--woo--woo,” and the Boche turned on his -howitzers. They screamed over to Maple Redoubt. - -A pause. Then again, and they screamed down just in front of us, -evidently after the corner of 78 Street. I did not hesitate, but pushed -on. The trench was completely blocked. Rue Albert was revetted with -wood and brushwood, and it was all over the place. Davies and I climbed -over with great difficulty, the whole place reeking with powder. - -“Look out, sir!” came from Davies, and we crouched down. There was a -colossal din while shells seemed all round us. - -“All right, Davies?” And we pushed on. At last here was 78 Street, and -we turned up to find another complete block in the trench. We again -scrambled over, and met “A” Company wiring-party, returning for more -wire. - -“The trench is blocked,” said I, “but you can get over all right.” - -We passed in the darkness. - -Again “Look out!” from Davies, and we cowered. Again the shells -screamed down on us, and burst just behind. - -“Good God!” I exclaimed, “those wirers!” - -Davies ran back. - -There was another block in the trench, but no sign of any men. They -were well away by now! But the shell had fallen between us and them -before they reached the block in 78 Street! - -Out of breath we arrived at the top of 78 Street, to find “A” Company -just getting going again after a hot quarter of an hour. Luckily they -had had no casualties. All was quiet now, and the moon looked down -upon the workers as before. A quarter past eleven. - -I worked my way along to the Fort and found there a sentry rather -excited because, he said, he had seen exactly the spot from which they -had fired rifle-grenades in the strafing just now. I got him to point -out the place. It was half-left, and as I looked, sure enough I saw -a flash, and a rifle-grenade whined through the air, and fell with a -snarl behind our trench. - -“Davies,” I said, “get Lance-Corporal Allan to come here with the Lewis -gun.” - -Davies was gone like a flash. - -The Lewis guns had only recently become company weapons, and were still -somewhat of a novelty. The Lewis gunners were rather envied, and also -rather “downed” by the sergeant-major for being specialists. But this -they could not help; and they were, as a matter of fact, the best men -in my company. - -Allan arrived, with one of the team carrying two spare drums of -ammunition. We pointed out the spot, and he laid his gun on the -parapet, with the butt against his shoulder, and his finger on the -trigger, and waited. - -“Flash!” - -“There he is, sir!” from the sentry. - -“Drrrrrr-r-r-r” purred the Lewis gun, then stopped. Then again, ending -with another jerk. There was a silence. We waited five minutes. - -“I’ll just empty the magazine, sir.” - -“Dr-r-r-r-r.” - -Lance-Corporal Allan took off the drum, and handed it to the other -Lewis gunner. Then he handed down the gun, and we talked a few minutes. -He was very proud of his gun. After a time I sent him back, and made my -way along to “A” Company. - -There I found Robertson. We talked. A tremendous lot of work had been -done, and the big traverse was practically finished. - -“I’m knocking off now,” said I. It was a quarter to twelve, and I went -along with the “Cease work” message. - -“All right,” said Robertson, “I’m just going to have another look at my -wirers. I’ll look in as I go down.” - -By the time I had reached the top of 76 Street, the trench was full of -the clank of the thermos dixies, and the men were drinking hot soup. -The pioneers had just brought it up. I stopped and had a taste. It was -good stuff. As I turned off down the trench, I heard the Germans start -shelling again on our left, but they stopped almost directly. I thought -nothing of it at the time. - -It was just midnight when I reached Trafalgar Square and bumped into -Davidson coming round the corner. - -“I was looking for you,” said he. “You’ve heard about Tommy?” - -“Yes,” I answered. “But he’s not badly hit, is he?” - -“Oh, you haven’t heard. He died at eleven o’clock.” - -Died! My God! this was something new. Briefly, tersely, Davidson -told me the details. He had been hit in the mouth while working on -the parapet, and had died down at the dressing station. I looked -hard at Davidson, as we stood together in the moonlight by the big -island traverse at Trafalgar Square. Somehow I felt my body tense; my -teeth were pressed together; my eyes did not want to blink. Here was -something new. I had seen death often: _it_ was nothing new. But it was -the first time it had taken one of us. I wondered what Davidson felt; -he knew Thompson much better than I. Yet I knew him well enough--only a -day or so ago he had come to our billet in the butcher’s shop, and we -had talked of him afterwards--and now--dead---- - -All this flashed through my brain in a second. Meanwhile Davidson was -saying, - -“Well, I’m just going off for this strafe,” when I heard men running -down a trench. - -“Quick! Stretcher-bearers. The Captain’s hit,” came from someone in a -low voice. The stretcher-bearers’ dug-out was just by where we were -standing, and immediately I heard a stir inside, and a head looked out -from the waterproof sheet that acted as curtain in front of it. - -“Is it a stretcher-case?” a voice asked. - -“Yes,” was the reply, and without more ado two stretcher-bearers turned -out and ran up 76 Street after the orderly. At that moment there was a -thud, and a blazing trail climbed up the sky from the left. - -“D----,” I muttered. “We must postpone this strafe. Davidson, we’ll -fix up later, see? Only no firing now.” As Davidson disappeared to his -gun-position, I ran to the telephone. - -“Trench-mortar officer,” I said. “Quick!” - -But there is no “quick” about a signaller. He is always there, and -methodically, without haste or flurry, he takes down and sends -messages. There is no “quickness”; yet there is no delay. If the world -outside pulses and rocks under a storm of shells, in the signallers’ -dug-out is always a deep-sea calm. So impatiently I watched the -operator beat his little tattoo on the buzzer; looked at his face, -as the candle-light shone on it, with its ears hidden beneath the -receiver-drums, and its head swathed by the band that holds them over -the ears. In the corner, the second signaller sat up and peered out of -his blanket, and then lay down again. - -“Zx? Is there an officer there? Hold on a minute, please. The officer’s -at the gun, sir; will you speak to the corporal?” - -“Yes.” I already had the receiver to my ear. - -“Is that the trench-mortar corporal? Well, go and tell Mr. Macfarlane, -will you, to stop firing at once, and not to start again till he hears -from Mr. Adams. Right. Right. Thanks.” This last to the signaller as -I left the dug-out. - -“Thud!” and another football blazed through the sky. - -Macfarlane was the officer in charge of the trench-mortar guns of our -sector. I knew him well. Davidson was in charge of the Stokes gun, -which is a quick-firing trench-mortar gun. Macfarlane’s shells were -known as “footballs,” but as they had a handle attached they looked -more like hammers as they slowly curved through the air. - -We had arranged to “strafe” a certain position in the German support -line at five minutes after midnight. But I wanted to stop it before -retaliation started. The doctor had gone up the front line, and -Robertson would be brought down any minute. - -Outside I met Brock. He said little, but it was good to have him there. -A long while it seemed, waiting. I started up 76 Street. No sooner had -I started than I heard footsteps coming down, and to make room I went -back. I was preparing to say some cheery word to Robertson, but when I -saw him he was lying quite still and unconscious. I stopped the little -doctor. - -“Is he bad, Doc?” - -“Well, old man, I can hardly say. He’s got a fighting chance,” and -he went on. Slowly I heard the stretcher-bearers’ footsteps growing -fainter and fainter, and there was silence. Thank God! those footballs -had stopped now! - -Did I guess that Robertson too was mortally wounded? I cannot say--only -my teeth were set, and I felt very wideawake. In a minute both Davidson -and Macfarlane came up, Davidson down 76 Street, and Macfarlane from -Rue Albert. I told Macfarlane all about it, and as I did so my blood -was up. I swore hard at the devils that had done this; and we agreed on -a “strafe” at a quarter to one. - - * * * * * - -I stood alone at Trafalgar Square. There was a great calm sky, and the -moon looked down at me. Then with a “thud” the first football went up. -Then the Stokes answered. - -“Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!” Up they sailed into the air all -together, and exploded with a deafening din. - -“Thud--thud!” - -“Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!” - -Then the Boche woke up. Two canisters rose, streamed, and fell, -dropping slightly to my right. - -But still our trench-mortars went on. Two more canisters tried for -Davidson’s gun. - -I was elated. “This for Thompson and Robertson,” I said, as our -footballs went on methodically. - -Then the whizz-bangs began on Trafalgar Square. - -I went to the telephone. - -“Artillery,” I said briefly. “Retaliate C 1 Sector.” - -And then our guns began. - -“Scream, scream, scream” they went over. - -“Swish--swish” answered the Boche whizz-bangs. - -“Phew,” said Sergeant Tallis, the bombing-sergeant, as he looked out of -his dug-out. - -“More retaliation,” I said to the signaller, and stepped out again. - -A grim exaltation filled me. We were getting our own back. I did not -care a straw for their canisters or whizz-bangs. It pleased me to hear -Sergeant Tallis say “Phew.” My blood was up, and I did not feel like -saying “Phew.” - -“The officer wants to know if that is enough,” said the telephone -orderly, who had come out to find me. - -“No,” I answered; “I want more.” - -The Boche was sending “heavies” over on to Maple Redoubt. I would go on -until he stopped. My will should be master. Again our shells screamed -over. There was no reply. - -Gradually quiet came back. - -Then I heard footsteps, and there was Davidson. His face was glowing -too. - -“How was that?” he asked. - -How was that? He had fired magnificently, though the Boche had sent -stuff all round him. How was that? - -“Magnificent! We’ve shut them up.” - -“I’ve got six shells left. Shall I blaze them off?” - -“Oh, no!” said I; “I think we’ve avenged Tommy.” - -His face hardened. - -“Good night, Bill!” - -But I did not feel like sleep. I still stood at the corner, waiting for -I knew not what. - -“Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!” went the Stokes gun. There was a pause, -and “bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!” came the sound of them bursting. -There was a longer pause. - -“Bang!” I watched the spark floating through the sky. - -“Bang!” came the sound back from the German trench. - -I waited. There was no answer. And for the first time that night I -fancied the moon smiled. - - -[_Copy_] - -DAILY SUMMARY. C 1. (LEFT COMPANY) - -6 p.m. 18.3.16--3.30 p.m. 19.3.16 - - -(a) _Operations._ - - 11.0 p.m. Enemy fired six rifle-grenades from F10/5. The - approximate position of the battery was visible from the FORT, - and Lewis gun fire was brought to bear on it, which immediately - silenced it. - - 11.30 p.m. Enemy fired several trench-mortar shells and H.E. - shells on junction of 78 Street and RUE ALBERT (F10/6), a few - falling in our front line trench by the MATTERHORN. No damage was - done to our trenches. - - 12.45 p.m. Our T.M. Battery fired 12 footballs, and our Stokes - gun 32 shells at enemy’s front line trench in F10/5. The enemy - sent a few canisters over, but then resorted to H.E.’s. Our - artillery retaliated. Our Stokes gun continued to fire until - enemy was silent, no reply being sent to our last 6 shells. - - 7.45 a.m. Enemy fired several rifle-grenades and bombs. Our - R.G.’s retaliated with 24 R.G.’s. - -(b) _Progress of Work._ - - { 30 yards of parapet thickened two feet. - F 10/6 { 25 yards of fire-step built. - {20 coils of wire put out. - - { 20 yards of parapet thickened two feet. - F 10/5 { 2 dug-outs completed. - {20 yards of fire-step built. - - J. B. P. ADAMS, Lt., - - O.C. “B” Coy. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -“WHOM THE GODS LOVE”--(_continued_) - - -As I write I feel inclined to throw the whole book in the fire. It -seems a desecration to tell of these things. Do I not seem to be -exulting in the tragedy? Should not he who feels deeply keep silent? -Sometimes I think so. And yet it is the truth, word for word the truth; -so I must write it. - -In the Straw Palace next morning Davidson and I were sitting discussing -last night, when the doctor looked in. He started talking about -Vermorel sprayers (the portable tins shaped like large oval milk-cans, -filled with a solution useful for clearing dug-outs after a gas -attack). One of these was damaged, and I had sent down a note to the -M.O. about it. - -“How’s Robertson?” I asked at once. - -“He died this morning, Bill--three o’clock this morning.” - -“Good God,” I said. - -“Pretty ghastly, isn’t it? Two officers like that in one night. The -C.O. is awfully cut up about it.” - -“Robertson dead?” said Davidson. - -And so we talked for some minutes. The old doctor was used to these -things. He had seen so many officers fall out of line. But to us this -was new, and we had not gauged it yet. You might have thought from his -quiet jerky sentences that the doctor was almost callous. You would -have been wrong. - -“Well, I must get on,” he said at last. “So long, Bill. Send that -Vermorel sprayer down, will you, and I’ll see to it, and you’ll have it -back to-night, probably.” - -“Righto.” And the doctor and his orderly disappeared down the Old Kent -Road. - -Davidson and I talked alone. - -“It must be pretty rotten being an M.O.,” he remarked. - -Then the “F.L.O.” came in. He is the “Forward liaison officer,” an -artillery officer who lives up with the infantry and facilitates -co-operation between the two. At the same moment came a cheery Scotch -voice outside, and Macfarlane, the “football” officer, looked in. - -“Come oot a’ that!” he cried. “Sittin’ indoors on a fine mornin’.” - -“Come in,” we said. - -But his will prevailed, and we all came out into the sunshine. I had -not seen him since last night’s little show. Now he was being relieved -by another officer for six days, and I was anxious to know what sort -of a man was his successor. But Macfarlane did not know much about him -yet. - -“Anyway,” said I, “if he’ll only fire like you, we don’t mind.” - -“Och!” grunted Macfarlane. “What’s the use of havin’ a gun, and no -firin’ it? So long as I get ma footballs up, I’ll plunk them over aw -recht.” - -“Yes,” I added. “The Boche doesn’t approve of your sort.” - -For there were other sorts. There was the trench-mortar officer who -was never to be found, but who left a sergeant with instructions not -to fire without his orders; there was the trench-mortar officer who -“could not fire except by Brigade orders”; there was the trench-mortar -officer who was “afraid of giving his position away”; there was the -trench-mortar officer who “couldn’t get any ammunition up, you know; -they won’t give it me; only too pleased to fire, if only ...”; there -was the trench-mortar officer who started firing on his own, without -consulting the company commander, just when you had a big working-party -in the front trenches; and lastly there were trench-mortar officers -like Davidson and Macfarlane. - -“Cheero, then,” we said, as Macfarlane went off. “Look us up. You know -our billet? We’ll be out to-morrow.” - -Then we finished our consultation and divided off to our different jobs. - -All that day I felt that there was in me something which by all -rights should have “given”: these two deaths should have made me feel -different: and yet I was just the same. As I went round the trench, -with Davies at my heels, talking to platoon-sergeants, examining wire -through my periscope, all in the ordinary way exactly as before, I -forgot all about Tommy and Robertson. Even when I came to the place -where Robertson had been hit, and saw the blood on the fire-step, and -some scraps of cotton wool lying about, I looked at it as you might -look at a smashed egg on the pavement, curiously, and then passed on. -“Am I indifferent to these things, then?” I asked myself. I had not -realised yet that violent emotion very rarely comes close upon the -heels of death, that there is a numbness, a blunting of the spirit, -that is an anodyne to pain. I was ashamed of my indifference; yet I -soon saw that it was no uncommon thing. Besides, one had to “carry on” -just the same. There was always a silence among the men, when a pal -“goes west”; so now Edwards and I did not talk much, except to discuss -the ordinary routine. - -I did not get much rest that day. In the afternoon came up a message -from the adjutant that we were exploding a mine opposite the Matterhorn -at 6.30; our trench was to be cleared from 80 A to the bombing-post on -the left of the Loop inclusive. Edwards and I were the only officers in -the company, so while he arranged matters with the Lewis-gun teams, I -went off to see about getting the trench cleared. I had just sent off -the “daily summary,” my copy of which is reproduced on page 179. As I -came back along 78 Street, I met Davidson again. He was looking for a -new site for his gun, so as to be able to get a good fire to bear on -the German lines opposite the Matterhorn. I went with him, and together -we found a place behind the big mine-dump to the left of 78 Street, and -close to one of our rifle-grenade batteries. As he went off to get his -corporal and team to bring the gun over and fix it in position, he said -something in a rather low voice. - -“What?” I shouted. “Couldn’t hear.” - -He came back and repeated it. - -“Oh,” I said. “Sorry. Yes, all right. I expect I’ll hear from the -Adjutant. Thanks.” - -What he said was that there would be a funeral that night at nine -o’clock. Thompson and Robertson were being buried together. He thought -I would like to know. - -It was close on half-past six, and getting dark. The trenches were -cleared, and I was waiting at the head of two platoons that strung out -along 78 Street and behind the Loop. Rifles had been inspected; the men -had the S.A.A. (small arms ammunition) and bomb boxes with them, ready -to take back into the trench as soon as the mine had gone up. I looked -at my watch. - -“Another minute,” I said. - -Then, as I spoke, the earth shook; there was a pause, and a great black -cloud burst into the air, followed by a roar of flames. I got up on the -fire-step to see it better. It is a good show, a mine. There was the -sound of falling earth, and then silence. - -“Come on,” I said, and we hurried back into the trench. Weird and -eerie it looked in the half-light; its emptiness might have been years -old. It was undamaged, as we had expected; only there was loose earth -scattered all over the parapet and fire-step. - -Then hell broke loose, a crashing, banging, flashing hell that -concentrated on the German front line directly opposite. It seemed like -stirring up an ant’s nest, and then spraying them with boiling water as -they ran about in confusion! - -“Bang--bang--bang--bang--bang,” barked Davidson’s gun. - -“Thud,” muttered the football-thrower. - -“Wheep! Wee-oo, wee-oo, wee-oo,” went the rifle grenades. And all this -splendid rain burst with a glorious splash just over the new crater. -It was magnificent shooting, and half of us were up on the fire-step -watching the fireworks. - -Then the Boche retaliated, with canisters and whizz-bangs, and -“heavies” for Maple Redoubt; and then our guns joined the concert. It -was “hot shop” for half an hour, but at last it died down and there was -a great calm. Some of the men were in the trenches for the first time, -and had not relished the proceedings overmuch! They were relieved to -get the order “Stand down!” - -There were several things to be done, working-parties to be arranged, -final instructions given to a patrol, Lewis gunners to be detailed to -rake the German parapet opposite the Matterhorn all night. A platoon -sergeant was worried about his sentries; he had not enough men, having -had one or two casualties; and I had to lend him men from a more -fortunate platoon. It was quite dark, and nearly half-past seven by the -time I got back to Trafalgar Square. Edwards had started dinner, as he -was on trench duty at eight o’clock. The sergeant-major was on duty -until then. - -Davidson looked in on his way down to Maple Redoubt. - -“I say, your Stokes were bursting top-hole. We had a splendid view.” - -“They weren’t going short, were they?” he asked. - -“No. Just right. The fellows were awfully bucked with it.” - -“Oh, good. You can’t see a bit from where we are, and the corporal said -he thought they were going short. But I’d worked out the range and was -firing well over 120, so I carried on. I’m going down to have dinner -with O’Brien. I think we’ve done enough to-night.” - -Then I saw that he was tired out. - -“Rather a hot shop?” I asked. - -“Yes,” he said in his casual way. “They were all round us. Well, -cheero! I shan’t be up till about ten, I expect, unless there’s -anything wanted.” - -“Cheero!” - -“It’s no joke firing that gun with the Boche potting at you hard with -canisters,” I said to Edwards, as Davidson’s footsteps died away. - -“He’s the bravest fellow in the regiment,” said Edwards, and we talked -of the time when the gun burst in his face as he was firing it, and -he told his men that it had been hit by a canister, to prevent their -losing confidence in it. I saw him just afterwards: his face was -bleeding. It was no joke being Stokes officer; the Germans hated those -vicious snapping bolts that spat upon them “One, two, three, four, -five,” and always concentrated their fire against his gun. But they had -not got him. - -“No, he’s inside,” I heard Edwards saying. “Bill. Telephone message.” - -The telephone orderly handed me a pink form. Edwards was outside, just -about to go on trench duty. It was eight. I went outside. It was bright -moonlight again. Grimly, I thought of last night. - -“Look here,” I said. “There’s this funeral at nine o’clock. I’ve just -got this message. One officer from each company may go. Will you go? I -can’t very well go as O.C. Company.” And I handed him the pink form to -see. - -So we rearranged the night duties, and Edwards went off till half-past -eight, while I finished my dinner. Lewis was hovering about with -toasted cheese and _café au lait_. As I swallowed these glutinous -concoctions, the candle flickered and went out. I pushed open the door: -the moonlight flooded in, and I did not trouble to call for another -candle. Then I heard the sergeant-major’s voice, and went out. We stood -talking at Trafalgar Square. - -“Shan’t be sorry to get relieved to-morrow,” I said. I was tired, and -I wondered how long the night would take to pass. - -Suddenly, up the Old Kent Road I heard a man running. My heart stopped. -I hate the sound of running in a trench, and last night they had -run for stretcher-bearers when Robertson was hit. I looked at the -sergeant-major, who was biting his lip, his ears cocked. Round the -corner a man bolted, out of breath, excited. I stopped him; he nearly -knocked into us. - -“Hang you,” said I. “Stop! Where the devil...?” - -“Mr. Davidson, sir ... Mr. Davidson is killed.” - -“Rot!” I said, impatiently. “Pull yourself together, man. He’s all -right. I saw him only half an hour ago.” - -But as I spoke, something broke inside me. It was as if I were -straining, beating against something relentless. As though by words, by -the cry “impossible” I could beat back the flood of conviction that the -man’s words brought over me. Dead! I _knew_ he was dead. - -“Impossible, corporal,” I said. “What do you mean?” For I saw now that -it was Davidson’s corporal who stood gazing at me with fright in his -eyes. - -He pulled himself together at last. - -“Killed, sir. It came between us as we were talking. A whizz-bang, sir.” - -“My God!” I cried. “Where?” - -“Just at the bottom, sir”--the man jerked his hand back down Old Kent -Road. “We were just talking, sir. My leave has come through, and he was -joking, and saying his would be through soon, when ... oh, Jesus ... I -was half blinded.... I’ve not got over it yet, sir.” And the man was -all trembling as he spoke. - -“He was killed instantly?” - -“Ach!” said the man. He made a gesture with his hands. “It burst right -on him.” - -“Poor fellow,” I said. God knows what I meant. “Send a man with him, -sergeant-major,” I added, and plunged up 76 Street. - -“Davidson,” I cried. “Davidson dead!” - - * * * * * - -It was close on midnight, as I stood outside the Straw Palace. Lewis -brought me a cup of cocoa. I drank it in silence, and ate a piece of -cake. I told the man to go to bed. Then, when he had disappeared, I -climbed up out of the trench, and sat, my legs dangling down into it. -Down in the trench the moon cast deep black shadows. I looked around. -All was bathed in pale, shimmery moonlight. There was a great silence, -save for distant machine-gun popping down in the Fricourt valley, and -the very distant sound of guns, guns, guns--the sound that never stops -day and night. I pressed on my right hand and with a quick turn was up -on my feet out of the trench, on the hill-side; for I was just over the -brow, on the reverse slope, and out of sight of the enemy lines. I took -off my steel helmet and put it on the ground, while I stretched out my -arms and clenched my hands. - -“So this is War,” I thought. I realised that my teeth were set, and -my mouth hard, and my eyes, though full of sleep, wide open: silently -I took in the great experience, the death of those well-loved. For of -all men in the battalion I loved Davidson best. Not that I knew him so -wonderfully well--but ... well, one always had to smile when he came -in; he was so good-natured, so young, so delightfully imperturbable. He -used to come in and stroke your hair if you were bad-tempered. Somehow -he reminded me of a cat purring; and perhaps his hair and his smile had -something to do with it? Oh, who can define what they love in those -they love? - -And then my mind went back over all the incidents of the last few -hours. Together we had been through it all: together we had discussed -death: and last of all I thought how he had told me of the funeral that -was to be at 9 o’clock. And now he lay beside them. All three had been -buried at nine o’clock. - -“Dead. Dead,” said a voice within me. And still I did not move. Still -that numbness, that dulness, that tightening across the brain and -senses. This, too, was something new. Then I looked around me, across -the moorland. I walked along until I could see down over Maple Redoubt -and across the valley, where there seemed a slight white mist; or was -it only moonshine? - -Suddenly, “Strength.” I answered the voice. “Strong. I am strong.” -Every muscle in my body was tingling at my bidding. I felt an iron -strength. All this tautness, this numbness, was strength. I remembered -last night, the feeling of irresistible will-power, and my eyes glowed. -I thought of Davidson, and my eyes glistened: the very pain was the -birth of new strength. - -Then, even as the strength came, I heard a thud, and away on the left -a canister blazed into the air, climbed, swooped, and rushed. And the -vulgar din of its bursting rent all the stillness of the night. A -second followed suit. And as it, too, burst, it seemed a clumsy mocking -at me, a mocking that ran in echoes all along the still valley. - -“Strength,” it sneered. “Strength.” - -And all my iron will seemed beating against a wall of steel, that must -in the end wear me down in a useless battering. - -“War,” I cried. “How can my will batter against war?” I thought -of Davidson’s smiling face; and then I thought of the blind clumsy -canister. And I felt unutterably weak and powerless. What did it -matter what I thought or did, whether I was weak or strong? What power -had I against this irresistible impersonal machine; this war? And I -remembered how an hour or so ago the trench-mortar officer had asked me -whether I wanted him to fire or not, and I had answered, “Good God! Do -as you d--d well like.” What did it matter what he did? Yet, last night -it had seemed to matter everything. - -Slowly there came into my mind that picture that later has come to -mean to me the true expression of war. Only slowly it came now, a -half-formed image of what my spirit alone understood. - -“A certain man drew a bow at a venture,” I thought. What of those -shells that I had called down last night at my bidding, standing like a -god, intoxicated with power, and crying “Retaliate. More retaliation.” -Where did they fall? Were other men lying as Davidson lay to-night? Had -I called down death? Had I stricken families? Probably. Nay, more than -probably. Certainly. Death. Blind death. That was it. Blind death. - -And all the time above me was the white moon. I looked at the shadows -of my arms as I held them out. Such shadows belonged to summer nights -in England ... in Kent.... Oh! why was everything so silent? Could -nothing stop this utter folly, this cruel madness, this clumsy death? - -And then, at last, the strain gave a little, and my muscles relaxed. I -went back and took up my helmet. - -“Dead,” the voice repeated within me. And this time my spirit found -utterance: - -“Damn!” I said. “Oh damn! damn! Damn!” - - -[_Copy_] - -SPECIAL REPORT--C 1 SECTION (LEFT COMPANY) - -The mine exploded by us opposite 80 A at 6.30 p.m. last night has -exposed about 20 yards of German parapet. A working-party attempting -to work there about 12.30 a.m. and again at 2 a.m. was dispersed at -once by our rifle and Lewis-gun fire. The parapet has been built up -sufficiently to prevent our seeing over it, sand-bags having been put -up from inside the trench. Our snipers are closely watching this spot. - - J. B. P. ADAMS, Lieut. - - O.C. “B” Coy. - -6.30 a.m. 20.3.16. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -OFFICERS’ SERVANTS - - -“Poor devils on sentry,” said Dixon. He shut the door quickly and came -over to the fire. Outside was a thick blizzard, and it was biting cold. -He sat down on the bed nearest the fire and got warm again. - -“Look here, Bill, can’t we possibly get any coal?” - -“We sent a fellow into Bray,” I answered, “but it’s very doubtful if -he’ll get any. Anyway we’ll see.” - -Tea was finished. The great problem was fuel. There were no trees or -houses anywhere near 71 North. We had burnt two solid planks during -the day; these had been procured by the simple expedient of getting a -lance-corporal to march four men to the R.E. dump, select two planks, -and march them back again. But by now the planks had surely been -missed, and it would be extremely risky to repeat the experiment, even -after dark. So a man had been despatched to Bray to try and purchase -a sack of coal; also, I had told the Mess-sergeant to try and buy one -for us, and bring it up with the rations. This also was a doubtful -quantity. Meanwhile, we had a great blaze going, and were making the -most of it. - -I was writing letters; Dixon was reading; Nicolson was seeing to -the rum ration; Clark was singing, “Now Neville was a devil,” and -showing his servant Brady how to “make” a hammock. Brady was a patient -disciple, but his master had slept in a hammock for the first time -in his life the night before and consequently was not a very clear -exponent of the art. Apparently certain things that happened last night -must be avoided to-night; _how_ they were to be avoided was left to -Brady’s ingenuity. Every attempt on his part to solve the problems put -before him was carefully tested by Clark, and accepted or condemned -according to its merit under the strain of Clark’s body. At such -times of testing the strains of “Neville was a devil” would cease. At -last Brady hit on some lucky adjustment, and the occupant pronounced -his position to be first rate. Then Brady disappeared behind the -curtain that screened the servants’ quarters, and the song proceeded -uninterruptedly, - - “Now Neville was a devil - A perfect little devil”; - -and Clark rocked himself contentedly into a state of restful slumber. - -Meanwhile, behind the arras the retainers prepared their masters’ meal. -This dug-out was of the “tubular” pattern, a succession of quarter -circles of black iron riveted together at the top, and so forming a -long tube, one end of which was bricked up and had a brick chimney -with two panes of glass on each side of it; the other led into a small -wooden dug-out curtained off. Here abode five servants and an orderly. -I should here state that this dug-out was the most comfortable I have -ever lived in; as a matter of fact it was not a dug-out at all, but -being placed right under the steep bank at 71 North it was practically -immune from shelling. The brick chimney and the glass window-panes -were certainly almost unique: one imagined it must have been built -originally by the R.E.’s for their own abode! Along the sides were four -beds of wire-netting stretched over a wooden frame with a layer of -empty sand-bags for mattress. In the centre was a wooden table. Over -this table, in air suspended, floated Clark. - -Meanwhile, as above stated, behind the arras the retainers prepared -their masters’ meal, with such-like comments-- - -“Who’s going for rations to-night?” - -“It’s Lewis’s turn to-night, and Smith’s.” - -“All right, sergeant.” - -“Gr-r-r” (unintelligible). - -“Where’s Dodger?” - -“Out chasing them hares. Didn’t you hear the Captain say he’d be for -it, if he didn’t get one?” - -“Gr-r-r. He won’t get any ---- hares.” - -Here followed a pause, and a lot of noise of plates and boxes being -moved. Then there was a continued crackling of wood, as the fire was -made up. Followed a lot of coughing, and muttering, and “Phew!” as the -smoke got too thick even for that smoke-hardened crew. - -“Phew! Stop it. Jesus Christ.” - -More coughing, the door was opened, and soon a cold draught sped into -our dug-out. There was but one door for both. - -“Shut that door!” I shouted. - -“Hi, Lewis, your bloke’s calling. Said, ‘Shut that door.’” - -Then the door shut. More coughing ensued, but the smoke was better, -apparently, for it soon ceased. We were each, by the way, “my bloke” to -our respective retainers. - -The conversation remained for some time at an inaudible level, until I -heard the door open again, and a shout of “Hullo! Dodger. Coo! Jesus -Christ! He’s all right, isn’t he? There’s a job for you, sergeant, -cooking that bloke. Has the Captain seen him? Hey! Look out of that! -You’ll have the blood all over the place. Get a bit of paper.” - -The “sergeant” (Private Gray) made no comments on the prospect of -cooking the “Dodger’s” quarry, and the next minute Private Davies, -orderly, appeared with glowing though rather dirty face holding up a -large hare, that dripped gore from its mouth into a scrunched-up ball -of _Daily Mail_ held to its nose like a pocket-handkerchief. - -“Look here, Dixon,” I said. - -“Devil’s alive,” exclaimed Dixon. “Then you’ve got one. By Jove! -Splendid! I say, isn’t he a beauty?” And we all went up and examined -him. He was a hare of the first order. To-morrow he should be the _chef -d’œuvre_ in “B” Company mess at Morlancourt. For we went out of reserve -into billets the next morning. - -“How did you get him, Davies?” - -“Oh! easy enough, sir. I’ll get another if you like. There’s a lot of -them sitting out in the snow there. I was only about fifty yards off. -He don’t get much chance with a rifle, sir.” (Here his voice broke into -a laugh.) “It’s not what you call much sport for him, sir! I got this -too, sir!” - -And lo! and behold! a plump partridge! - -“Oh! they’re as tame as anything, and you can’t help getting them in -this snow,” he said. - -At last the dripping hare was removed from the stage to behind the -scenes, and Davies joined the smothered babel behind the arras. - -“Wonderful fellow, old Davies,” said Dixon. - -“By the way, Bill,” he added. “How about getting the little doctor in -to-night for a hand of vingt-et-un? Can we manage it all right?” - -I was Mess-president for the time, Edwards being away on a course. - -“Oh! yes,” I answered. “Rather. I’ll send a note.” - -As I was writing a rather elaborate note (having nothing better to do) -requesting the pleasure of the distinguished presence of the medical -officer, the man who had been to Bray for coal came and reported a -fruitless errand. He seemed very depressed at his failure, but cheered -up when we gave him a tot of rum to warm him up. (All rum, by the way, -is kept in the company officer’s dug-out; it is the only way.) - -Meanwhile, the problem of fuel must be faced. A log was crackling away -merrily enough, but it was the very last. Something must be done. - -“Davies,” I called out. - -“Sir?” came back in that higher key of his. - -He appeared at the door. - -“Are you going down for rations?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Well, look here. There’s a sack of coal _ordered_ from Sergeant -Johnson, but I’m none too sure it’ll come up to-night. I only ordered -it yesterday. But I want you to make sure you get it if it is there; in -fact you _must_ bring it, whether it’s there or not. See? If you don’t, -you’ll be for it.” - -This threat Davies took for what it was worth. But he answered: - -“I’ll get it, sir. I’ll bring something along somehow.” - -And Davies never failed of his word. - -“Good! Do what you can.” - -Half an hour later he staggered in with a sack of coal, and plumped -it down, all covered with snow. The fire was burning very low, and -we were looking at it anxiously. The sight of this new supply of fuel -was wonderful good to the eyes. So busy were we in stoking up, that we -forgot to ask Davies if he had had any trouble in getting it. After -all, it did not matter much. There was the coal; that was the point. - -Behind the curtain there was a great business. Lewis and Brady had -brought up the rations; Gray was busy with a big stew, and Richards -was apparently engaged in getting out plates and knives and forks from -a box; Davies was reading aloud, in the middle of the chaos, from the -_Daily Mail_. Sometimes the Mess-president took it into his head to -inspect the servants’ dug-out; but it was an unwise procedure, for -it took away the relish of the meal, if you saw the details of its -preparation. So long as it was served up tolerably clean, one should be -satisfied. - -At half-past seven came in Richards to lay the table. The procedure -of this was first to take all articles on the table and dump them on -the nearest bed. Then a knife, fork, and spoon were put to each place, -and a varied collection of tin mugs and glasses arranged likewise; -then came salt and mustard in glass potted-meat jars; bread sitting -bareback on the newspaper tablecloth; and a bottle of O.V.H. and two -bottles of Perrier to crown the feast. All this was arranged with a -deliberate smile, as by one who knew the exact value of things, and -defied instruction in any detail of laying a table. Richards was an old -soldier, and he had won from Dixon at first unbounded praise; but he -had been found to possess a lot too much talk at present, and had been -sat on once or twice fairly heavily of late. So now he wore the face of -one who was politely amused, yet, knowing his own worth, could forbear -from malice. He gave the table a last look with his head on one side, -and then departed in silence. - -Suddenly the door flew open, and the doctor burst in, shuddering, and -knocking the snow off his cap. - -“By Jove, Dicker,” he cried. “A bad night to go about paying joy -visits. But, by Jove, I’m jolly glad you asked me. There’s the devil to -pay up at headquarters. The C.O.’s raving, simply. Some blighter has -pinched our coal, and there’s none to be got anywhere. Good Lord, it’s -too hot altogether. I couldn’t stand Mess there to-night at any price. -I pity old Dale. The C.O.’s been swearing like a trooper! He’s fair -mad.” - -“Never mind,” he added after a pause. “I think we’ve raised enough wood -to cook the dinner all right. See you’ve got coal all right.” - -I hoped to goodness Dixon wouldn’t put his foot in it. But he rose to -the occasion and said: - -“Oh, yes. We ordered some coal from Sergeant Johnson. Come on, let’s -start. Hi! Richards!” - -And Richards came in with the stew in a tin jug such as is used in -civilised lands to hold hot water of a morning. And so the doctor -forgot the Colonel’s rage. - -Late that night, after the doctor had gone, I called Davies. - -“Davies,” I said, “where did you get that coal?” - -“Off the ration cart, sir.” - -“Was it ours, do you think?” - -“Well, sir, I don’t somehow think it was. You see, the ration cart came -up, and the man driving it was up by the horse--and I saw the bag o’ -coal there, like. So I said to Lewis, ‘Lewis, you see to the rations. -I’ll take the coal up quick!’ Then I heard the man up by the horse say, -‘There’s coal there for headquarters.’ ‘Oh, yes,’ I said, ‘that’s all -right, but this here was ordered off Sergeant Johnson yesterday,’ I -said. And I made off quick.” - -“Good Lord!” I exclaimed. “Was Sergeant Johnson there?” - -“No,” answered Davies. “He came later. I said to Lewis just now, ‘What -about that coal?’ And he said Sergeant Johnson came just after and -started kicking up some bit of a row, sir, about some coal; but Lewis, -he said he didn’t know nothing about any coal, and the man at the horse -he didn’t know who I was, sir; it was quite dark, you see, sir. Lewis -said Sergeant Johnson got the wind up a bit, sir, about losing the -coal....” - -“Look here Davies,” I remarked solemnly, “do you realise that that coal -was for headquarters ...” - -“I couldn’t say, sir,” began Davies. - -“But I can,” said I. “Look here, you must just set a limit somewhere. I -know I said you _must_ get some coal, somewhere. But I wasn’t exactly -thinking of bagging the C.O.’s coal. As a matter of fact he was -slightly annoyed, though doubtless if he knew it was No. 14 Davies, -“B” Company orderly, he would abate his wrath. Do you realise this is -a very serious offence?” - -Davies’ mouth wavered. He could never quite understand this method of -procedure. He looked at the blazing fire, and his eyes twinkled. Then -he understood. - -“Yes, sir,” he said. - -“All right,” I replied. “Don’t let it occur again.” - -And it never did--at least, not headquarters coal. - - * * * * * - -We did not get back to Morlancourt till nearly half-past three the -next day. Things were not going well in our billet at the butcher’s -shop. Gray, the cook, and two of the servants had been sent on early -to get the valises from the quartermaster’s stores, and to have a meal -ready. We arrived to find no meal ready, and what was worse, the stove -not lit. Coal could not be had from the stores, was the statement that -greeted us. - -“What the blazes do you mean?” shouted Dixon. We were really angry as -well as ravenous; for it was freezing hard, and the tiles on the floor -seemed to radiate ice-waves. - -“Have you asked Madame if she can lend us a little to go on with?” I -queried. - -No, they had not asked Madame. - -Then followed a blaze of vituperation, and Richards was sent at the -double into the kitchen. Soon Madame appeared, with sticks and coal, -and lit the fire. We watched the crackles, too cold to do anything -else. The adjoining room, where Dixon and I slept, was an ice-house, -also tiled. It was too cold to talk even. - -“C’est froid dans les tranchés,” said I in execrable French. - -“Mais oui, m’sieur l’officier,” said Madame, deeply sympathising. - -I thought of the blazing fire in 71 North, but it was too cold to say -anything more. What matter if Madame imagined us standing in a foot of -snow? So we should have been for the most part had we been in the line -the last two days, instead of in reserve. - -Soon it began to get less icy, and the stove looked a little less of -the blacklead order. It was a kitchen-range really, with a boiler and -oven; but the boiler was rather leaky. Now, as the coal blazed up, life -began to ebb back again. - -Confound it! The stove was smoking like fury. Pah! The flues were all -full of soot. Dixon was rather an expert on stoves, and said that all -that was needed was a brush. Where had all the servants disappeared to? -Why wasn’t someone there? I opened the door into our bedroom--a cold -blast struck me in the face. In the middle of the room, unopened, sat -our two valises, like desert islands in a sea of red tiles. - -“Hang it all, this is the limit,” I said, and ran out into the street, -and into the next house, where the servants’ quarters were. And there, -in the middle of a pile of half-packed boxes, stood Gray, eating a -piece of bread. Now I discovered afterwards that the boxes had just -been brought in by Cody and Lewis, that Davies and Richards had gone -after the coal, and were at that moment staggering under the weight of -it on their way from the stores, and that Gray could not do anything -more, having unpacked the boxes, until the coal came. But I did not -grasp these subtle details of the interior economy of the servants’ -hall, and I broke out into a real hot strafe. Why should Gray be -standing there eating, while the officers shivered and starved? - -I returned to Dixon, and found Clark and Nicolson there; and together -we all fumed. Then in came the post-corporal with an accumulation of -parcels, and we stopped fuming. - -“By Jove,” I exclaimed, a few minutes later. “The hare. I had forgotten -le--what is it, lièvre, lèvre? I forget. Never mind. Lewis, bring the -hare along, and ask Madame in your best manner if she would do us the -honour of cooking it for us. To-night, now.” - -Presently Madame came in, with Lewis standing rather sheepishly -behind. She delivered a tornado of very fluent French: “eau-de-vie,” -“eau-de-vie,” was all I could disentangle. - -“Eau-de-vie?” I asked her. “Pourquoi eau-de-vie?” - -“Brandy,” explained Dixon. - -“I know that,” said I (who did not know that eau-de-vie was brandy?) - -“Brandy,” said Dixon, “to cook the hare with. That’s all she wants. -Oui, oui, Madame. Eau-de-vie. Tout de suite. The doctor’s got brandy. -Send Lewis along to the doctor to ask him to dinner, and borrow a -little brandy.” - -So Lewis was despatched, and returned with a little brandy, but the -doctor could not come. - -“Never mind,” we said. - -Meanwhile some tea was on the table, and bully and bread and butter; -there was no sugar, however. Richards smiled and said the rats had -eaten it all in 71 North, but Davies was buying some. Whenever anything -was missing, these rats had eaten it, just as they were responsible for -men’s equipment and packs getting torn, and their emergency rations -lost. In many cases the excuse was quite a just one; but when it came -to rats running off with canteen lids, our sympathy for the rat-ridden -Tommy was not always very strong. - -To-day, a new reason was found for the loss of three teaspoons. - -“Lost in the scuffle, sir, the night of the raid,” was the answer given -to the demand for an explanation. - -“What scuffle?” I asked. - -“Why, the box got upset, sir, the night of the raid when we all stood -to in a bit of a hurry, sir.” - -I remembered there had been some confusion and noise behind the arras -that night when the Germans raided on the left; apparently all the -knives and forks had fallen to the ground and several had snapped under -the martial trampling of feet when our retainers stood to arms. For -many days afterwards when anything was lost, one’s anger was appeased -by “Lost in the scuffle, sir.” At last it got too much of a good thing. - -“Why this new teapot, Davies?” I said a few days later. - -“The old one was lost in the scuffle, sir.” - -“Look here,” I said. “We had the old one yesterday, and this morning -I saw it broken on Madame’s manure heap. Here endeth ‘lost in the -scuffle.’ See? Go back to rats.” - -“Very good, sir.” - -That night, about ten o’clock, when Clark, Nicolson, and Brownlow (who -had been our guest) had gone back to their respective billets, Dixon -and I were sitting in front of the stove, our feet up on the brass -bar that ran along the top-front of it, on a comfortable red-plush -settee. This settee made amends for very many things, such as: a tile -floor; four doors, one of which scraped most excruciatingly over the -tiles, and another being glass-panelled allowed in much cold air from -the butcher’s shop; no entry for the servants save either through the -butcher’s shop or through the bedroom viâ the open window; very little -room to turn round in, when we were all there; a smell of stale lard -that permeated the whole establishment; and finally, the necessity -of moving the settee every time Madame or Mam’selle wanted to get to -either the cellar or the stairs. - -But now all these disabilities were removed, everyone else having gone -off to bed, and Dixon and I were talking lazily before turning in also. -I had a large pan of boiling water waiting on the top of the range, and -my canvas bath was all ready in the next room. - -“Ah! the discomfort of it!” ejaculated Dixon. “The terrible discomfort -of it all!” - -“How they are pitying us at home,” I replied. “‘Those rabbit holes! I -can’t think how you keep the water out of them at all!’ Can’t you hear -them? ‘And isn’t that bully beef most horribly tough and hard! Ugh! I -couldn’t bear it.’” I tried to imitate a lady’s voice, but it was not -a great success. I was out of practice. - -“Yes,” said Dixon, thinking of the extraordinarily good jugged hare -produced by Madame. Then his thoughts turned to Davies, the hunter who -was responsible for the feast. - -“Wonderful fellow, old Davies,” he added. “In fact they’re all good -fellows.” - -“He’s a shepherd boy,” I said. “Comes from Blaenau Festiniog, a little -village right up in the Welsh mountains. I know the place. A few years -ago he was a boy looking after sheep out on the hills all day; a -wide-eyed Welsh boy, with a sheepdog trotting behind him. He’s rather -like a sheepdog himself, isn’t he?” - -“Gad, he’s a wonderful fellow. But they all are, you know, Bill. Look -at your chap, Lewis; great clumsy red-faced fellow, with his piping -voice, that sometimes gets on your nerves.” - -“He’s too lazy at times,” I broke in; “but he’s honest, dead honest. -He was a farm hand! Good heavens, fancy choosing a fellow out of the -farmyard to act as valet and waiter! I remember the first time he -waited! He was so nervous he nearly dropped everything, and his face -like that fire! O’Brien said he was tight!” - -“Richards talks a jolly sight too much, sometimes--but after all what -does it matter? They try their best; and think how we curse them! -Look at the way I cursed about that stove this afternoon: as soon as -anything goes wrong, we strafe like blazes, whether it’s their fault -or not. A fellow in England would resign on the spot. But they don’t -care a damn, and just carry on. This cursing’s no good, Bill. Hang it -all, they’re doing their bit same as we are, and they have a d--d sight -harder time.” - -“I don’t think they worry much about the strafing,” I said. “It’s -part of the ordinary routine. Still, I agree, we do strafe them for -thousands of things that aren’t their fault.” - -“They’re a sort of safety-valve,” he answered with a laugh. “I don’t -know how it is, one would never dream of cursing the men like we do -these fellows. You know as well as I do, Bill, the only way to run a -company is by love. It’s no earthly use trying to get the men behind -you, by cursing them day and night. I really must try and stop cursing -these servants. After all, they’re the best fellows in the world.” - -“The men curse all right,” I said, “when they don’t get their food -right. I guess we’re all animal, after all. It’s merely a method of -getting things done quickly. Besides, you know perfectly well you won’t -be able to stop blazing away when there’s no fire or food. It creates -an artificial warmth.” - -“D--d artificial,” laughed he. - -There was a silence. - -“By Jove, Bill,” he said at last, getting up to go to bed. “When’s this -war going to end?” - -To which I made no reply, but moved my bath out of the icy bedroom and -dragged it in front of the fire. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -MINES - - -I - -“The Colonel wants to speak to O.C. ‘B,’ sir.” It was midday. - -“It’s about that wire,” said Edwards. “But we couldn’t get any more out -without stakes.” - -“Oh, I don’t expect it’s about the wire,” I said, as I hurried out of -the Straw Palace. “The C.O. knows we can’t get the stakes.” - -No, it was nothing to do with the wire. - -“Just a minute, sir,” said the telephone orderly. “Hi! Headquarters. Is -that you, George? O.C. ‘B’s’ here now. Just a minute, sir.” - -A pause, followed by: - -“Commanding Officer, sir,” and I was handed the receiver. - -“Yes, sir,” I said. “This is Adams.” - -“Oh! that you, Adams? Well, look here--about this mine going up -to-night. Got your map there? Well, the mining officer is here now, and -he says.... Look here, you’d better come down here now. Yes, come here -now.” - -“Very good, sir,” but the C.O. had rung off with a jerk, and only a -singing remained in my ears. - -“Got to go down and explain in person why the officer in charge of ‘B’ -Company wirers did not get out twenty coils last night,” I said to -Edwards as I hurried off down Old Kent Road. “The C.O.’s in an ‘I gave -a distinct order’ mood. Cheero!” - -On entering the Headquarters’ dug-out in Maple Redoubt, I found the -C.O. engaged in conversation with an artillery officer: there had been -another raid last night on the left, and our artillery had sent a lot -of stuff over. This was the subject under discussion. - -“I think you did d--d well,” said the C.O. as the officer left. “Well, -Adams, I thought it would be easiest if you came down. Here’s our -friend from the underworld, and he’ll explain exactly what he’s going -to do”; and I saw the R.E. officer for the first time. He had been -standing in the gloom of the further end of the dug-out. - -“Look here,” began the Colonel, as he laid out the trench map on the -table. “_Here_ is where we blow to-night at 6.0” (and he made a pencil -dot in the middle of the grass of No Man’s Land midway between the -craters opposite the Loop and the Fort. See Map III). “And here, all -round here” (he drew his pencil round and round in a blacker and yet -blacker circle) “is roughly where the edge of the crater will come. -Isn’t that right, Armstrong?” - -“Yes,” was the reply, “the crater edge won’t come right up to the -front trench, but I don’t want anyone in the front trench, as it will -probably be squeezed up in one or two places.” - -“Exactly,” said the Colonel. “Do you think this blow will completely -connect up the two craters on either side?” - -“Oh, certainly,” was the answer. “There’s no question of it. You see, -we’ve put in” (here followed figures and explosives incomprehensible -to the lay mind). “It’ll be the biggest mine we’ve ever blown in this -sector.” - -“A surface mine, I suppose?” I asked. - -“Almost certainly,” said the R.E. officer. “You see, their gallery is -only ten feet above ours, and they might blow any minute. But they’re -still working. We wanted to get another twenty feet out before blowing, -but it isn’t safe. Anyway, we are bound to smash up all their galleries -there completely, though I doubt if we touch their parapet at all.” He -spoke almost impatiently, as one who talks of things that have been his -main interest for weeks, and tries to explain the whole thing in a few -words. “But,” he added, “I don’t want any men in that trench.” - -The mining officers always presumed that the infantry clung tenaciously -like limpets to their trench, and had to be very carefully removed in -case a mine was going up. As a matter of fact, the infantry always made -a rule of clearing the trench half as far again as the mining officer -enjoined, and were always inclined to want to depart from the abhorred -spot long before the time decided upon! - -“That’s clear enough,” said the Colonel. “Then from _here_ to _here_ -(and he made pencil blobs where I have marked A and B on Map III) we -will clear the trench. Get your Lewis guns placed at these two points -(A and B), ready to open fire as soon as the mine has gone up. And -get your bombers ready to seize the crater edge as soon as it’s dark -enough. You’ll want to have some tools and sand-bags ready, and your -wirers should have plenty of gooseberries and all the stakes we can get -you. Right.” - - * * * * * - -As I went up 76 Street at half-past five, I realised that I had been -rushing about too much, and had forgotten tea. So I sent Davies back -and told him to bring up a mug of tea and something to eat. No sooner -had he disappeared than I met a party of six R.E.’s, the two leading -men carrying canaries in cages. They held them out in front, like you -hold out a lantern on a muddy road, and they were covered from head to -foot in white chalk-dust. They were doing a sort of half-run down the -trench, known among the men as the “R.E. step.” It is always adopted -by them if there is any “strafing” going on, or on such occasions as -the present, when the charge has been laid, the match lit, and the -mine-shaft and galleries, canaries and all, evacuated. (The canaries -are used to detect gas fumes, not as pets.) - -When I reached the Fort, I found No. 7 Platoon already filing out of -the trench area that had been condemned as dangerous. - -“You’re very early, Sergeant Hayman,” I said. - -I looked at my watch. - -“Oh, all right,” I added, “it’s twenty to six; very well. Have you got -all the bomb boxes and S.A.A. out?” - -“Yes, sir. Everything’s clear.” - -“Very well, then. All those men not detailed as tool and sand-bag party -can get in dug-outs, ready to come back as soon as I give orders. There -will probably be a bit of ‘strafing.’” - -“Very good, sir.” - -The Lewis-gun team emerged from its dug-out twenty yards behind the -Fort, in rather a snail-like fashion. I arranged where the N.C.O. and -two men should stand, just at the corner of the Fort, but in the main -trench (at B in map). The rest of the team I sent back to its burrow. -Edwards had made all arrangements for the other team. - -Ten to six. It was a warm evening early in April, and there was a -deathly calm. These hushes are hateful and unnatural, especially at -“stand to” in the evening. In the afternoon an after-dinner slumber -is right and proper, but as dusk creeps down it is well known that -everyone is alive and alert, and a certain visible expression is -natural and welcome. This evening silence is like the pause between -the lightning and the thunder; worst of all is the stillness after the -enemy has blown a mine at “stand to,” for ten to one he is going to -blow another at “stand down.” - -The sun set in a blaze of red, and in the south the evening star glowed -in a deepening blue. What will have happened by the time the day has -returned with its full light and sense of security? - -“Here you are, sir,” I heard suddenly at my elbow, and found my mug of -tea, two large pieces of bread and butter and cake, presented by Davies -on a box-lid salver. - -“I don’t know if this is enough, sir. Lewis he wanted me to bring along -a pot o’ jam, sir. But I said Mr. Adams he won’t have time for all -that.” - -“I should think not. Far too much as it is. Here, put the cake on the -fire-step, and take hold of this notebook, will you?” And so, with -the mug in one hand, and a piece of bread and butter in the other, -Scott found me as he came along at that moment, looking, as he told me -afterwards, exactly like the Mad Hatter in _Alice in Wonderland_. - -“What’s the time?” I enquired, munching hard. - -“I make it two minutes to six,” said Scott. - -“Go up a shixo’-clock,” I said, taking a very big mouthful indeed. - -“Who put the sugar in this tea?” I asked Davies a minute later. - -“I did,” said Davies. - -“Far too much. I shall never get you fellows to understand ...” - -But the sentence was not finished. There was a faint “Bomp” from -goodness knows where, and a horrid shudder. The earth shook and -staggered, and I set my legs apart to keep my balance. It felt as if -the whole ground were going to be tilted up. The tea splashed all over -the fire-step as I hastily put it down. Then I looked up. There was -nothing. What had happened? Was it a camouflet after all? Then, over -the sandbags appeared a great green meadow, slowly, taking its time, -not hurrying, a smooth curved dome of grass, heaving up, up, up, like -a rising cake; then, like a cake, it cracked; cracked visibly with -bursting brown seams; still the dome rose, towering ten, twenty feet -up above the surrounding level; and then with a roar the black smoke -hurtled into the air, followed by masses of pink flame creaming up into -the sky, giving out a bonfire heat and lighting up the twilight with a -lurid glare! Then we all ducked to avoid the shower of mud and dirt and -chalk that pattered down like hail. - -“Magnificent,” I said to Scott. - -“Wonderful,” he answered. - -“The mud’s all in your tea, sir,” said Davies. - -“Dr--r-r-r-r-r,” rattled the Lewis guns. The Lewis gunners with me -had been amazed rather than thrilled by the awful spectacle, but were -now recovered from the shock, and emptying two or three drums into the -twilight void. I was peering over into a vast chasm, where two minutes -ago had been a smooth meadow full of buttercups and toadstools. - -Suddenly I found Sergeant Hayman at my elbow. - -“The trench is all fallen in, sir. You can’t get along at all.” And so -the night’s work began. - -At 1.0 a.m. I was lying flat down on soft spongy grass atop of a large -crater-lip quite eight feet higher than the ground level. Beside me lay -two bombers and a box of bombs: we were all peering out into a space -that seemed enormous. Suddenly a German starlight rocketed up, and as -it burst the great white bowl of the crater jumped into view. Then a -few rifle-shots sang across the gulf. There followed a deeper darkness -than before. Behind me was a wiring-party not quite finished; also the -sound of earth being shovelled by tired men. A strong working-party -of “A” Company had been engaged for four hours clearing the trench -that had been squeezed up; all available men of “B” Company not on -sentry had been digging a zigzag sap from the trench to the post on -the crater-lip where I lay. Two other pairs of bombers lay out on the -crater edge to right and left; behind me the wirers had run out a -thin line of stakes and barbed wire behind the new crater; this wire -passed over the sap, which would not be held by day. One wirer had had -a bullet through the leg, but we had suffered no other casualties. -Another hour, and I should be off duty. Altogether, a good show. - - -II - -I was reading _Blackwood’s_ in a dug-out in Maple Redoubt. It was just -after four, and I was lying on my bed. Suddenly the candle flickered -and went out. I had to get up to ring the bell, and when I did get up, -the bell did not ring, so I went out and called Lewis. The bell, by the -way, was an arrangement of string from our dug-out to the servants’ -next door. - -“Bring me a candle,” I said, as Lewis appeared, evidently flushed and -blear-eyed from sleep. “I don’t know where you keep them. I can’t find -one anywhere.” - -Lewis fished under the bed and discovered a paper packet of candles, -and lit one. “By the by,” I added, “tell the pioneer servant (this was -Private Davies, my orderly) to fix up that bell, will you? And I think -we’ll be ready for tea as soon as you can get it. What do you say, -Teddy? Hullo, Clark! What are you doing here? Come in and have tea.” - -“Thanks, I will,” said Clark, who had just come down Park Lane. “I was -coming to invite myself, as a matter of fact.” - -“Good man,” we said. Clark was no longer of “B” Company, having passed -from Lewis-gun officer to the Brigade Machine-gun Corps. So we did not -see very much of him. - -At that moment Sergeant-Major Brown arrived and stood at the door. He -saluted. - -“Come in, sergeant-major.” - -“The tea’s up, sir.” - -“Oh, all right,” I said. “I’ll go. Don’t wait if tea comes in, Edwards. -But I shan’t be a minute.” - -As I went along with that tower of strength, the company -sergeant-major, followed by an orderly carrying two rum jars produced -from under my bed, I discussed the subject of working-parties for the -night, and other such dull details of routine. Also we discussed leave. -His dug-out was at the corner of Old Kent Road and Park Lane, and there -I found the “Quarter” (Company Sergeant-Major Roberts) waiting with the -five dixies of hot tea, just brought up on the ration trolley from the -Citadel. - -Sergeant Roberts saluted, and informed me that all was correct. Then -the sergeant-major spilled the contents of the two jars into the five -dixies, and as he did so the ten orderlies, two from each platoon, -and two Lewis gunners, made off with the dixies. Then I made off, but -followed by Sergeant Roberts with several papers to sign, and five pay -books in which entries had to be made for men going on leave. One -signed the pay-book, and also a paper to the quartermaster authorising -him to pay 125 francs (the usual sum) to the undermentioned men, out of -the company balance which was deposited with him on leaving billets. -I signed everything Sergeant Roberts put before me, almost without -question. - -“Well, Clark,” I said, as we sat down to a tea of hot buttered toast, -jam and cake. “How goes it?” - -“I’ve just been down a mine-shaft with that R.E. officer, I forget his -name--the fellow with the glasses.” - -“I know,” I replied; “I don’t know his name either, but it doesn’t -matter. Did you go right down, and along the galleries? How frightfully -interesting. I always mean to go, but somehow don’t. Well, what about -it?” - -“By Jove,” said Clark. “It’s wonderful. It’s all as white as snow, -dazzling white. I never realised that before, although you see these -R.E.’s coming out all covered with white chalk-dust. First of all you -go down three or four ladders; it’s awfully tricky work at the sort -of halts on the way down, because there’s a little platform, and very -often the ladder goes down a different side of the shaft after one of -these halts; and if you don’t notice, you lower your foot to go on down -the same side as you were going before, and there’s nothing there. The -first time I did this and looked down and saw a dim light miles below, -it quite gave me a turn. It’s a terrible long way down, and of course -you go alone; the R.E. officer went first, and got ahead of me.” - -“Have some more tea, and go on.” - -“Well, down there it’s fearfully interesting. I didn’t go far up the -gallery where they’re working, because you can’t easily pass along; but -the R.E. officer took me along a gallery that is not being worked, and -there, all alone, at the end of it was a man sitting. He was simply -sitting, listening. Then I listened through his stethoscope thing ...” - -“I know,” I interposed. It is an instrument like a doctor’s -stethoscope, and by it you can hear underground sounds a hundred yards -away as clearly as if they were five yards off. - -“... and I could hear the Boche working as plainly as anything. Good -heavens, it sounded about a yard off. Yet they told me it was forty -yards. By Jove, it was weird. ‘Pick ... pick ... pick.’ I thought it -must be our fellows really, but theirs made a different sound, and not -a bit the same. But, you know, that fellow sitting there alone ... as -we went away and left him, he looked round at us with staring eyes just -like a hunted animal. To sit there for hours on end, listening. Of -course, while you hear them working, it’s all right, they won’t blow. -But if you _don’t_ hear them! My God, I wouldn’t like to be an R.E. -It’s an awful game.” - -“By Jove,” said Edwards. “How fearfully interesting! Is it cold down -there?” - -“Fairly. I really didn’t notice.” - -“I must go down,” I said. “We always laugh at these R.E.’s for looking -like navvies, and for going about without gas-helmets or rifles. But -really they are wonderful men. It’s awful being liable to be buried -alive any moment. Somehow death in the open is far less terrible. Ugh! -Do you remember that R.E., Teddy, we saw running down the Old Kent -Road? It was that night the Boche blew the mine in the Quarry. Jove, -Clark, that was a sight. I was just going up from Trafalgar Square, -when I heard a running, and there was a fellow, great big brawny -fellow, naked to the waist, and _grey_ all over; and someone had given -him his equipment and rifle in a hurry, and he’d got his equipment -over his bare skin! The men were fearfully amused. ‘R.E.,’ they said, -and smiled. But, by God, there was a death look in that man’s eyes. -He’d been down when the Boche blew their mine, and as near as possible -buried alive. No, it’s a rotten game.” - -As I spoke, the ground shuddered, and the tea-things shook. - -“There _is_ a mine,” we all exclaimed together. - -“I wonder if it’s ours, or theirs,” said Edwards. - -“I saw Hills, this afternoon,” I answered, “and he said nothing about -a mine. I’m sure he would have, if we had been going to send one up. -No, I bet that’s a Boche mine. Good thing you’re out of it, Clark. Oh, -don’t go. Well, cheero! if you must. Look us up oftener. Good luck!” - -Clark departed, and I resumed _Blackwood’s_. - -“I say, Edwards,” said I, after a while. “This stuff of Ian Hay’s is -awfully good. This about the signallers is _top-hole_. You can simply -smell it!” - -“After you with it,” was the reply. - -“There you are,” I said at last. “It’s called ‘Carry On’; there have -been several others in the same series. You know the ‘First Hundred -Thousand’?” - -“No.” - -“Good stuff,” said I. “Good readable stuff; the sort you’d give to your -people at home. But it leaves out bits.” - -“Such as ...?” - -“Oh, well, the utter fed-upness, and the dullness--and--well, oh, I -don’t know. You read it and see.” - -That was a bad night. The Boche mine had caught our R.E.’s this time. -All the night through they were rescuing fellows from our mine gallery. -Seven or eight were killed, most of them “gassed”; two of “A” Company -were badly gassed too while aiding in the rescue work. This mine gas -is, I suppose, very like that encountered in coal mines; and the -explosion of big charges of cordite must create cracks and fissures -underground that release these gases in all directions. I do not -profess to write as an expert on this. At any rate they were all night -working to get the fellows out. One man when rescued disobeyed the -doctor’s strict injunctions to lie still for half an hour before moving -away from where he was put, just outside the mine shaft; and this cost -him his life. He hurried down the Old Kent Road, and dropped dead with -heart failure at the bottom of it. Hills told me he felt the pulses of -two men who had been gassed and were waiting the prescribed half-hour; -and they were going like a watch ticking. Yes, it was a bad night. I -got snatches of sleep, but always there was the sound of stretchers -being carried past our dug-out to the doctor’s dressing-station; -several times I went out to investigate how things were going. But -there was nothing I could do. It was my duty to sleep: we were going up -in the line to-morrow. But sleep does not always come to order. - -Before dawn we “stood to,” and it was quite light as I inspected the -last rifle of No. 6 Platoon. They were just bringing the last of the -gassed miners down to the dressing-station. I stood at the corner of -Park Lane, and watched. The stretcher-bearers came and looked at two -forms lying on stretchers close by me; then they asked me if I thought -it would be all right to take those stretchers, and leave the dead men -there another hour. I said if they wanted the stretchers, yes. So -they lifted the bodies off, and went away with the stretchers. There -were several men standing about, silent, as usual, in the presence of -death. I looked at those two R.E.’s as they lay quite uncovered; grim -their faces were, grim and severe. I told a man to get something and -cover them up, until the stretcher-bearers came and removed them. And -as I strode away in silence between my men, I felt that my face was -grim too. I thought of Clark’s description, a few hours back, of the -man sitting alone in the white chalk gallery, listening, listening, -listening. And now! - -Once more I thought of “blind death.” The Germans who had set light to -the fuse at tea-time were doubtless sleeping the sleep of men who have -worked well and earned their rest. And here.... They knew nothing of -it, would never know whom they had slain. And I remembered the night -Scott and I had watched our big mine go up. “Wonderful,” we had said, -“magnificent.” And in the morning the R.E. officer had told us that we -had smashed all their galleries up, and that they would not trouble -us there for a fortnight at least. “A certain man drew a bow at a -venture,” I said again, vaguely remembering something, but stiffening -myself suddenly, and stifling my imagination. - -I met Edwards by the dug-out as he returned from inspecting the Lewis -guns. - -“Remember,” I said, “I told you the ‘First Hundred Thousand’ leaves -out bits? Did you see those R.E.’s who were gassed?” - -Edwards nodded. - -“Well,” I added, “that’s a thing it leaves out.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -BILLETS - - -I. MORNING - -“Two hours’ pack drill, and pay for a new handle,” I said. - -“Right--Turn!” said the sergeant-major. “Right--Wheel--Quick--March! -Get your equipment on and join your platoon at once.” - -This last sentence was spoken in a quick undertone, as the prisoner -stepped out of the door into the road. I was filling up the column -headed “Punishment awarded” on a buff-coloured Army Form, to which I -appended my signature. The case just dealt with was a very dull and -commonplace one, a man having “lost” his entrenching tool handle. Most -of these “losses” occurred in trenches, and were dealt with the first -morning in billets at company orderly-room. This man had been engaged -on special fatigue work the last few days; hence the reason why the -loss had not been checked before, and came up on this last morning in -billets. - -“No more prisoners?” I asked the company sergeant-major. - -“No more prisoners, sir,” he answered. I then rather hurriedly -signed several returns made out by Sergeant Roberts, the company -quartermaster-sergeant, and promised to come in later and sign the -acquittance rolls. These are the pay-lists, made out in triplicate, -which are signed by each man as he draws his pay. The original goes to -the Paymaster in England, one carbon copy to the adjutant, and one is -retained by the company-commander. We had paid out the first day in -billets. This time “working-parties” had been tolerable. We had arrived -back in billets about half-past three in the afternoon; the next -morning had been spent in a march to the divisional baths at Treux (two -miles away), in cleaning up, kit-inspection, and a little arm-drill and -musketry practice; in the afternoon we paid out. Then followed three -days of working-parties, up on the support line at Crawley Ridge; and -now, we had this last day in which to do a little company work. There -had been running parade at seven-thirty. Owen had taken this, and I -confess that I had not yet breakfasted. So I hurried off now at 9.10 to -gulp something down and be at battalion orderly-room at 9.30 sharp. - -The company office was a house of two rooms; one was the “office” -itself, with a blanket-clad table and a couple of chairs in the middle, -and all around were strewn strange boxes, and bundles of papers and -equipment. On the walls were pictures from illustrated English papers; -one of Nurse Cavell, another of howitzers firing; and several graphic -bayonet-charges at Verdun, pictured by an artist who must have “glowed” -as he drew them in his room in Chelsea. In the other room slept the -C.S.M. and C.Q.M.S. (more familiar as the “sergeant-major” and the -“quartermaster”). - -From this house, then, I stepped out into the glaring street. It was -the end of May, and the day promised to be really quite hot. I have -already explained how completely shut off from the trenches one felt in -Morlancourt, sheltered as it was in a cup of the hills and immune from -shelling. Now as I walked quickly along the street, past our battalion -“orderly-room,” and returned the immaculate salute of Sergeant-Major -Shandon, the regimental sergeant-major, who was already marshalling the -prisoners ready for the Colonel at half-past nine, I felt a lightness -and freshness of body that almost made me think I was free of the war -at last. My Sam Browne belt, my best tunic with its polished buttons, -and most of all, I suppose, the effect of a good sleep and a cold bath, -all contributed to this feeling, as well as the scent from the laburnum -and lilac that looked over the garden wall opposite the billet that was -our “Mess.” - -I found Edwards just going off to inspect “B” Company Lewis gunners, -whom he was taking on the range the first part of the morning. - -“Hullo!” he said, “you’ve not got much time.” - -“No,” said I. “My own fault for getting up late. Got a case for the -C.O. too. Is my watch right? I make it seventeen minutes past.” - -“Nineteen, I make it.” - -“Wish I hadn’t asked you,” I laughed. “No porridge, Lewis. Bring the -eggs and bacon in at once. This tea’ll do. There’s no milk, though. -What?” - -Edwards had asked something. He repeated his question, which was -whether I wanted Jim, the company horse, this afternoon. I thought -rapidly, and the scent of the lilac decided me. - -“Yes,” I answered. “Sorry, but I do.” - -“Oh, all right; I expect I can get old Muskett to let me have one.” - -Muskett was the transport officer. - -“Righto,” said I. “Go teach thy Lewis gunners how to drill little holes -in the chalk-bank.” - -He clattered off over the cobbles of the garden path, and in a few -minutes I followed suit, running until I rounded a corner and came into -view of the orderly-room, when I altered my gait to a dignified walk -and arrived just as the Colonel appeared from the opposite direction. - -“Parade! Tchern!!” shouted Sergeant-Major Shandon; and a moment later -the four company commanders came to attention and saluted as the -Colonel passed in, sprinkling “Good mornings” to right and left. - -I had one very uninteresting case of drunkenness; “A” had a couple -of men who had overstayed their pass in England; “C” had a case held -over from the day before for further evidence, and was now dismissed as -not proven; while “D” had an unsatisfactory sergeant who was “severely -reprimanded.” All these cases were quickly and unerringly disposed of, -and we company commanders saluted again and clattered down the winding -staircase out into the sunshine. - -I had to pass from one end of the village to the other. The -orderly-room was not far from our company “Mess” and was at a -cross-roads. Opposite, in one of the angles made by the junction of -the four roads, was a deep and usually muddy horse-pond. But even here -the mud was getting hard under this spell of warm May weather, and the -innumerable ruts and hoof-marks were crystallising into a permanent -pattern. As I walked along the streets I passed sundry Tommies acting -as road-scavengers; “permanent road fatigue” they were called, although -they were anything but permanent, being changed every day. Formerly -they had seemed to be engaged in a Herculean, though unromantic, -task of scraping great rolling puddings of mud to the side of the -road, in the vain hope that the mud would find an automatic exit into -neighbouring gardens and ponds; for Morlancourt did not boast such -modern things as gutters. To-day there were large pats of mud lining -the street, but these were now caked and hard, and even crumbling into -dust, that whisked about among the sparrows. The permanent road fatigue -was gathering waste-paper and tins in large quantities, but otherwise -was having a holiday. - -Women were working, or gossiping at the doorsteps. The _estaminet_ -doors were flung wide open, and the floors were being scrubbed and -sprinkled with sawdust. A little bare-legged girl, in a black cotton -dress, was hugging a great wide loaf; an old man sat blinking in the -sunshine; cats were basking, dogs nosing about lazily. A party of about -thirty bombers passed me, the sergeant giving “eyes right” and waking -me from meditations on the eternal calm of cats. Then I reached the -headquarter guard, and the sentry saluted with a rattling clap upon his -butt, and I did my best to emulate his smartness. So I passed along all -the length of the shuttered houses of Morlancourt. - -“A great day, this,” I thought, as I came to the small field where -“B” Company was paraded; not two hundred and fifty men, as you will -doubtless assume from the text-books, but some thirty or forty men -only; one was lucky if one mustered forty. Where were the rest, you -ask? Well, bombers bombing; Lewis gunners under Edwards; some on -“permanent mining fatigue,” that is, carrying the sand-bags from the -mine-shafts to the dumps; transport, pioneers, stretcher-bearers, men -under bombing instruction, officers’ servants, headquarter orderlies, -men on leave, etc. etc. The company sergeant-major will make out a -parade slate for you if you want it, showing exactly where every man -is. But here are forty men. Let’s drill them. - -Half were engaged in arm-drill under my best drill-sergeant; the other -half were doing musketry in gas-helmets, an unpleasant practice which -nothing would induce me to do on a sunny May morning. They lay on -their fronts, legs well apart, and were working the bolts of their -rifles fifteen times a minute. After a while they changed over and -did arm-drill, while the other half took over the gas-helmets, the -mouthpieces having first been dipped in a solution of carbolic brought -by one of the stretcher-bearers in a canteen. These gas-helmets were -marked D.P. (drill purposes), and each company had so many with which -to practise. - -When both parties were duly exercised, I gave a short lecture on the -measures to be adopted against the use of _Flammenwerfer_, which is -the “Liquid Fire” of the official _communiqués_. I had just been to -a demonstration of this atrocity in the form of a captured German -apparatus, and my chief object in lecturing the men about it was to -make it quite clear that the flaming jets of burning gas cannot sink -into a trench, but, as a matter of fact, only keep level so long as -they are propelled by the driving power of the hose apparatus; as water -from a hose goes straight, and then curves down to the ground, so gas, -even though it be incandescent, goes straight and then rises. In the -trench you are unscathed, as we proved in the demonstration, when they -sprayed the flaming gas over a trench full of men. Indeed, the chief -effect of this _flammenwerfer_ is one of frightfulness, as the Germans -cannot come over until the flames have ceased. The men were rather -inclined to gape at all this, but I found the words had sunk in when -I asked what should be done if the enemy used this diabolical stuff -against us. “Get down at the bottom of the trench, sir, and as soon as -they stop it, give the ----’s ’ell!” - -The rest of the morning we spent “on the range,” which meant firing -into a steep chalk bank at a hundred yards. Targets and paste-pot had -been procured from the pioneers’ shop, and after posting a couple -of “look-out” men on either side, we started range practice. The -men are always keen about firing on the range, and it is really the -most interesting and pleasant part of the infantryman’s training. I -watched these fellows, hugging their rifle-butt into their shoulder, -and feeling the smooth wood against their cheeks; they wriggled their -bodies about to get a comfortable position; sometimes they flinched as -they fired and jerked the rifle; sometimes they pressed the trigger as -softly, as softly.... And gradually, carefully, we tried to detect and -eliminate the faults. Then we ended up with fifteen rounds rapid in a -minute. The “mad minute” it used to be called at home. After which we -fell the men in, and Paul marched them back to the company “alarm post” -outside the company office, where “B” Company always fell in; while -Owen, Nicolson, and I walked back together. - - -II. AFTERNOON - -“I still maintain,” said I, an hour later, as we finished lunch, -“that bully-beef, some sort of sauce or pickle, and salad, followed -by cheese, and ending with a cup of tea, is the proper lunch for an -officer. I don’t mind other officers having tinned fruit, though, if -they like it,” I added with a laugh. - -Owen and Syme were newly joined officers for whom the sight of tinned -pears or apricots had not yet lost a certain glamour that disappeared -after months and months. They were just finishing the pear course. -Hence my last remark. - -“I bet if we allowed you to have bully every day,” came from Edwards, -our Mess president, “you’d soon get sick of it.” - -“Try,” said I, knowing that he never would. I always used to eat of the -hot things that would appear at lunch, to the detriment of a proper -appreciation of dinner; but I always maintained the position laid down -in the first sentence of this section. - -I lit a pipe and strolled out into the garden. This was undoubtedly an -ideal billet, and a great improvement on the butcher’s shop, where they -used always to be killing pigs in the yard and letting the blood run -all over the place. It was a long, one-storied house, set back about -fifty yards from the road; this fifty yards was all garden, and, at -the end, completely shutting off the road, was a high brick wall. On -each side of the garden were also high walls formed by the sides of -stables and outhouses; the garden was thus completely walled round, and -the seclusion and peace thus entrapped were a very priceless possession -to us. - -The garden itself was full of life. There were box-bordered paths up -both sides and down the centre, and on the inner side of the paths was -an herbaceous border smelling very sweet of wallflowers and primulas of -every variety. Although it was still May, there were already one or two -pink cabbage-roses out; later, the house itself would be covered with -them; already the buds were showing yellow streaks as they tried to -burst open their tight green sheaths. In the centre of the garden ran a -cross path with a summer-house of bamboo canes completely covered with -honeysuckle; that, too, was budding already. The rest of the garden -was filled with rows of young green things, peas, and cabbages, and I -know not what, suitably protected against the ravages of sparrows and -finches by the usual miniature telegraph system of sticks connected by -cotton decorated with feathers and bits of rag. Every bit of digging, -hoeing, weeding and sowing were performed by Madame and her two -black-dressed daughters in whose house we were now living, and who were -themselves putting up in the adjoining farmhouse, which belonged to -them. - -I said that they had done all the digging in the garden. I should make -one reservation. All the potato-patch had been dug by our servants, -with the assistance of Gray, the cook. Nor did they do it in gratitude -to Madame, as, doubtless, ideal Tommies would have done. A quarter of -it was done by Lewis, for carelessness in losing my valise; nearly half -by the joint effort of the whole crew for a thoroughly dirty turn-out -on commanding officer’s inspection; and the rest for various other -defalcations! We never told Madame the reasons for their welcome help; -and I am quite sure they never did! - -“The worst of this war,” said I to Edwards, puffing contentedly at a -pipeful of Chairman, “is this: it’s too comfortable. You could carry on -like this for years, and years, and years.” - -“Wasn’t so jolly last time in,” muttered the wise Edwards. - -“That’s exactly the point,” I answered; “life in the trenches we -all loathe, and no one makes any bones about it or pretends to like -it--except for a few rare exciting minutes, which are very few and far -between. But you come out into billets, and recover; and so you can -carry on. It’s not concentrated enough.” - -“It’s more concentrated for the men than for us.” - -“Well, yes, very often; but they haven’t the strain of responsibility. -Yes, you are right though; and it’s less concentrated for the -C.O., still less for the Brigadier, and so on back to the -Commander-in-Chief; and still further to men who have never seen a -trench at all.” - -“I dare say,” said Edwards; “but, as the phrase goes, ‘What are you -going to do abaht it?’ Here’s Jim. Old Muskett’s going to send me a nag -at five, so I’m going out after tea. Will you be in to tea?” - -“Don’t know.” - -As I tightened my puttees preparatory to mounting the great Jim, -Edwards started his gramophone; so leaving them to the strains of -Tannhäuser, I bestrode my charger and steered him gracefully down the -garden path, under the brick archway, and out into the street. - -Myself on a horse always amused me, especially when it was called an -“officer’s charger.” Jim was not fiery, yet he was not by any means -sluggish, and he went fast at a gallop. He suited me very well indeed -when I wanted to go for an afternoon’s ride; for he was quite content -to walk when I wanted to muse, and to gallop hard when I wanted -exhilaration. I hate a horse that will always be trotting. I know it is -best style to trot; but my rides were not for style, but for pleasure, -exercise, and solitude. And Jim fell in admirably with my requirements. -But, as I say, the idea that I was a company-commander on his charger -always amused me. - -I rode, as I generally did, in a south-easterly direction, climbing at -a walk one of the many roads that led out of Morlancourt towards the -Bois des Tailles. When I reached the high ground I made Jim gallop -along the grass-border right up to the edge of the woods. There is -nothing like the exhilaration of flying along, you cannot imagine how, -with the great brown animal lengthening out under you for all he is -worth! I pulled him up and turned his head to the right, leaving the -road, and skirting the edge of the wood. At last I was alone. - -In the clearings of the wood the ground was a sheet of blue hyacinths, -whose sweet scent came along on the breeze; their fragrance lifted my -spirit, and I drank in deep breaths of the early summer air. I took off -my cap to feel the sun full on my face. On the ground outside the wood -were still a few late primroses interspersed with cowslips, stubborn -and jolly; and as I rounded a bend in the wood-edge, I found myself -looking across a tiny valley, the opposite face of which was a wooded -slope, with all the trees banked up on it as gardeners bank geraniums -in tiers to give a good massed effect. So, climbing the hill-side, were -all these shimmering patches of green, yellow-green, pea-green, yellow, -massed together in delightful variety; and dotted about in the middle -of them were solitary patches of white cherry-blossom, like white foam -breaking over a reef, in the midst of a great green sea. And across -this perfect softness from time to time the bold black and white of -magpies cut with that vivid contrast with which Nature loves to baffle -the poor artist. - -“Come on, old boy,” I said, as I reached the bottom of this little -valley; and trotting up the other side, and through a ride in the -wood, I came out on the edge of the Valley of the Somme. I then skirted -the south side of the wood until I reached a secluded corner with a -view across the valley: here I dismounted, fastened Jim to a tree, -loosened his girths, and left him pulling greedily at the grass at his -feet. Then I threw myself down on the grass to dream. - -My thoughts ran back to my conversation with Edwards. Perhaps it was -best not to think too hard, but I could no more stifle my thoughts than -can a man his appetite. Responsibility. Responsibility. And those with -the greatest responsibility endure and see the least; no one has more -to endure than the private soldier in the infantry, and no one has less -responsibility or power of choice. I thought of our last six days in -the trenches. When “A” Company were in the line, the first three days, -we had been bombarded heavily at “stand-to” in the evening. In Maple -Redoubt it had been bad enough. There was one sentry-post a little way -up Old Kent Road; by some mistake a bomber had been put on duty there, -whereas it was a bayonet-man’s post, the bombers having a special rôle -in case of the enemy attacking. I found this mistake had been made, but -did not think it was worth altering. And that man was killed outright -by a shell. - -In the front line “A” Company had had several killed and wounded, and I -had had to lend them half my bombers; as I had placed two men on one -post, a canister had burst quite a long way off, but the men cowered -down into the trench. I cursed them as hard as I could, and then I -saw that in the post were the two former occupants lying dead, killed -half an hour ago where they lay, and where I was placing my two men. -I stopped my curses, and inwardly directed them against myself. And -there I had to leave these fellows, looking after me and thinking, -“_He’s_ going back to his dug-out.” Ah! no, they knew me better than -to think like that. Yet I had to go back, leaving them there. I should -never forget that awful weight of responsibility that suddenly seemed -visualised before me. Could I not see their scared faces peering at me, -even as now I seemed to smell the scent of pear-drops with which the -trench was permeated, the Germans having sent over a few lachrymatory -shells along with the others that night? - -Ah! Why was I living all this over again, just when I had come away to -get free of all this awhile, and dream? I had come out to enjoy the -sunshine and the peace, just as Jim was enjoying the grass behind me. -I listened. There was a slight jingle of the bit now and again, and a -creaking of leather, and always that drawing sound, with an occasional -purr, as the grass was torn up. I could not help looking round at -last. “You pig,” I said; but my tone did not altogether disapprove of -complacent piggishness. - -In front of me lay the blue water of the Somme Canal, and the pools -between it and the river; long parallel rows of pale green poplars -stretched along either bank of the canal; and at my feet, half hidden -by the slope of the ground, lay the sleepy little village of Etinehem. -There was a Sunday afternoon slumber over everything. Was it Sunday? I -thought for a moment. No, it was Thursday, and to-morrow we went “in” -again. I deliberately switched my thoughts away from the trenches, and -they flew to the events of the morning. I could see my fellows lying, -so keen--I might almost say so happy--blazing away on the range. One I -remembered especially. Private Benjamin, a boy with a delicate eager -face, who came out with the last draft: he came from a village close up -to Snowdon; he was shooting badly, and very concerned about it. I lay -down beside him and showed him how to squeeze the trigger, gradually, -ever so gradually. Oh! these boys! Responsibility. Responsibility. - -“This is no good,” I said to myself at last, and untied Jim and rode -again. I went down into the valley, and along the green track between -an avenue of poplars south of the canal until at last I came to -Sailly-Laurette, and so back and in to Morlancourt from the south-west. -It was six o’clock by the time I stooped my head under the gateway into -our garden, and for the last hour or so I had almost forgotten war at -last. - -“Hullo,” was the greeting I received from Owen. “There’s no tea left.” - -“I don’t want any tea,” I answered. “Has the post come?” - -There were three letters for me. As I slept at a house a little -distance away, I took the letters along with me. - -“I’m going over to my room to clean up,” I shouted to Owen, who was -reading inside the Mess-room. “What time’s old Jim coming in?” - -“Seven o’clock!” - -“All right,” I answered. “I’ll be over by seven.” - - -III. EVENING - -As I walked up the garden path a few minutes before seven, I had to -pass the kitchen door, where the servants slept, lived, and cooked -our meals. I had a vision of Private Watson, the cook, busy at the -oven; he was in his shirt-sleeves, hair untidy, trousers very grimy, -and altogether a very unmartial figure. There seemed to be a dispute -in progress, to judge from the high pitch to which the voices had -attained. On these occasions Lewis’ piping voice reached an incredible -falsetto, while his face flushed redder than ever. - -Watson, Owen’s servant, had superseded Gray as officers’ mess cook; -the latter had, unfortunately, drunk one or two glasses of beer last -time in billets, and, to give his own version, he “somehow felt very -sleepy, and went down and lay under a bank,” and could remember nothing -more until about ten o’clock, when he humbly reported his return to -me. Meanwhile Watson had cooked the dinner, which was, of course, -very late; and as he did it very well, and as Gray’s explanation -seemed somewhat vague, we decided to make Watson cook, let Gray try a -little work in the company for a change, and get the sergeant-major -to send Owen another man for servant. Watson had signalised the entry -to his new appointment by a quarrel with Madame (the Warwicks had -managed to “bag” this ideal billet of ours temporarily, and we were in -a much less comfortable one the last two occasions out of trenches); -eventually Madame had hurled the frying-pan at him, amid a torrent of -unintelligible French; neither could understand a word the other was -saying, of course. Gray had been wont, I believe, to “lie low and say -nuffin,” like Brer Fox, when Madame, who was old and half-crazed, came -up and threw water on the fire in a fit of unknown anger. But Watson’s -blood boiled at such insults from a Frenchwoman, and hence had followed -a sharp contention ending in the projection of the frying-pan. Luckily, -we were unmolested here: Watson could manage the dinner, anyway. - -I entered our mess-room, which was large, light, and boasted a boarded -floor; it was a splendid summer-room, though it would have been very -cold in winter. There I found a pile of literature awaiting me; -operation orders for to-morrow, giving the hour at which each company -was to leave Morlancourt, and which company of the Manchesters it was -to relieve, and when, and where, and the route to be taken; there were -two typed documents “for your information and retention, please,” one -relating to prevention of fly-trouble in billets, the other giving a -new code of signals and marked “Secret” on the top, and lastly there -was _Comic Cuts_. Leaving the rest, I hastily skimmed through the -latter, which contained detailed information of operations carried out, -and intelligence gathered on the corps front during the last few days. -At first these were intensely interesting, but after seven months they -began to pall, and I grew expert at skimming through them rapidly. - -Then Jim Potter came in, and _Comic Cuts_ faded into insignificance. - -“Here, Owen,” said I, and threw them over to him. - -Captain and Quartermaster Jim Potter was the Father of the battalion. -He had been in the battalion sixteen years, and had come out with them -in 1914; twice the battalion had been decimated, new officers had come -and disappeared, commanding officers had become brigadiers and new ones -taken their place, but “Old Jim” remained, calm, unaltered, steady -as a rock, good-natured, and an utter pessimist. I first introduced -him in Chapter I, when I spent the night in his billet prior to my -first advent into the trenches. I was a little perturbed then by his -pessimism. Now I should have been very alarmed if he had suddenly burst -into a fit of optimism. - -“Well, Jim,” we said, “how are things going? When’s the war going to -end?” - -“Oh! not so very long now.” We gaped at this unexpected reply. -“Because,” he added, “you know, Bill, it’s the unexpected that always -happens in this war. Hullo! You’ve got some pretty pictures, I see.” - -We had been decorating the walls with the few unwarlike pictures that -were still to be found in the illustrated papers. - -“Not a bad place, Blighty,” he resumed, gazing at a picture entitled -“Home, Sweet Home!” There had been a little dispute as to whether it -should go up, owing to its sentimental nature. At last “The Warwicks -will like it,” we had said, and up it had gone. The Warwicks had our -billet, when we were “in.” - -“Tell us about your leave,” we said, and Jim began a series of -delightful sarcastic jerks about the way people in England seemed to -be getting now a faint glimmering conception that somewhere there was -a war on. - -The joint was not quite ready, Edwards explained to me, drawing me -aside a minute; would old Jim mind? The idea of old Jim minding being -quite absurd, we decided on having a cooked joint a quarter of an hour -hence, rather than a semi-raw one now; and we told Jim our decision. -It seemed to suit him exactly, as he had had tea late. There never was -such an unruffled fellow as he; had we wanted to begin before the time -appointed, he would have been ravenous. So he continued the description -of his adventures on leave. Meanwhile I rescued _Comic Cuts_ from the -hands of Paul, and despatched them, duly initialled, by the trusty -Davies to “C” Company. Just as I had done so the sergeant-major -appeared at the door. - -“You know the time we move off to-morrow?” I said. - -Yes, he had known that long before I did, by means of the regimental -sergeant-major and the orderly sergeant. - -“Fall in at 8.15,” I said. “Everything the same as usual. All the -officers’ servants, and Watson, are to fall in with the company; this -straggling in independently, before or after the company, will stop -once and for all.” Lewis’ face, as he laid the soup-plates, turned half -a degree redder than usual. - -“There’s nothing more?” I said. - -“No, that’s all, sir.” - -The sergeant-major drained off his whiskey with a dash of Perrier, and -prepared to go. Now was the psychological moment when one learnt any -news there was to learn about the battalion. - -“No news, I suppose?” I asked. - -“The fellows are still talking about this ‘rest,’ sir. No news about -that, I suppose?” said the sergeant-major. - -“Only that it’s slightly overdue,” I answered, with a laugh. “What do -you think, Jim? Any likelihood of this three weeks’ rest coming off?” - -“Oh, yes; I should think so,” said the quartermaster. “Any time next -year.” - -“Good night, sir,” said Sergeant-Major Brown, with a grin. - -“Good night, Sergeant-Major,” came in a chorus as he disappeared into -the garden. - -“Soup’s ready, sir,” said Lewis. And we sat down to dine. - -The extraordinary thing about having Jim Potter in to dinner was that -an extra elaborate menu was always provided, and yet old Jim himself -always ate less than anyone else; still, he did his share nobly with -the whiskey, so that made up for it, I suppose. To-night Edwards -planned “sausages and mash” as an entrée; but, whether through superior -knowledge or a mere misunderstanding, the sausages arrived seated -carefully on the top of the round of beef, like _marrons-glacés_ stuck -on an iced cake. As the dish was placed, amid howls of execration, on -the table, one of the unsteadier sausages staggered and fell with a -splash into the gravy, much to everyone’s delight; Edwards, wiping the -gravy spots off his best tunic, seemed the only member of the party who -did not greet with approbation this novel dish. - -After soup, sausages and beef, and rice-pudding and tinned fruit, -came Watson’s special dish--cheese _au gratin_ on toast. This was a -glutinous concoction, and a little went a long way. Then followed _café -au lait_ made in the teapot, which was the signal for cigarettes to -be lit up, and chairs to be moved a little to allow of a comfortable -expansion of legs. Owen proposed sitting out in the summer-house, -but on going outside reported that it was a little too chilly. So we -remained where we were. - -Edwards was talking of Amiens: he had been there for the day yesterday, -and incidentally discovered that there was a cathedral there. - -“I know it,” said I. “I used to go there every Saturday when I was at -the Army School.” - -“You had a good time at the Army School, didn’t you?” asked Jim. - -“Tip-top time,” said I. “It’s a really good show. The Commandant was -the most wonderful man we ever met. By the way, that concert Tuesday -night was a really good show.” - -Jim Potter and Edwards had got it up; it had been an _al fresco_ -affair, and the night had been ideally warm for it. Edwards had trained -a Welsh choir with some success. Several outsiders had contributed, -the star of the evening being Basil Hallam, the well-known music-hall -artist, whose dainty manner, reminding one of the art of Vesta Tilley, -and impeccable evening clothes had produced an unforgettably bizarre -effect in the middle of such an audience and within sound of the guns. -He was well known to most of the men as “the bloke that sits up in -the sausage.” For any fine day, coming out of trenches or going in, -you could see high suspended the “sausage,” whose home and “base” -was between Treux and Mericourt, and whose occupant and eye was Basil -Hallam. And so the “sausage bloke” was received enthusiastically at our -concert. - -As we talked about the concert, Owen began singing “Now Florrie was a -Flapper,” which had been Basil Hallam’s most popular song, and as he -sang he rose from his chair and walked about the room; he was evidently -enjoying himself, though his imitation of Basil Hallam was very bad -indeed. As he sang, we went on talking. - -“A good entry in _Comic Cuts_ to-night,” I remarked. “‘A dog was heard -barking in Fricourt at 11 p.m.’ Someone must have been hard up for -intelligence to put that in.” - -“A dog barking in Fricourt,” said old Jim, warming up. “‘A dog barking -in Fricourt.’ What’s that--Corps stuff? I never read the thing; -good Lord, no! That’s what it is to have a Staff--‘A dog barking in -Fricourt!’” - -“The Corps officer didn’t hear it,” said I. “It was some battalion -intelligence officer that was such a fool as to report it.” - -“Fool?” said old Jim. “I’d like to meet the fellow. He’s the first -fellow I’ve ever met yet who has a just appreciation of the brain -capacity of the Staff. You or I might have thought of reporting a dog’s -mew, or roar, or bellow; but a dog’s bark we should have thought of no -interest whatever to the--er--fellows up there, you know, who plan our -destinies.” And he gave an obsequious flick of his hand to an imaginary -person too high up to see him at all. - -“He’s a good fellow,” he repeated, “that intelligence officer. Ought to -get a D.S.O.” - -Old Jim had two South African medals, a D.C.M. and a D.S.O. - -“The Staff,” he went on, with the greatest contempt he could put into -his voice. “I saw three of them in a car to-day. I stood to attention: -saluted. A young fellow waved his hand, you know; graciously accepted -my salute, you know, and passed on leaning back in his limousin. The -‘Brains of the British Army,’ I thought. Pah!” - -We waited. Jim on the Staff was the greatest entertainment the -battalion could offer. We tried to draw him out further, but he would -not be drawn. We tried cunningly, by indirect methods, enquiring his -views on whether there would be a push this year. - -“Push!” he said. “Of course there will be a push. The Staff must have -something to show for themselves. ‘Shove ’em in,’ they say; ‘rather a -bigger front than last time.’ Strategy? Oh, no! That’s out of date, you -know. Five-mile front--frontal attack. Get a few hundred thousand mown -down, and then discover the Boche has got a second line. The Staff. -Pah!!” And no more would he say. - -Then Clark came in, and the Manchester Stokes gun officer. Clark -immediately joined Owen in a duet on “Florrie.” Then we went through -the whole gamut of popular songs, with appropriate actions and -stamping of feet upon the floor. Meanwhile the table was cleared, -only the whiskey and Perrier remaining. Soon there were cries of -“Napoleon--Napoleon,” and Owen, who bears a remarkable resemblance -to that great personage, posed tragically again and again amid great -applause. And then, in natural sequence, I, as “Bill, the man wot -won the Battle of Waterloo,” attacked him with every species of -trench-mortar I could lay hands on, my head swathed in a remarkable -turban of _Daily Mail_. At last I drove him into a corner behind -a table, and bombarded him relentlessly with oranges until he -capitulated! All the time Edwards had been in fear and trembling for -the safety of his gramophone. - -At length peace was signed, and we grew quiet again beneath the -soothing strains of the gramophone, until at last Jim Potter said he -must really go. Everyone reminding everyone else that breakfast was at -seven, we broke up the party, and Owen, Paul, Jim Potter and I departed -together. But anyone who knows the psychology of conviviality will -understand that we had first to pay a visit to a neighbouring Mess for -one last whiskey-and-soda before turning in. - -As I opened the door of my billet, I heard a “strafe” getting up. There -was a lively cannonade up in the line; for several minutes I listened, -until it diminished a little, and began to die away. “In” to-morrow, -I thought. My valise was laid out on the floor, and my trench kit all -ready for packing first thing next morning. I lost no time in getting -into bed. And yet I could not sleep. - -I could not help thinking of the jollity of the last few hours, the -humour, the apparently spontaneous outburst of good spirits; and most -of all I thought of old Jim, the mainspring somehow of it all. And -again I saw the picture of the concert a few nights ago, the bright -lights of the stage, the crowds of our fellows, all their bodies and -spirits for the moment relaxed, good-natured, happy, as they stood -laughing in the warm night air. And lastly I thought again of Private -Benjamin, that refined eager face, that rather delicate body, and -that warm hand as I placed mine over his, squeezing the trigger. He -was no more than a child really, a simple-minded child of Wales. -Somehow it was more terrible that these young boys should see this -war, than for the older men. Yet were we not all children wondering, -wondering, wondering?... Yes, we were like children faced by a wild -beast. “Sometimes I dislike you almost,” I thought; “your dulness, your -coarseness, your lack of romance, your unattractiveness. Yet that is -only physical. You, I love really. Oh, the dear, dear world!” - -And in the darkness I buried my face in the pillow, and sobbed. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -“A CERTAIN MAN DREW A BOW AT A VENTURE” - - -It was ten o’clock as I came in from the wiring-party in front of Rue -Albert, and at that moment our guns began. We were in Maple Redoubt. -The moon had just set, and it was a still summer night in early June. - -“Come and have a look,” I called to Owen, who had just entered the -dug-out. I could see him standing with his back to the candlelight -reading a letter or something. - -He came out, and together we looked across the valley at the shoulder -of down that was silhouetted by the continuous light of gun-flickers. -Our guns had commenced a two hours’ bombardment. - -“No answer from the Boche yet,” I said. - -“They’re firing on C 2, down by the cemetery.” - -“Yes, I hardly noticed it; our guns make such a row. By Jove, it’s -magnificent.” - -We gazed fascinated for a long time, and then went into the dug-out -where Edwards and Paul were snoring rhythmically. I read for half an -hour, but the dug-out was stuffy, and the smell of sand-bags and the -flickering of the candle annoyed me for some reason or other. Somehow -“Derelicts” by W. J. Locke failed to grip my attention. Owing to our -bombardment, there were no working-parties, in case the Germans should -take it into their head to retaliate vigorously. But at present there -was no sign of that. - -I went outside again, and walked along Park Lane until I came to the -Lewis-gun position just this side of the corner of Watling Street. The -sentry was standing up, with his elbows on the ground level (there was -no parapet) gazing alert and interested at the continuous flicker of -our shells bursting along the enemy’s trenches. Lance-Corporal Allan -looked out of the dug-out, and, seeing me, came out and stood by us. -And together we watched, all three of us, in silence. Overhead was the -continual griding, screeching, whistling of the shells as they passed -over, without pause or cessation; behind was a chain of gun-flickers -the other side of the ridge; and in front was another chain of flashes, -and a succession of bump, bump, bumps, as the shells burst relentlessly -in the German trenches. And where we stood, under the noisy arch, was -a steady calm. - -“This is all right, sir,” said Lance-Corporal Allan. He was the N.C.O. -in charge of this Lewis-gun team. - -“Yes,” said I. “The artillery are not on short rations to-night.” - -For always, through the last four months, the artillery had been more -or less confined to so many shells a day. The officers used to tell us -they had any amount of ammunition, yet no sooner were they given a free -hand to retaliate as much as we wanted, than an order came cancelling -this privilege. To-night at any rate there was no curtailment. - -“I believe this is the beginning of a new order of things,” I said, -half musing, to myself; “that is, I believe the Boche is going to get -lots and lots of this now.” - -“About time, sir,” said the sentry. - -“Is there a push coming off?” said Lance-Corporal Allan. - -“I don’t know,” I replied. “But I expect we shall be doing something -soon. It’s quite certain we’re going to get our three weeks’ rest after -this turn in. The Brigade Major told me so.” - -Corporal Allan smiled, and as he did so the flashes lit up his face. -He was quite a boy, only eighteen, I believe, but an excellent N.C.O. -He had a very beautiful though sensuous face that used to remind -me sometimes of the “Satyr” of Praxiteles. His only fault was an -inclination to sulkiness at times, which was perhaps due to a little -streak of vanity. It was no wonder the maidens of Morlancourt made eyes -at him, and a little girl who lived next door to the Lewis-gunner’s -billet was said to have lost her heart long ago. To-night I felt a pang -as I saw him smile. - -“We’ll see,” I said. “Anyway it’s going to be a good show giving the -Boche these sort of pleasant dreams. Better than those one-minute -stunts.” - -I was referring to a one-minute bombardment of Fricourt Wood, that had -taken place last time we were in the line. It was a good spectacle to -see the wood alive with flames, hear our Vickers’ guns rattling hard -behind us from the supports, and see the Germans firing excited green -and red rockets into the air. But the retaliation had been unpleasant, -and the whole business seemed not worth while. This continuous pounding -was quite different. - -I went back and visited the other gun position, and spent a few minutes -there also. At last I turned in reluctantly. I went out again at -half-past eleven, and still the shells were screaming over. It seemed -the token of an irresistible power. And there was no reply at all now -from the German lines. - - * * * * * - -The short summer nights made life easier in some respects. We “stood -to” earlier, and it was quite light by three. As I turned in again, -I paused for a moment to take in the scene. Davies had retired to a -small dug-out, that looked exactly like a dog-kennel, and was not much -larger. As Davies himself frequently reminded me of a very intelligent -sheepdog, the dog-kennel seemed most suitable. I heard him turning -about inside, as I stood at the door of our own dug-out. - -The scene was one of the most perfect peace. The sun was not up, but -by now the light was firm and strong; night had melted away. I went -back and walked a little way along Park Lane until I came to a gap in -the newly erected sand-bag parados. I went through the gap and into a -little graveyard that had not been used now for several months. And -there I stood in the open, completely hidden from the enemy, on the -reverse slope of the hill. Below me were the dug-outs of 71 North, -and away to the left those of the Citadel. Already I could see smoke -curling up from the cookers. There was a faint mist still hanging about -over the road there, that the strong light would soon dispel. On the -hill-side opposite lay the familiar tracery of Redoubt A, and the white -zigzag mark of Maidstone Avenue climbing up well to the left of it, -until it disappeared over the ridge. Close to my feet the meadow was -full of buttercups and blue veronica, with occasional daisies starring -the grass. And below, above, everywhere, it seemed, was the tremulous -song of countless larks, rising, growing, swelling, till the air seemed -full to breaking-point. - -And there was not a sound of war. Who could desecrate such a perfect -June morning? I felt a mad impulse to run up and across into No Man’s -Land and cry out that such a day was made for lovers; that we were all -enmeshed in a mad nightmare, that needed but a bold man’s laugh to free -us from its clutches! Surely this most exquisite morning could not be -the birth of another day of pain? Yet I felt how vain and hopeless -was the longing, as I turned at last and saw the first slant rays of -sunlight touch the white sand-bags into life. - - * * * * * - -“What time’s this working-party?” asked Paul at four o’clock that -afternoon. - -“I told the sergeant-major to get the men out as soon as they’d -finished tea,” I replied. “About a quarter to five they ought to be -ready. He will let you know all right.” - -“Hullo!” said Paul. - -“What are you ‘hulloing’ about?” I asked. - -Paul did not answer. Faintly I heard a “wheeoo, wheeoo, wheeoo,” that -grew louder and louder and ended in a swishing roar like a big wave -breaking against an esplanade--and then “wump--wump--wump--wump” four -4·2’s exploded beyond the parados of Park Lane. - -“Well over,” said Edwards. - -“I expected this,” I answered. “They’ve been too d--d quiet all -day--especially after the pounding we gave them last night.” - -“There they are again,” I added. This time I had heard the four distant -thuds, and we all waited. - -“Wump, wump--CRUMP.” There was a colossal din, the two candles went -out, and there was a shaking and jarring in the blackness. Then -followed the sound of falling stuff, and I felt a few patters of earth -all over me. Gradually it got lighter, and through the smoke-filled -doorway the square of daylight reappeared. - -“Je ne l’aime pas,” said I, as we all waited, without speaking. Then -Edwards struck a match and lit the candles; all the table, floor, and -beds were sprinkled with dust and earth. Then Davies burst in. - -“Are you all right?” we asked. - -“Yessir. Are you?” - -“Oh, we’re all right, Davies,” said I. “But there’s a job for Lewis -cleaning this butter up.” - -At length we went outside, stepping over a heap of loose yielding -earth, mixed up with lumps of chalk and bits of frayed sand-bags. -Outside, the trench was blocked with débris of a similar kind. Already -two men had crossed it, and several men were about to do so. It was old -already. There was still a smell of gunpowder in the air, and a lot of -chalk dust that irritated your nose. - -“I think I’ll tell the sergeant-major not to get the working-party out -just yet,” I said to Paul. “They often start like that and then put -lots more over about a quarter of an hour later.” And I sped along Park -Lane quickly. - -As I returned I heard footsteps behind me. I looked round, but the men -were hidden by a traverse. And then came tragedy, sudden, and terrible. -I have seen many bad sights--every man killed is a tragedy--but one -avoids and hides away the hideousness as soon as possible. But never, -save once perhaps, have I seen the thing so vile as now. - -“Look out!” I heard a voice from behind. And as I heard the shell -screaming down, I tumbled into the nearest dug-out. The shell burst -with a huge “crump,” but not so close as the one that had darkened -our dug-out ten minutes before. Then again another four shells burst -together, but some forty or fifty yards away. I waited one, two -minutes. _And then I heard men running in the trench._ - -As I sprang up the dug-out steps, I saw two stretcher-bearers standing -looking round the traverse. And then there was the faint whistling -overhead and they pushed me back as they almost fell down the dug-out -steps. - -“Is there a man hurt?” I asked. “We can’t leave him.” - -“He’s dead,” said one. And as he spoke there were three more explosions -a little to the left. - -“Are you sure?” - -“Aye,” said the stretcher-bearer and closed his eyes tight. - -“He’s past our help,” said the other man. - -At last, after a minute’s calm, we stepped out into the sunshine. I -went round the traverse, following the two stretcher-bearers. And -looking between them, as they stood gazing, this is what I saw. - -In the trench, half buried in rags of sand-bag and loose chalk, lay -what had been a man. His head was nearest to me, and at that I gazed -fascinated; for the shell had cut it clean in half, and the face lay -like a mask, its features unmarred at all, a full foot away from the -rest of the head. The flesh was grey, that was all; the open eyes, the -nose, the mouth were not even twisted awry. It was like the fragment of -a sculpture. All the rest of the body was a mangled mass of flesh and -khaki. - -“Who is it?” whispered a stretcher-bearer, bending his head down to -look sideways at that mask. - -“Find his identity-disc,” said the other. - -“It is Lance-Corporal Allan,” said I. - -Then up came the regimental sergeant-major, and Owen followed him. They -too gazed in horror for a moment. The sergeant-major was the first to -recover. - -“Hi! you fellows,” he called to two men. “Get a waterproof sheet.” - -“Come away, old man,” said I to Owen. - - * * * * * - -In silence we walked back to the dug-out. But my brain was whirling. “A -certain man drew a bow at a venture,” I thought again. That was how it -was possible. No man could keep on killing, if he could see the men he -killed. Who had fired that howitzer shell? A German gunner somewhere -right away in Mametz Wood probably. He would never see his handiwork, -never know what he had done to-day. He would never _see_; that was -the point. Had he known, he would have rejoiced that there was one -Englishman less in the world. It was not his fault. We were just the -same. What of last night’s bombardment? (The memory of Lance-Corporal -Allan up by his gun-position gave me a quick sharp pang.) Had we not -watched with glittering eyes the magnificent shooting of our own -gunners? This afternoon’s strafe was but a puny retaliation. - -Slowly it came back to me, the half-formed picture that had arisen in -my mind the night of Davidson’s death. “A certain man drew a bow at a -venture,” expressed it perfectly. It was splendid twanging the bow, -feeling the fingers grip the polished wood, watching the bow-string -stretch and strain, and then letting the arrow fly. That was the -fascinating, the deadly fascinating side of war. That was what made it -possible to “carry on.” I remembered my joy in calling up the artillery -in revenge for Thompson’s death. And then again, whenever we put a mine -up, how exhilarating was the spectacle! Throwing a bomb, firing a Lewis -gun, all these things were pleasant. It was like the joy of throwing -stones over a barn and hearing them splash into a pond; like driving a -cricket ball out of the field. - -But the arrows fell somewhere. That was the other side of war. The -dying king leant on his chariot, propped up until the sun went down. -The man who had fired the bolt never knew he had killed a king. That -was the other side of war; that was the side that counted. What I had -just seen was war. - -I leaned my face on my arm against the parados. Oh, this unutterable -tragedy! Had there ever been such a thing before? Why was this thing -so terrible? Why did I have this feeling of battering against some -relentless power? Death. There were worse things than death. There were -sights, such as I had just come from, as terrible in everyday life, in -any factory explosion or railway accident. There was nothing new in -death. Vaguely my mind felt out for something to express this thing so -far more terrible than mere death. And then I saw it. Vividly I saw the -secret of war. - -What made war so cruel, was the force that compelled you to go on. -After a factory explosion you cleared up things and then took every -precaution to prevent its recurrence; but in war you did the opposite, -you used all your energies to make more explosions. You killed and went -on killing; you saw men die around you, and you deliberately went on -with the thing that would cause more of your friends to die. You were -placed in an arena, and made to fight the beasts; and if you killed one -beast, there were more waiting, and more and more. And above the arena, -out of it, secure, looked down the glittering eyes of the men who had -placed you there; cruel, relentless eyes, that went on glittering -while the mouths expressed admiration for your impossible struggles, -and pity for your fate! - -“Oh God! I shall go mad!” I thought, in the agony of my mind. I saw -into that strange empty chamber which is called madness: I knew what it -would be like to go mad. And even as I saw, came the thought again of -those glittering eyes, and the ruthless answer to my soul’s cry: “The -war is utterly indifferent whether you go mad or not.” - -Owen was standing waiting for me. I grew calm again, and turned and put -my hand on his shoulder. Together we reached the door of the dug-out. - -“Oh, Bill,” he said, “have you ever seen anything more awful?” - -“Only once. No, not more awful: more beastly. Nothing could be more -awful.” - -We told the others. - -“Not Allan?” said Edwards. He was Lewis-gun officer, and Allan was his -best man. - -“Not Allan?” he repeated. “Oh, how will they tell his little girl in -Morlancourt? What will she say when she learns she will never see him -again?” - -“Thank God she never saw him as we saw him just now,” I said, “and -thank God his mother never saw him.” - -“If women were in this war, there would be no war,” said Edwards. - -“I wonder,” said I. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -WOUNDED - - -Lance-Corporal Allan was killed on Tuesday the 6th of June. For the -rest of that day I was all “on edge.” I wondered sometimes how I could -go on: even in billets I dreamed of rifle-grenades; and though I had -only returned from leave a fortnight ago, I felt as tired out in body -and mind as I did before I went. And this last horror did not add to -my peace of mind. I very nearly quarrelled with Captain Wetherell, the -battalion Lewis-gun officer, over the position of a Lewis gun. There -had been a change of company front, and some readjustments had to be -made. I believe I told him he had not got the remotest idea of our -defence scheme, or something of the sort! My nerves were all jangled, -and my brain would not rest a second. We were nearly all like that at -times. - -I decided therefore to go out again to-night with our wires. I had -been out last night, and Owen was going to-night, but I wanted to be -doing something to occupy my thoughts. I knew I should not sleep. At -a quarter to ten I sent word to Corporal Dyson, the wiring-corporal, -to take his men up at eleven instead of ten, as the moon had not quite -set. At eleven o’clock Owen and I were out in No Man’s Land putting out -concertina wire between 80A and 81A bombing posts, which had recently -been connected up by a deep narrow trench. There was what might be -called a concertina craze on: innumerable coils of barbed wire were -converted into concertinas by the simple process of winding them round -and round seven upright stakes in the ground; every new lap of wire -was fastened to the one below it at every other stake by a twist of -plain wire; the result, when you came to the end of a coil and lifted -the whole up off the stakes was a heavy ring of barbed wire that -concertina’d out into ten-yard lengths. They were easily made up in the -trench, quickly put up, and when put out in two parallel rows, about a -yard apart, and joined together with plenty of barbed wire tangled in -loosely, were as good an obstacle as could be made. We had some thirty -of these to put out to-night. - -When you are out wiring you forget all about being in No Man’s Land, -unless the Germans are sniping across. The work is one that absorbs -all your interest, and your one concern is to get the job done quickly -and well. I really cannot remember whether the enemy had been sniping -or not (I use the word “sniping” to denote firing occasional shots -across with fixed rifles sited by day). I remember that I forgot all -about Captain Wetherell and his Lewis-gun positions, as soon as I was -outside the bombing post at 80A. There were about fifteen yards between -this post and the crater-edge, where I had a couple of “A” Company -bombers out as a covering party. But in this fifteen yards were several -huge shell-holes, and we were concealing the wire in these as much -as possible. It was fascinating work, and I felt we could not get on -fast enough with it. After a time I went along to Owen, whose party -was working on my left. Here Corporal Dyson and four men were doing -well also. All this strip of land between the trench and the crater -edge was an extraordinary tangle of shell-holes, old beams and planks, -and scraps of old wire. Every square yard of it had been churned and -pounded to bits at different times by canisters and “sausages” and -such-like. Months ago there had been a trench along the crater edges; -but new mines had altered these, and until we had dug the deep, narrow -trench between 80A and 81A about a fortnight ago, there had been no -trench there for at least five months. The result was a chaotic jumble, -and this jumble we were converting into an obstacle by judiciously -placed concertina wiring. - -I repeat that I cannot remember if there had been much sniping across. -I had just looked at my luminous watch, which reported ten past one, -when I noticed that the sky in the east began to show up a little -paler than the German parapet across the crater. “Dawn,” I thought, -“already. There is no night at all, really. We must knock off in a -quarter of an hour. The light will not be behind us, but half-past one -will be time to stop.” I was lying out by the bombers, gazing into the -black of the crater. It was a warm night, and jolly lying out like -this, though a bit damp and muddy round the shell-holes. Then I got up, -told Corporal Evans to come in after fixing the coil he was putting up, -and was walking towards 80A post, when “Bang” I heard from across the -crater, and I felt a big sting in my left elbow, and a jar that numbed -my whole arm. - -“Ow,” I cried out involuntarily, and doubled the remaining few yards, -and scrambled down into the trench. - -Corporal Dyson was there. - -“Are you hit, sir?” - -“Yes. Nothing much--here in the arm. Get the wirers in. It’ll be light -soon.” - -Then somehow I found my equipment and tunic off; there seemed a lot -of men round me; and I tried to realise that I was really hit. My arm -hung numb and stiff, with the after-taste of a sting in it. I felt this -could not be a proper wound, as there was no real throbbing pain such -as I expected. I was surprised when I saw a lot of blood in the half -light. Corporal Dyson asked me if I had a field-dressing, and I said -he would find one in the bottom right-hand corner of my tunic. To my -annoyance he did not seem to hear, and used one of the men’s. Then Owen -appeared, with a serious peering face. - -“Are all the wirers in?” I asked. - -“Yes,” he answered. “How are you feeling?” - -His serious tone amused me. I wanted to say, “Good heavens, man, I’m as -fit as anything. I shall be back to-morrow, I expect.” But I felt very -tired and rather out of breath as I answered “Oh! all right.” - -By this time my arm was bandaged and I started walking back to Maple -Redoubt, leaning on Corporal Dyson. I wanted to joke, but felt too -tired. It seemed an interminable way down, especially along Watling -Street. - -I had only once looked into the dressing-station, although I must have -passed it several hundred times. I was surprised at its size: there -were two compartments. As I stepped down inside, I wondered if it were -shell-proof. In the inner chamber I could hear the doctor’s quick low -voice, telling a man to move the lamp: and it seemed to flash across -me for the first time that there ought to be some kind of guarantee -against dressing-stations being blown in like any ordinary dug-out. And -yet I knew there was no possibility of any such guarantee. - -“Hullo, Bill, old man,” said the little doctor, coming out quickly. -“Where’s this thing of yours? In the arm, isn’t it? Let’s have a look. -Oh yes, I see. (He examined the bandage, and the arm above it.) Well, -I won’t be long. You won’t mind waiting a few minutes, will you? I’ve -got a bad case in here. Hall, get him to sit down, and give him some -Bovril.” - -And he was gone. No man could move or make men move quicker than the -doctor. - -I felt apologetic: I had chosen a bad time to come, just when the -doctor was busy with this other man. I asked who the fellow was, and -learned he was a private from “D” Company. I was very grateful for the -Bovril. A good idea, this, I thought, having Bovril ready for you. - -I waited about ten minutes, sitting on a chair. I listened to the -movements and low voices inside. “Turn him over. Here. No, those longer -ones. Good heavens, didn’t I tell you to get this changed yesterday? -Now. That’ll do,” and so on. I turned my head round in silence, -observing acutely every detail in this antechamber, as one does in -a dentist’s waiting-room. All the time in my arm I felt this numb -wasp-sting; I wondered when the real pain would start; there was no -motion in this still smart. - -“Now then, Bill,” said the doctor. “So sorry to keep you. Let’s have a -look at it. Oh, that’s nothing very bad.” - -It smarted as he undid the bandage. I don’t know what he did. I never -looked at it. - -“What sort of a one is it?” I asked. - -“I could just do with one like this myself,” said the doctor. - -“Is it a Blighty one?” - -“I’d give you a fiver for it any minute,” answered the doctor. “I’m -not certain whether the bone’s broken or not, but I rather think it is -touched. I can’t say, though. A bullet, did you say? Are you sure?” - -“Very sure,” I laughed. - -“Well, it must be one of these explosive bullets, an ordinary bullet -doesn’t make a wound like yours. That’s it. That’ll do.” - -“I can’t make out why there’s not more pain,” said I. - -“Oh, that’ll come later. You see the shock paralyses you at first. -Here, take one of these.” And he gave me a morphia tabloid. - -“Cheero, Bill,” he said, and I went out of the dug-out leaning on a -stretcher-bearer. Round my neck hung a label, the first of a long -series. “Gun-shot wound in left forearm” it contained. I found later “? -fracture. 1.15 a.m., 7.6.16.” - -Outside Lewis was waiting with my trench kit. He had appeared a quarter -of an hour back at the door of the dressing-station, and had been told -by the doctor so rapidly and forcibly that he ought to know that he -would go with me to the clearing station, and that he had five minutes -in which to get my kit together, that he had fairly sprinted away. -Poor fellow! How should he know, seeing that he had been my servant -over six months, and I had never got wounded before? But the doctor -always made men double. - -As I passed our dug-out, Edwards, Owen, Paul, and Nicholson were all -standing outside. - -“Cheero,” I shouted. “Good luck. The doctor says it’s nothing much. -I’ll be back soon.” - -“What about that Lewis-gun position?” asked Edwards. - -“Oh,” I said, “I want to keep that position on the left.” Then I felt -my decision waver. “Still, if Wetherell wants the other ... I don’t -know.” - -“All right. I’ll fix up with Wetherell. Good luck. Hope you get to -Blighty.” - -I wanted to say such a lot. I wanted to say that I was sure to be back -in a week or so. I wanted to think hard, and decide about that Lewis -gun. I wanted to send a message to Wetherell apologising for what I -had said.... I wanted to talk to Sergeant Andrews, who was standing -there too. But the stretcher-bearer was walking on, and I must go as he -pleased. - -“Good-bye, Sergeant Andrews,” I shouted. - -Last of all I saw Davies, standing solemn and dumb. - -“Good-bye, Davies. Off to Blighty.” - -I could not see if he answered. The relentless stretcher-bearer led me -on. Was I O.C. stretcher-bearers or was I not? Why didn’t I stop him? -I had not decided about that Lewis gun. At the corner of Old Kent Road, -I was told I might as well sit on the ration trolley and go down on -that. And in the full light of dawn, about half-past two, I was rolled -serenely down the hill to the Citadel. - -“Don’t let go,” I said to the stretcher-bearer, who was holding the -trolley back. I still thought of sending up a message about that -Lewis-gun position. Why could not I make up my mind? I looked back and -saw Maple Redoubt receding further and further in the distance. - -“By Jove,” I thought, “I may not see it again for weeks.” And suddenly -I realised that whether I made up my mind about the Lewis-gun position -or not, would not make the slightest difference! - -“Where do I go to now?” said I. - -“There’s an ambulance at the Citadel,” said the stretcher-bearer. -“You’re quite right. You’ll be in Heilly in a little over an hour.” - -Heilly? Why, this would be interesting, I thought. And I should just -go, and have nothing to decide. I should be passive. I was going right -out of the arena! - -And the events of yesterday seemed a dream already. - - -WEDNESDAY - -I lay in bed, at the clearing station at Heilly. It was just after nine -o’clock the same morning, and the orderlies were out of sight, but not -out of hearing, washing up the breakfast things. Half the dark blue -blinds were drawn, as the June sun was blazing outside. I could see the -glare of it on the cobbles in the courtyard, as the door opened and a -cool, tall nurse entered. I closed my eyes, and pretended to be asleep. -I felt she might come and talk, and one thing I did not want to do, I -did not want to talk. - -My body was most extraordinarily comfortable. I moved my feet toes-up -for the sheer joy of feeling the smooth sheets fall cool on my feet -when I turned them sideways again. The pillow was comfortable; the -whole bed was comfortable; even my arm, that was throbbing violently -now, and felt boiling hot, was very comfortably rested on another -pillow. I just wanted to lie, and lie: only my mind was working so fast -and hard that it seemed to make the skin tight over my forehead. And -all the time there was that buzz, buzzing. If I left off thinking, the -buzzing took complete mastery of my brain. That was intolerable: so I -had to keep on thinking. - -At the Citadel an R.A.M.C. doctor had given me tea and a second label. -He had also given me an injection against tetanus. This he did in the -chest. Why didn’t he do it in my right arm, I had thought: I would have -rather had it there. Again, I had had to wait quite a quarter of an -hour, while he attended to the “D” Company private. I had learned from -an orderly that this poor fellow was bound to lose a leg, and again I -had felt that I was in the way here, that I was a bother. I had then -watched the poor fellow carried out on a stretcher, and the stretcher -slid into the ambulance. There was a seat inside, into which I was -helped. Lewis had gone in front, very red-faced and awkward. And an -R.A.M.C. orderly had got in behind with me. Sitting, I had felt that he -must think I was shamming! Then I remembered the first ambulance I had -seen, when I first walked from Chocques to Béthune in early October! -Was there really any connection between me then and me now? - -Then there had been a rather pleasant journey through unknown country, -it seemed. After a few miles, we halted and changed into another -ambulance. As I had stood in the sunshine a moment, I had tried to make -out where we were. But I could not recognise anything, and felt very -tired. There was a white chalk road, a grass bank, and a house close -by: that is all I could remember. And then there was another long ride, -in which my one paramount idea was to rest my arm (which was in a white -sling) and prevent it shaking and jarring. - -Then at last we had reached a village and pulled up in a big sunlit -courtyard. Again as I walked into a big room I felt that people must -think I was shamming. A matron had come in, and a doctor. Did I mind -sitting and waiting a minute or so? Would I like some tea? I had -refused tea. Then the doctor and an orderly came in, and the doctor -asked some questions and took off my label. The orderly was taking -off my boots, and the doctor had started helping! I had apologised -profusely, for they were trench boots thick with mud. And then the -doctor had asked me whether I could wait until about eleven before they -looked at my arm: meanwhile it would be better, as I should be more -rested after a few hours in bed. Bed! I had never thought of going to -bed for an arm at all! What a delicious idea! I felt so tired, too. -I had not been to bed all night. Then I had been helped into this -delightful bed, and after scrawling a letter home to go away by the -eight o’clock post (I was glad I had remembered that), I had been left -in peace at about half-past four. And here I was! I had had a cup of -tea for breakfast, but did not want to eat anything. - -I wished I could go to sleep. Yet it was not much good now, if they -were going to look at my arm at eleven. I opened my eyes whenever I -was sure there was no one near me. Then I thought I might as well keep -them open, otherwise they would think I had slept, and not know how -tired out I felt. There was a man in the next bed with his head all -bandaged; and round the bed in the corner was a screen. Opposite was an -R.A.M.C. doctor, as far as I could gather; he was talking to the nurse, -and looked perfectly well. I thought perhaps he might be the sort who -would talk late when I wanted to sleep--he looked so well and lively; -suppose he had a gramophone and wanted to play it this afternoon. I -should really have to complain, if he did. Yet perhaps they would -understand, and make him give it up because of us who were not so well. -On my right, up at the other end of the room (was it a “ward”? yes, I -suppose it was) were several voices, but I could not turn over and look -at their owners, with my arm like this. How it throbbed and pulsed! Or -was it aching? Supposing I got pins and needles in it.... - -A khaki-clad padre came in. He just came over and asked me if I wanted -anything, and did not worry me with talking. He had a very quiet voice -and bald head. I liked both. I felt I ought to have wanted something: -had I been discourteous? - -The door opened, and the doctor entered, with another nurse and another -doctor. Somehow this last person electrified everyone and everything. -Who was he? His very walk was somehow different from the ordinary. My -attention was riveted on him; somehow I felt that he knew I was there, -and yet he did not look at me. They wheeled a little table up from the -other end of the room, laden with glasses and bottles and glittering -little silver forks and things. I could not see clearly. An orderly -was reprimanded by the nurse for something, in a subdued voice. There -was a hush and a tenseness in this man’s presence. Yet he was calmly -looking at a newspaper, and sitting on an empty bed as he did so! -Apparently Kitchener was reported drowned in the North Sea: he spoke -in a rich, almost drawling voice. He was immensely casual! And yet one -did not mind. He walked over and washed his hands, and put on some -yellowy-brown india-rubber gloves that scrooped and squelched in the -basins. And then he turned round, and the other doctor (whom I had seen -at four o’clock and who already seemed a sort of confidential friend -of mine in the presence of this master-man) asked him, which case he -wanted to see first. And as he jerked his hand casually to one of the -beds, I was filled with a strange elation. This was a surgeon, I felt; -and one in whom I had immense confidence. He would do the best for my -arm: he would make no mistakes. I almost laughed for sheer joy! - -He came at last to my bed and glanced at me. He never smiled. He asked -me one or two questions. I said I was “? fracture,” that my arm was -throbbing but felt numb more than anything. - -“I suppose we may presume there is a fracture,” said he; “at any rate -there is no point in looking at it here. I’ll look at it under an -anæsthetic,” he said to me, not unkindly, but still without a smile. -And a little later, as he went out, he half looked back at my bed. - -“Eleven o’clock,” he said to the nurse as he went out. - -The tension relaxed. An orderly spoke in a bold ordinary voice. The -spell was gone out with the man. - -“Who is that?” I asked the nurse. - -“Oh! that’s Mr. Bevan; he’s a very good surgeon indeed.” - -“I know,” said I, “I can feel that.” - -About an hour later, two orderlies whom I had not seen before came in -with a stretcher, and laid it on the floor by the bed. The tall nurse -asked me if I had any false teeth, and said I had better put socks on, -as my feet might get cold. The orderly did this, and then they helped -me on to the stretcher. My head went back, and I felt a strain on my -neck. The next second my head was lifted and a pillow put under it. -And they had moved me without altering the position of my arm. I was -surprised and pleased at that. Then a blanket was put over me, and one -of the orderlies said “Ready?” - -“Yes,” I said, but suddenly realised he was talking to the other -orderly. I was lifted up, and carried across the room out into the -courtyard. What a blazing sun! I closed my eyes. - -“Dump, dump, dump.” The stretcher seemed to bob along, with a regular -rhythmic swaying. Then they turned a corner, and I felt a slight -nausea. I opened my eyes. The stretcher was put on a table. I felt very -high up. - -The matron-person appeared. She was older than the nurses, and had a -chain with scissors dangling on the end of it. She smiled, and asked -what kind of a wound it was. Then the orderlies looked at each other, -at some signal that I could not see, and lifted me up and into the next -room. They held the stretcher up level with the operating table, and -helped me on to it. I did some good right elbow-work and got on easily. -As I did so, I saw Mr. Bevan sitting on a chair in his white overall, -his gloved hands quietly folded in his lap. He said and did nothing. -Again I felt immensely impressed by his competence, reserving every -ounce of energy, waiting, until these less masterful beings had got -everything ready. - -They took off the blanket, and moved things behind. Then they put the -rubber cup over my mouth and nose. - -“Just breathe quite naturally,” said the doctor. I shut my eyes. - -“Just ordinary breaths. That is very good,” said the voice, quietly and -reassuringly. - -I felt a sort of sweet shudder all down my body. I wanted to laugh. -Then I let my body go a little. It was no good bracing myself.... I -opened my right hand and shut it, just to show them I was not “off” yet -... - - * * * * * - -The process of “coming to” was unpleasant and uninteresting. I do not -think I distinguished myself by any originality, so will not attempt -to describe it. That was a long interminable day, and my arm hurt a -good deal. In the afternoon I was told that I should be pleased to hear -that there was no bone broken. I was anything but pleased. I wanted the -bone to be broken, as I wanted to go to “Blighty.” This worried me all -day. I wondered if I should get to England or not. Then in the evening -the sister (I found that the nurses should be called sisters) dressed -the wound. That was distinctly unpleasant. It took hours and hours and -hours before it began to get even twilight. I have never known so long -a day. And then I could not sleep. They injected morphia at last, but -I awoke after three or four hours feeling more tired than ever. - - -THURSDAY - -I can hardly disentangle these days; night and day ran into one -another. I can remember little about Thursday. I could not sleep -however much I wanted to; and all the time my brain was working so -hard, thinking. I worried about the company: they must be in the -line now. Would Edwards remember this, and that? Had I left him the -map, or was it among those maps in my valise which Lewis had gone to -Morlancourt to fetch? - -And all the time there were rifle-grenades about; I daren’t let the -buzzing come, because it was all rifle-grenades really; and always I -kept seeing Lance-Corporal Allan lying there. Why could I not get rid -of the picture of him? Yet I was afraid I might forget; and it was -important that I should remember.... - -I remember the waiting to have my arm dressed. It was like waiting -before the dentist takes up the drill again. I watched the man next to -me out of the corner of my eye, and felt it intensely if he seemed to -wince, or drew in his breath. And I remember in the morning Mr. Bevan -dressed my wound. I looked the other way. For a week I thought the -wound was above instead of just below the elbow. “This will hurt,” he -said once. - -Some time in the day the man behind the screen died. I had heard him -groaning all day; and there was the rhythmic sound of pumping--oxygen, -I suppose.... I heard a lot of moving behind the screen, and at last -it was taken away and I saw the corner for the first time and in it an -empty bed with clean sheets. - -The man next to me, with the bandaged head, kept talking deliriously to -the orderly about his being on a submarine. Once the orderly smiled at -me as he answered the absurd questions. - -There was one good incident I remember. After the surgeon had dressed -my arm, I said, “Is there any chance of this getting me to Blighty?” -And I thought he did not hear; he was looking the other way. But -suddenly I heard that calm deliberate voice: - -“Yes, that is a Blighty one. There is enough damage to those muscles -to keep you in Blighty several months.” And this made all the rest -bearable somehow. - - -FRIDAY - -Again the only sleep I could get was by morphia. In the morning they -told me I should go by a hospital train leaving at three o’clock. I -scrawled a note or two and gave them to Lewis, and instructed him about -my kit. I believe they made an inventory of it. I gave him some maps -for Edwards. And then he said good-bye. And I thought of him going -back, and I going to England. And I felt ashamed of myself again. I -wondered if the Colonel was annoyed with me. - -They gave me gas in the morning. It seemed such a bother going through -all that again: it was not worth trying to get better. Still I was -glad, it was one dressing less! Then in the afternoon I was carried on -a stretcher to the train. I hardly saw anyone to say good-bye to. I -thought of writing later. - -It seemed an interminable journey. By some mistake I had been put in -with the Tommies. There was no difference in the structure or comfort -of the officers’ or Tommies’ quarters; but I knew they were taking me -wrong. However, I was entirely passive, and did not mind what they -did. The carriage had a corridor all the way down the centre, and on -each side was a succession of berths in three tiers. On the top tier -you must have felt very high and close up to the roof; on the centre -one you got a good view out of the windows; on the third and lowest -tier (which was my lot) you felt that if there were an accident, you -would not have far to roll; on the other hand, you were out of view of -orderlies passing along the corridor. - -A great thirst consumed me as I lay waiting. I could see two orderlies -in the space by the door cutting up large pieces of bread and butter. -This made my mouth still drier. Then they brought in cans of hot tea, -and gave it out in white enamel bowls. I longed for the sting of the -tea on my dry palate, but the orderly was startled when I said, “I -suppose this is all right; I am an officer.” He said he would tell -them, and gave the bowl to the next man. The bowls were taken away -and washed up, before a cup of tea was at last brought me. A corporal -brought it; he poured it out of a little teapot; but I could not drink -it out of a cup. My left arm lay like a log beside me, and I could not -hold my right arm steady _and_ raise my head. So the corporal went off -for a feeding cup. I felt rather nervy and like a man with a grievance! -And when I got the tea it was nearly cold. - -I say it seemed an interminable journey, and my arm was so frightfully -uncomfortable. I had it across my body, and felt I could not breathe -for the weight of it. At last I felt I _must_ get its position altered. -I called “orderly” every time an orderly went past: sometimes they -paused and looked round; but they could not see me, and went on. -Sometimes they did not hear anything. I felt as self-conscious and -irritated as a man who calls “waiter” and the waiter does not hear. At -last one heard, and a sister came and fixed me up with a small pillow -under the elbow. I immediately felt apologetic, and I wondered if she -thought me fussy. - -The train made a long, slow grind over the rails; and it kept stopping -with a griding sound and a jolt. Why did it go so slowly? At ten -o’clock I begged and obtained another morphia dose, and got four hours’ -sleep from it again. - - -SATURDAY - -I suppose it was about 7.0 a.m. when we arrived at Étretat. I was taken -and laid in the middle of rows and rows of Tommies in a big sunny -courtyard. I thought how well the bearers carried the stretchers: I did -not at all feel that I was likely to be dropped or tilted off on to my -arm. There were a lot of men in blue hospital dress on the steps of a -big house. I wondered where I was: in Havre probably. It was a queer -sensation lying on my back gazing up at the sun; we were tightly packed -in together, like cards laid in order, face upwards. How high everyone -looked standing up. Then they discovered one or two officers, and I -said that I too was an officer. I felt that they rather dared me to -repeat this statement. Then a man looked at my label, and said: “Yes, -he is an officer.” And I was taken up and carried off. - -I found myself put to bed in a spacious room in which were only two -beds. The house had only recently been finished, and was in use as a -hospital. As soon as I was in bed, I felt a great relief again. No -more motion for a time, I thought. There was a man in the other bed, -threatened with consumption. We were talking, when a pretty V.A.D. -nurse came in and asked what we wanted for breakfast. I felt quite -hungry, and enjoyed tea and fish. I began to think that life was going -to be good. I saw Cecil Todd, who had been slightly wounded a fortnight -ago. I condoled with him on not getting to England. He asked me if I -wanted to read. No, I did not feel like reading. I wrote a letter. Then -two V.A.D. nurses came and dressed my wound. They seemed surprised to -find so big a one, and sent for the doctor to see it. They dressed it -very well, and gave me no unnecessary pain. - -In the afternoon, I was again moved to a motor ambulance, which took me -to Havre. It jolted and shook horribly. “This man does not know what it -is like up here,” I thought. All the time I was straining my body to -keep the left arm from touching the jolting stretcher. (The stretchers -slide in the ambulance.) I was a top-berth passenger; I could touch the -white roof with my right hand; and there was a stuffy smell of white -paint. - -At last it stopped, and after a wait I was carried amid a sea of heads, -along a quay. I could smell sea and the stale oily smell of a steamer. -Then I was taken over the gangway with that firm, steady, nodding -motion with which I was getting so familiar, along the deck, through -doorways, and into a big room, all green and white. All round the edge -were beds, into one of which I was helped. In the centre of the room -were beds that somehow reminded me of cots. I dare say there was a low -railing round the beds that gave me this impression. A Scotch nurse -looked after me. These nurses were all in grey and red; the others had -been in blue. I wondered what was the difference. I asked the name of -the ship and they said it was the _Asturias_. - -Later on a steward brought a menu, and I chose my own dinner. -Apparently I could eat what I liked. The doctor looked at my wound, and -said it could wait until morning before being dressed; he pleased me. I -was more comfortable than I had been yet. The boat was not due out till -about 1.0 a.m. At eleven o’clock I again asked for morphia, and so got -sleep for another four hours or so. - - -SUNDAY - -“I represent Messrs. Cox and Co. Is there anything I can do for any of -you gentlemen this morning?” - -A short, squarely built man, with a black suit, a bowler hat, and a -small brown bag, stepped briskly into the room. He gave me intense -pleasure: as he talked to a Scotch officer who wanted some ready cash, -I felt that I was indeed back in England. It was a hot sunny day; and -a bowler hat on such a day made me feel sure that this was _really_ -Southampton, and not all a dream. Sir, whoever you are, I thank you for -your most appropriate appearance. - -The hospital ship had been alongside nearly an hour, I believe. It -was three o’clock in the afternoon. Breakfast, the dressing of my -wound again, lunch; all had followed in an uneventful succession. The -throbbing of the engines as the boat steamed quietly along had been -hardly noticeable at all. At last there was a bustle, and we were -carried out of the room, out into the sunshine again, and along the -quay to the train. Here I was given a berth in the middle tier this -time, for which I was very thankful. I felt so utterly tired; and the -weight of my arm across my body was intolerable. - -That seemed a long, long journey too; but I got tea without delay this -time, and it was hot. At Farnborough the train stopped and a few men -were taken out. The rest came on to London. - -“Is there any special hospital in London you want to go to?” said a -brisk R.A.M.C. official, when we reached Waterloo. - -“No,” I answered. - -He wrote on a label, and put that round my neck also. - -“Lady Carnarvon’s,” he said. - -I lay for some time on the platform of Waterloo station, gazing up at -the vault in the roof. Porters and stretcher-bearers stood about, and -gazed down at one in silence. Then I was moved into a motor ambulance, -and a Red Cross lady took her seat in the back. My head was in the -front, so that I could see nothing. Just before the car went off, a -policeman put his head in. - -“Any milk or anything?” - -“Would you like any milk or beef tea?” the lady said. - -“Milk, please.” - -“He says he would like a little milk,” said the lady. - -And then we drove off. - - -MONDAY - -It was somewhere about ten o’clock Monday morning. The sister had just -finished dressing my arm; the doctor had poked it about; now it lay -cool and quiet along by my side. I had not slept that night again, -except with morphia. I still felt extraordinarily tired, but was very -comfortable. I watched the tall sister in blue with the white headdress -that reminded me of a nun’s cap. She was so strong and quiet, and -seemed to know that my hand always wanted support at the wrist when -she lifted my arm. I did not want to talk, just to lie. - -Suddenly I realised that my head was no longer buzzing. I knew that I -should sleep to-night--at last! My body relaxed: the tension suddenly -melted away. - -“Hurrah!” I thought, “I have not got to move, or think, or decide--and -I can just lie for hours, for days.” - -At last I was out of the grip of war. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -CONCLUSION - - -It was a slumbrous afternoon in September. My wound had healed up a -month ago, and I was lazily convalescent at my aunt’s house in one -of the most beautiful parts of Kent. The six soldiers who were also -convalescent there were down in the hop-garden. For hop-picking was -in full swing. I was sitting in a deck-chair with _Don Quixote_ on my -knees; but I was not reading. I had apparently broken the offensive -power of the army of midges by making a brilliant counter-attack with -a pipe of Chairman. The sun blazed mercilessly on the croquet-lawn; -the balls were lying all together round one hoop: for there was a -golf-croquet tournament in progress, and the mallets stood about -against various hoops; one very tidy and proper mallet was standing -primly in the stand at one corner. My chair was well sited under the -cool shade of a large mulberry tree, in whose thick lofty branches -the wind rustled with a delicious little sigh; sometimes a regular -little gust would send the boughs swishing, and then a little rain of -red and white mulberries would plop on to the grass, and strike the -summer-house roof with a smart patter. On the grass-bank at the side -of the lawn, by a blazing border of orange and red nasturtiums, a -black cat was squatting with tail slowly waving to and fro, watching a -fine large tabby that was sniffing at the nasturtiums in a nonchalant -manner. They were the best of friends, playing that most interesting of -all games, war. - -I was not reading: I was listening to the incessant murmur that came -from far away across the Medway, across the garden of England, and -across the Channel and the flats of Flanders. That sound came from -Picardy. All day the insistent throb had been in the air; sometimes -faint bumps were clearly distinguishable, at other times it was nothing -but one steady vibration. But always it was there, that distant growl, -that insistent mutter. Even in this perfect peace, I could not escape -the War. - -To-day I felt completely well; the lassitude and inertness of -convalescence were gone--at any rate, for the moment. My mind was very -clear, and I could think surely and rapidly. The cats reminded me of -the lusty family that lived in the cellar in the Cuinchy trenches, -and the murmur of the guns drew my thoughts across the Channel. I -tried to imagine trenches running across the lawn, with communication -trenches running back to a support line through the meadow; a few feet -of brick wall would be all that would be left of the house, and this -would conceal my snipers; the mulberry tree would long ago have been -razed to the ground, and every scrap of it used as firewood in our -dug-outs; this deck chair of mine might possibly be in use in Company -Headquarters in one of the cellars. No, it was not easy to imagine war -without seeing it. - -I picked up the paper that had fallen at my side. There had been more -terrible fighting on the Somme, and it had seemed very marvellous to a -journalist as he lay on a hill some two miles back, and watched through -his field-glasses: it was wonderful that the men advancing (if indeed -he could really see them at all in the smoke of a heavy artillery -barrage) still went on, although their comrades dropped all round them. -Yet I wondered what else anyone could do but go on? Run back, with just -as much likelihood of being shot in doing so? Or, even if he did get -back, to certain death as a deserter? Everyone knows the safest place -is in a trench; and it is a trench you are making for. Lower down on -the page came a description of the wounded; he had talked to so many of -them, and they were all smiling, all so cheerful; smoking cigarettes -and laughing. They shook their fists, and shouted that the only thing -they wanted to do was to get back into it! Pah! I threw the paper down -in disgust. Surely no one wants to read such stuff, I thought. Of -course the men who were not silent, in a dull stupefied agony, were -smiling: what need to say that a man with a slight wound was laughing -at his luck, just as I had smiled that early morning when the trolley -took me down from Maple Redoubt? And who does not volunteer for an -unpleasant task, when he knows he cannot possibly get it? Want to get -back into it, indeed! Ask Tommy ten years hence whether he wants to be -back in the middle of it again! - -I wondered why people endured such cheap journalism. What right had -men who have never seen war at all, who creep up on bicycles to get a -glimpse of it through telescopes, who pester wounded men, and then out -of their pictorial imagination work up a vivid description--what right -have they to insult heroes by saying that “their wonderful spirit makes -up for it all,” that “the paramount impression is one of glory”? Are -not our people able to bear the truth, that war is utterly hellish, -that we do _not_ enjoy it, that we hate it, hate it, hate it all? And -then it struck me how ignorant people still were; how uncertainly they -spoke, these people at home: it was as though they dared not think -things out, lest what they held most dear should be an image shattered -by another point of view. - -Somehow people were amazed at the cheerfulness, the doggedness, the -endurance under pain, the indifference to death, shown every minute -during this war. I thought of the men whom I had seen in hospital. One -man had had his right foot amputated; it used to give me agony to see -his stump dressed every day. Another man had both legs amputated above -the knees. Yet they were so wonderfully cheerful, so apparently content -with life! As though alone in the blackness of night they did not long -for the activity denied them for the rest of their life. As though -their cheerfulness--(do not think I belittle its heroism)--_as though -their cheerfulness justified the thing_! - -Another thing I had noticed. An old man told me he was so struck with -the heroism, the courage, the indifference to death, shown by the -ordinary unromantic man. Some men had been converted, too, their whole -lives changed, their vices eradicated, by this war. So much good was -coming from it. People, too, at home were so changed, so sobered; they -were looking into the selfishness of their lives at last. Again I -thought, _as though all that justified the thing_! - -Oh! you men and women who did not know before the capabilities of human -nature, I thought, please take note of it now; and after the war do not -underestimate the quality of mankind. Did it need a war to tell you -that a man can be heroic, resolute, courageous, cheerful, and capable -of sacrifice? There were those who could have told you that before this -war. - -There was a lull in the vibration. I turned in my chair, and listened. -Then it began again. - -“People are afraid to think it out,” I said. “I have not seen the -Somme fighting, but I know what war is. Its quality is not altered by -multiplication or intensity. The colour of life-blood is a constant -red. Let us look into this business; let us face all the facts. Let us -not flinch from any aspect of the truth.” - -And my thoughts ran somewhat as follows: - -First of all, War is evil--utterly evil. Let us be sure of that first. -It is an evil instrument, even if it be used for motives that are good. -I, who have been through war and know it, say that it is evil. I knew -it before the war; instinct, reason, religion told me that war was -evil; now experience has told me also. - -It is a strange synthesis, this war: it is a synthesis of adventure, -dulness, good spirits, and tragedy; but none of these things are new to -human experience; nor is human nature altered by war. It is at war as -a whole that we must look in order to appreciate its quality. And what -is war seen as a whole, or rather seen in the light of my eight months’ -experience? For no one man can truly appraise war. - -I have seen and felt the adventure of war, its deadly fascination and -excitement: it is the greatest game on earth: that is its terrible -power: there is such a wild temptation to paint up its interest and -glamour: it gives such scope to daring, to physical courage, to high -spirits: it makes so many prove themselves heroic, that were it not -for the fall of the arrow men would call the drawing of the bow good. -I have seen the dulness, the endless monotony, the dogged labour, the -sheer power of will conquering the body and “carrying on”: there is -good in that, too. In the jollity, the humour, the good-fellowship, is -nothing but good also. There is good in all these things; for these are -qualities of human nature triumphing in spite of war. These things are -not war; they are the good in man prostituted to a vile thing. - -For I have seen the real face of war: I have seen men killed, -mutilated, blown to little pieces; I have seen men crippled for life; -I have looked in the face of madness, and I know that many have gone -mad under its grip. I have seen fine natures break and crumble under -the strain. I have seen men grow brutalised, and coarsened in this -war. (God will judge justly in the end; meanwhile, there are thousands -among us--yes, and among our enemy too--brutalised through no fault of -theirs.) I have lost friends killed (and shall lose more yet), friends -with whom I have lived and suffered so long. - -Who is for war now? Its adventure, its heroism? Bah! Yet this is not -all. - -For war spares none. It desecrates the beauty of the earth; it ruins, -it destroys, it wastes; it starves children; it drives out old men, -and women, homeless. And most terrible of all, it brings agony to -every household: it is like a plague of the firstborn. Do not think I -have forgotten you, O women, and old men. You, too, have to endure the -agony of the arena; you are compelled to sit and watch us fight the -beasts. Every mother is there in agony, watching her baby, and unable -to stretch a finger to help. This, too, is war--the anguish of mothers -whose sons perish, of wives who lose their husbands, of girls robbed -for all time of marriage and motherhood. - -And this vile thing is still perpetrated upon the earth among peoples -who have long ago declared human sacrifice impossible and barbaric. - -This then is a basal fact. We have faced it fairly. The instrument is -vile. What then of the motive? What is the motive which drives us to -use this evil instrument? And I see you fathers and mothers waiting to -hear what I shall say. For there are people who whisper that we who are -fighting are vindictive, that we lust for the blood of our enemies, -that we are coarse and brutal, that we are unholy champions of what we -call a just cause. Again let us face the facts. And to these whisperers -I answer boldly: “Yes! we are coarse, some of us; we are vindictive; -we hate; we do not deny it.” For war in its vileness taints its human -instruments too. When Davidson died I cried death upon his murderers. -I called them devils, and worse. I am not ashamed. - -That is not the point. What I or Tommy may be at a given moment is -not the point. The question is, with what motives did we enter this -war, agree to take up this vile instrument? We cannot help if it soils -our hands. What is our motive in fighting in the arena? What provokes -the dumb heroism of our soldiers? Why did men flock to the colours, -volunteer in millions for the arena? You know. I who have lived with -them eight months in France, I also know. It was because a people took -up this vile instrument and used it from desire of power. Because they -trampled on justice, and challenged us to thwart them. Because they -willed war for the sake of wrong; because they said that force was -master of the world, and they set out to prove it. - -Yet, it is sometimes said, war is unchristian. If men were Christian -there would be no war. You cannot conquer evil by evil. I agree, if men -were Christian there would be no war. I agree that you cannot conquer -evil by evil; but it is war that is evil, not our motive in going to -war. We are conquering an evil spirit by a good spirit, even if we are -using an evil instrument. And if you say that Christ would not fight, I -say that none of us would fight if the world had attained the Christian -plane towards which we are slowly rising: but we are still on a lower -plane, and in it there is a big war raging; and in the arena there are -many who have felt Christ by their side. - -That, then, is the second point. I knew that war was vile, before I -went into it. I have seen it: I do not alter my opinion. I went into -this war prepared to sacrifice my life to prove that right is stronger -than wrong; I have stood again and again with a traverse between me -and death; I have faced the possibility of madness. I foresaw all this -before I went into this war. What difference does it make that I have -experienced it? It makes no difference. Let no one fear that our -sacrifice has been in vain. We have already won what we are fighting -for. The will for war, that aggressive power, with all the cards on its -side prepared, striking at its own moment, has already failed against -a spirit, weaker, unprepared, taken unawares. And so I am clear on my -second point. We are fighting from just motives, and we have already -baulked injustice. Aggressive force, the power that took up the cruel -weapon of war, has failed. No one can ever say that his countrymen have -laid down their lives in vain. - - * * * * * - -I got up from the chair, and started walking about the garden. -Everything was so clear. Before going out to the war I had thought -these things; but the thoughts were fluid, they ran about in mazy -patterns, they were elusive, and always I was frightened of meeting -unanswerable contradictions to my theorising from men who had actually -seen war. Now my conclusions seemed crystallised by irrefutable -experience into solid truth. - -After a while I sat down again and resumed my train of thought: - -War is evil. Justice is stronger than Force. Yet, was there need of all -this bloodshed to prove this? For this war is not as past wars; this -is every man’s war, a war of civilians, a war of men who hate war, of -men who fight for a cause, who are compelled to kill and hate it. That -is another thing that people will not face. Men whisper that Tommy -does not hate Fritz. Again I say, away with this whispering. Let us -speak it out plain and bold. Private Davies, my orderly, formerly a -shepherd of Blaenau Festiniog, has no quarrel with one Fritz Schneider -of Hamburg who is sitting in the trench opposite the Matterhorn sap; -yet he will bayonet him certainly if he comes over the top, or if we -go over into the German trenches; ay, he will perform this action with -a certain amount of brutality too, for I have watched him jabbing at -rats with a bayonet through the wires of a rat trap, and I know that he -has in him a savage vein of cruelty. But when peace is declared, he and -Fritz will light a bonfire of trench stores in No Man’s Land, and there -will be the end of their quarrel. I say boldly, I know. For indeed I -know Davies very well indeed. - -Again I say, was there need of all this bloodshed? Who is responsible? -Who is responsible for Lance-Corporal Allan lying in the trench in -Maple Redoubt? Again I see yon glittering eyes looking down upon me in -the arena. And Davies, too, in his slow simple way, is beginning to -take you in, and to ask you why he is put there to fight? Is it for -your pleasure? Is it for your expediency? Is it a necessary part of -your great game? Necessary? Necessary for whom? Davies and Fritz alike -are awaiting your answer. - -It is hard to trace ultimate causes. It is hard to fix absolute -responsibility. There were many seeds sown, scattered, and secretly -fostered before they produced this harvest of blood. The seeds of -cruelty, selfishness, ambition, avarice, and indifference, are always -liable to swell, grow, and bud, and blossom suddenly into the red -flower of war. Let every man look into his heart, and if the seeds are -there let him make quick to root them out while there is time; unless -he wishes to join those glittering eyes that look down upon the arena. - -These are the seeds of war. And it is because they know that we, too, -are not free from them, that certain men have stood out from the arena -as a protest against war. These men are real heroes, who for their -conscience’s sake are enduring taunts, ignominy, misunderstanding, and -worse. Most men and women in the arena are cursing them, and, as they -struggle in agony and anguish, they beat their hands at them and cry -“You do not care.” I, too, have cursed them, when I was mad with pain. -But I know them, and I know that they are true men. I would not have -one less. They are witnesses against war. And I, too, am fighting war. -Men do not understand them now, but one day they will. - -I know that there are among us, too, the seeds of war: no cause has yet -been perfect. But I look at the facts. We did not start, we did not -want this war. We have gone into it, fighting for the better cause. -Whether, had we been more Christian, we might have prevented the war, -is not the point. We did not want this war: we are fighting against -it. It was the seeds of war in Germany that were responsible. And so -history will judge. - -But what of the future? How are we to save future generations from -going down into the arena? We will rearrange the map of Europe: we -will secure the independence of small states: we will give the power -to the people: there shall be an end of tyrannies. So men speak easily -of an international spirit, of a world conference for peace. There is -so great a will-power against war, they say, that we will secure the -world for the future. Millions of men know the vileness of war; they -will devise ways and means to prevent its recurrence. I agree. Let us -try all ways. Yet I see no guarantee in all this against the glittering -eyes: I see no power in all this knowledge against a new generation -fostering and harvesting the seeds of war. Men have long known that -war is evil. Did that knowledge prevent this war? Will that knowledge -secure India or China from the power of the glittering eyes? - - * * * * * - -I walked up and down the lawn, my eyes glowing, my brain working -hard. Here around me was all the beauty of an old garden, its long -borders full of phloxes, delphiniums, stocks, and all the old familiar -flowers; the apples glowed red in the trees; the swallows were skimming -across the lawn. In the distance I could hear the rumble of the waggon -bringing up the afternoon load of hop-pokes to the oasthouse. Yet what -I had seen of war was as true, had as really happened, as all this. It -would be so easy to forget, after the war. And yet to forget might mean -a seed of war. I must never forget Lance-Corporal Allan. - - * * * * * - -There is only one sure way, I said at last. And again a clear -conviction filled me. There is only one way to put an end to the arena. -Pledges and treaties have failed; and force will fail. These things -may bring peace for a time, but they cannot crush those glittering -eyes. There is only one Man whose eyes have never glittered. Look -at the palms of your hands, you, who have had a bullet through the -middle of it! Did they not give you morphia to ease the pain? And did -you not often cry out alone in the darkness in the terrible agony, -that you did not care who won the war if only the pain would cease? -Yet one Man there was who held out His hand upon the wood, while -they knocked, knocked, knocked in the nail, every knock bringing a -jarring, excruciating pain, every bit as bad as yours. And any moment -His will-power could have weakened, and He could have saved Himself -that awful pain. And then they nailed through the other hand: and then -the feet. And as they lifted the Cross, all the weight came upon the -pierced hands. And when He had tasted the vinegar He would not drink. -And any moment He could have come down from the Cross: yet He so cared -that love should win the war against evil, that He never wavered, His -eyes never glittered. Do you want to put an end to the arena? Here is -a Man to follow. _In hoc signo vinces._ - - * * * * * - -I stood up again, and stretched out my hands. And as I did so a memory -came back vivid and strong. I remembered the night when I stood out on -the hillside by Trafalgar Square, under the moon. And I remembered how -I had felt a strength out of the pain, and even as the strength came a -more unutterable weakness, the weakness of a man battering against a -wall of steel. The sound of the relentless guns had mocked at me. Now -as I stood on the lawn, I heard the long continuous vibration of the -guns upon the Somme. - -“You are War,” I said aloud. “This is your hour, the power of darkness. -But the time will come when we shall follow the Man who has conquered -your last weapon, death: and then your walls of steel will waver, -cringe, and fall, melted away before the fire of LOVE.” - - -PRINTED BY WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD. 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