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diff --git a/59900-0.txt b/59900-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1a96e8c --- /dev/null +++ b/59900-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5621 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59900 *** + + + + + + + + + + + + THE + MUD LARKS + + + BY + + CROSBIE GARSTIN + + LIEUTENANT, 1st KING EDWARD'S HORSE + + + + NEW YORK + GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1919, + BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY + + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + + TO THE MEMORY OF + + MY BROTHER + CAPTAIN DENIS NORMAN GARSTIN, + D.S.O., M.C. + ORDER OF ST. ANNE OF RUSSIA + (10th ROYAL HUSSARS) + KILLED IN ACTION + NEAR ARCHANGEL, RUSSIA + AUGUST 17th, 1918 + + + "You gallop on unfooted asphodel... + And wave beyond the stars that all is well." + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER + + I. The "Ferts" + II. Otto + III. A. E.'S Bath and Brock's Benefit + IV. The Messless Mess + V. Climate at the Front + VI. The Padre + VII. The Riding-Master + VIII. National Anthem + IX. Horse Sense + X. "Convey," the Wise It Call + XI. Our Mess President + XII. Funny Cuts + XIII. Leave + XIV. "Harmony, Gents!" + XV. The Mule and the Tank + XVI. War Paint + XVII. The Pinch of War + XVIII. The Regimental Mascot + XIX. War Vegetation + XX. A Change of Front + XXI. Antonio Giuseppe + XXII. "I Spy" + XXIII. A Faux Pas + XXIV. Mon Repos + XXV. "Fly, Gentle Dove" + XXVI. There and Back + XXVII. Hot Air + XXVIII. The Convert + XXIX. A Best Cure + XXX. The Harriers (I) + XXXI. The Harriers (II) + XXXII. The Camera Cannot Lie + XXXIII. Lionel Trelawney + XXXIV. The Booby Trap + XXXV. The Phantom Army + + + + +THE MUD LARKS + + +I + +THE "FERTS" + +When I was young, my parents sent me to a boarding school, not in any +hopes of getting me educated, but because they wanted a quiet home. + +At that boarding school I met one Frederick Delano Milroy, a chubby +flame-coloured brat who had no claims to genius, excepting as a +_littérateur_. + +The occasion that established his reputation with the pen was a +Natural History essay. We were given five sheets of foolscap, two +hours and our own choice of subject. I chose the elephant, I +remember, having once been kind to one through the medium of a bag of +nuts. + +Frederick D. Milroy headed his effort "The Fert" in large capitals, +and began, "The fert is a noble animal----" He got no further, the +extreme nobility of the ferret having apparently blinded him to its +other characteristics. + +The other day, as I was wandering about on the "line," dodging Boche +crumps with more agility than grace, I met Milroy (Frederick Delane) +once more. + +He was standing at the entrance of a cosy little funk-hole, his boots +and tunic undone, sniffing the morning nitro-glycerine. He had +swollen considerably since our literary days, but was wearing his +hair as red as ever, and I should have known it anywhere--on the +darkest night. I dived for him and his hole, pushed him into it, and +re-introduced myself. He remembered me quite well, shook my +chilblains heartily, and invited me further underground for tea and +talk. + +It was a nice hole, cramped and damp, but very deep, and with those +Boche love-tokens thudding away upstairs I felt that the nearer +Australia the better. But the rats! Never before have I seen rats +in such quantities; they flowed unchidden all over the dug-out, +rummaged in the cupboards, played kiss-in-the-ring in the shadows, +and sang and bawled behind the old oak panelling until you could +barely hear yourself shout. I am fond of animals, but I do not like +having to share my tea with a bald-headed rodent who gets noisy in +his cups, or having a brace of high-spirited youngsters wrestle out +the championship of the district on my bread-and-butter. + +Freddy apologised for them; they were getting a bit above themselves, +he was afraid, but they were seldom dangerous, seldom attacked one +unprovoked. "Live and let live" was their motto. For all that they +did get a trifle _de trop_ sometimes; he himself had lost his temper +when he awoke one morning to find a brawny rat sitting on his face +combing his whiskers in mistake for his own (a pardonable error in +the dark); and, determining to teach them a lesson, had bethought him +of his old friend, the noble fert. He therefore sent home for two of +the best. + +The ferrets arrived in due course, received the names Burroughs and +Welcome, were blessed and turned loose. + +They had had a rough trip over at the bottom of the mail sack, and +were looking for trouble. An old rat strolled out of his club to see +what all the noise was about, and got the excitement he needed. +Seven friends came to his funeral and never smiled again. There was +great rejoicing in that underground Mess that evening; Burroughs and +Welcome were fêted on bully beef and condensed milk, and made +honorary members. + +For three days the good work went on; there was weeping in the +cupboards and gnashing of teeth behind the old oak panelling. Then +on the fourth day Burroughs and Welcome disappeared, and the rats +swarmed to their own again. The deserters were found a week later; +they had wormed through a system of rat-holes into the next dug-out, +inhabited by the Atkinses, and had remained there, honoured guests. + +It is the nature of the British Atkins to make a pet of anything, +from a toad to a sucking-pig--he cannot help it. The story about St. +George, doyen of British soldiers, killing that dragon--nonsense! He +would have spanked it, maybe, until it promised to reform, then given +it a cigarette, and taken it home to amuse the children. To return +to our ferrets, Burroughs and Welcome provided no exception to the +rule; they were taught to sit up and beg, and lie down and die, to +turn handsprings and play the mouth-organ; they were gorged with +Maconochie, plum jam and rum ration; it was doubtful if they ever +went to bed sober. Times out of number they were borne back to the +Officers' Mess and exhorted to do their bit, but they returned +immediately to their friends the Atkinses, via their private route, +not unnaturally preferring a life of continuous carousal and +vaudeville among the flesh-pots, to sapping and mining down wet +rat-holes. + +Freddy was of opinion that, when the battalion proceeded up Unter den +Linden, Burroughs and Welcome would be with it as regimental mascots, +marching behind the band, bells on their fingers, rings on their +toes. He also assured me that if he ever again has to write an essay +on the Fert, its characteristics, the adjective "noble" will not +figure so prominently. + + + + +II + +OTTO + +In the long long ago, Frobisher and I, assisted by a handful of +native troopers, kept the flag flying at M'Vini. + +We hoisted it to the top of a tree at sun-up, where it remained, +languidly flapping its tatters over leagues of Central Africa bush +till sunset, when we hauled it down again--an arduous life. After we +had been at M'Vini about six months, had shot everything worth +shooting, and knew one another's funny stories off by heart, +Frobisher and I grew bored with each other, hated in fact the sight, +sound and mere propinquity of each other, and, shutting ourselves up +in our separate huts, communicated only on occasions of the direst +necessity, and then by the curtest of official notes. Thus a further +three months dragged on. + +Then one red-hot afternoon came Frobisher's boy to my wattle-and-dab, +bearing a note. + +"Visitor approaching from S.W. got up like a May Queen; think it must +be the Kaiser. Lend me a bottle of whisky, and mount a guard--must +impress the blighter." + +I attached my last bottle of Scotch to the messenger and sallied +forth to mount a guard, none too easy a job, as the Army had gone to +celebrate somebody's birthday in the neighbouring village. However, +I discovered one remaining trooper lying in the shade of a +loquat-tree. He was sick--dying, he assured me; but I persuaded him +to postpone his demise for at least half an hour, requisitioned his +physician (the local witch doctor) and two camp followers, and, +leaving my cook-boy to valet them, dashed to my hut to make my own +toilet. A glimpse through the cane mats five minutes later showed me +that our visitors had arrived. + +A fruity German officer in full gala rig (white gloves and all) was +cruising about on mule-back before our camp, trying to discover +whether it was inhabited or not. We let him cruise for a quarter of +an hour without taking any steps to enlighten him. Then, at a given +signal, Frobisher, caparisoned in every fal-lal he could collect, +issued from his hut, and I turned out the improvised guard. A +stirring spectacle; and it had the desired effect, for the German +afterwards admitted to being deeply impressed, especially by the +local wizard, who paraded in his professional regalia, and, coming to +cross-purposes with his rifle, bayoneted himself and wept bitterly. +The ceremonies over and the casualty removed, we adjourned to +Frobisher's _kya_, broached the whisky and sat about in solemn state, +stiff with accoutrements, sodden with perspiration. Our visitor kept +the Red, White and Black flying on a tree over the border, he +explained; this was his annual ceremonial call. He sighed and +brushed the sweat from his nose with the tips of a white glove--"the +weather was warm, _nicht wahr_?" I admitted that we dabbled in +flag-flying ourselves and that the weather was all he claimed for it +(which effort cost me about four pounds in weight). Tongues lolling, +flanks heaving, we discussed the hut tax, the melon crop, the +monkey-nut market, the nigger--and the weather again. + +Suddenly Frobisher sprang up, cast loose the shackles of his Sam +Browne, hurled it into a corner, and began tearing at his tunic +hooks. I stared at him in amazement--such manners before visitors! +But our immaculate guest leapt to his feet with a roar like a freed +lion, and, stripping his white gloves, flung them after the Sam +Browne, whereupon a fury of undressing came upon us. Helmets, belts, +tunics, shirts were piled into the corner, until at length we stood +in our underclothes, laughing and unashamed. After that we got on +famously, that Teuton and we, and three days later, when he swarmed +aboard his mule and left for home (in pyjamas this time) it was with +real regret we waved him farewell. + +But not for long. Within a month we were surprised by a hail from +the bush, and there was Otto, mule, pyjamas and all. + +"'Ullo, 'ullo, 'ullo!" he carolled. "'Ere gomes ze Sherman invasion! +Burn out ze guard!" He roared with laughter, fell off his palfrey +and bawled for his batman, who ambled up, balancing a square box on +his woolly pate. + +His mother in Munich had sent him a case of Lion Brew, Otto +explained, so he had brought it along. + +We wassailed deep into that night and out the other side, and we +liked our Otto more than ever. We had plenty in common, the same +loneliness, fevers, climate, and niggers to wrestle with; moreover he +had been in England, and liked it; he smoked a pipe; he washed. +Also, as he privily confided to us in the young hours of one morning, +he had his doubts as to the divinity of the Kaiser, and was not quite +convinced that Richard Strauss had composed the music of the spheres. + +He was a bad Hun (which probably accounted for his presence at the +uttermost, hottermost edge of the All-Highest's dominions), but a +good fellow. Anyhow, we liked him, Frobisher and I; liked his +bull-mouthed laughter, his drinking songs and full-blooded anecdotes, +and, on the occasions of his frequent visits, put our boredom from +us, pretended to be on the most affectionate terms, and even laughed +uproariously at each other's funny stories. Up at M'Vini, in the +long long ago, the gleam of pyjamas amongst the loquats, and "'Ere +gomes ze Sherman invasion!" booming through the bush, became a signal +for general goodwill. + +In the fullness of time Otto went home on leave, and, shortly +afterwards, the world blew up. + +And now I have met him again, a sodden, muddy, bloody, shrunken, +saddened Otto, limping through a snow-storm in the custody of a +Canadian corporal. He was the survivor of a rear-guard, the Canuck +explained, and had "scrapped like a bag of wild-cats" until knocked +out by a rifle butt. As for Otto himself, he hadn't much to say; he +looked old, cold, sick and infinitely disgusted. He had always been +a poor Hun. + +Only once did he show a gleam of his ancient form of those old hot, +happy, pyjama days on the Equator. + +A rabble of prisoners--Jägers, Grenadiers, Uhlans, whatnots--came +trudging down the road, an unshorn, dishevelled herd of cut-throats, +propelled by a brace of diminutive kilties, who paused occasionally +to treat them to snatches of flings and to hoot triumphantly. + +Otto regarded his fallen compatriots with disgusted lack-lustre eyes, +then turning to me with a ghost of his old smile, "'Ere gomes ze +Sherman invasion," said he. + + + + +III + +A. E.'S BATH AND BROCK'S BENEFIT + +Never have I seen a kiltie platoon wading through the cold porridge +of snow and slush of which our front used to be composed, but I have +said, with my French friend, "_Mon Dieu les currents d'air!_" and +thank Fate that I belong to a race which reserves its national +costume for fancy-dress balls. + +It is very well for MacAlpine of Ben Lomond, who has stalked his +haggis and devoured it raw, who beds down on thistles for preference +and grows his own fur; but it is very hard on Smith of Peckham, who +through no fault of his own finds himself in a Highland regiment, +trying to make his shirt-tails do where his trousers did before. But +the real heather-mixture, double-distilled Scot is a hardy bird with +different ideas from _nous autres_ as to what is cold: also as to +what is hot. Witness the trying experience of our Albert Edward. + +Our Albert Edward and a Hun rifle grenade arrived at the same place +at the same time, intermingled and went down to the Base to be +sifted. In the course of time came a wire from our Albert Edward, +saying he had got the grenade out of his system and was at that +moment at the railhead; were we going to send him a horse or weren't +we? + +Emma was detailed for the job, which was a mistake, because Emma was +not the mount for a man who had been softening for five months in +hospital. She had only two speeds in her rimg-cap-pertoire, a walk +which slung you up and down her back from her ears to her croup, and +a trot which jarred your teeth loose and rattled the buttons off your +tunic. However, she went to the railhead and Albert Edward mounted +her, threw the clutch into the first speed and hammered out the ten +miles to our camp, arriving smothered in snow and so stiff we had to +lift him down, so raw it was a mockery to offer him a chair, and +therefore he had to take his tea off the mantelpiece. + +We advised a visit to Sandy. Sandy was the hot-bath merchant. He +lurked in a dark barn at the end of the village, and could be found +there at any time of any day, brooding over the black cauldrons in +which the baths were brewed, his Tam-o'shanter drooped over one eye, +steam condensing on his blue nose. Theoretically the hot baths were +free, but in practice a franc pressed into Sandy's forepaw was found +to have a strong calorific effect on the water. + +So down the village on all fours, groaning like a Dutch brig in a +cross sea, went our Albert Edward. He crawled into the dark barn +and, having no smaller change, contributed a two-franc bill to the +forepaw and told Sandy about his awful stiffness. His eloquence and +the double fee broke Sandy's heart. With great tears in his eyes he +assured Albert Edward that the utmost resources of his experience and +establishment should be mobilised on his (Albert Edward's) behalf, +and ushered him tenderly into that hidden chamber, constructed of +sacking screens, which was reserved for officers. Albert Edward +peeled his clothes gingerly from him, and Sandy returned to his +cauldrons. + +The peeling complete, Albert Edward sat in the draughts of the inner +chamber and waited for the bath. The outer chamber was filled with +smoke, and the flames were leaping six feet above the cauldrons; but +every time Albert Edward holloaed for his bath Sandy implored another +minute's grace. + +Finally Albert Edward could stand the draughts no longer and ordered +Sandy, on pain of court martial and death, to bring the water, hot or +not. + +Whereupon Sandy reluctantly brought his buckets along, and, grumbling +that neither his experience nor establishment had had a fair chance, +emptied them into the tub. Albert Edward stepped in without further +remark and sat down. + +The rest of the story I had from my groom and countryman, who, along +with an odd hundred other people, happened to be patronising the +outer chamber tubs at the time. He told me that suddenly they heard +"a yowl like a man that's afther bein' bit be a mad dog," and over +the screen of the inner chamber came our Albert Edward in his +birthday dress. "Took it in his sthride, Sor, an' coursed three laps +round the bathhouse cursin' the way he'd wither the Divil," said my +groom and countryman; "then he ran out of the door into the snow an' +lay down in it." He likewise told me that Albert Edward's +performance had caused a profound sensation among the other bathers, +and they inquired of Sandy as to the cause thereof; but Sandy shook +his Tam-o'shanter and couldn't tell them; hadn't the vaguest idea. +The water he had given Albert Edward was hardly scalding, he said; +hardly scalding, with barely one packet of mustard dissolved in it. + +Our Albert Edward is still taking his meals off the mantelpiece. + +* * * * * * * * + +I met my friend, the French battery commander, yesterday. He was +cantering a showy chestnut mare over the turf, humming a tune aloud. +He looked very fit and very much in love with the world. I asked him +what he meant by it. He replied that he couldn't help it; everybody +was combining to make him happy; his C.O. had fallen down a gun-pit +and broken a leg; he had won two hundred francs from his pet enemy; +he had discovered a jewel of a cook; and then there was always the +Boche, the perfectly priceless, absolutely ridiculous, screamingly +funny little Boche. The Boche, properly exploited, was a veritable +fount of joy. He dreaded the end of the War, he assured me, for a +world without Boches would be a salad sans the dressing. + +I inquired as to how the arch-humorist had been excelling himself +lately. + +The Captain passaged his chestnut alongside my bay, chuckled and told +me all about it. It appeared that one wet night he was rung up by +the Infantry to say that the neighbouring Hun was up to some funny +business, and would he stand by for a barrage, please? + +What sort of funny business was the Hun putting up? + +Oh, a rocket had gone up over the way and they thought it was a +signal for some frightfulness or other. + +He stood by for half an hour, and then, as nothing happened, turned +in. Ten minutes later the Infantry rang up again. More funny +business; three rockets had gone up. + +He stood by for an hour with no result, then sought his bunk once +more, cursing all men. Confound the Infantry getting the jumps over +a rocket or two! Confound them two times! Then a spark of +inspiration glowed within him, glowed and flamed brightly. If his +exalted poilus got the wind up over a handful of rockets, how much +more also would the deteriorating Boche? + +Gurgling happily, he brushed the rats off his chest and the beetles +off his face, turned over and went to sleep. Next morning he wrote a +letter to his "god-mother" in Paris ("_une petite femme, très +intelligente, vous savez_"), and ten days later her parcels came +tumbling in. The first night (a Monday) he gave a modest display, +red and white rockets bursting into green stars every five minutes. +Tuesday night more rockets, with a few Catherine-wheels thrown in. +Wednesday night, Catherine-wheels and golden rain, and so on until +the end of the week, when they finished up with a grand special +attraction and all-star programme, squibs, Catherine-wheels, Roman +candles, Prince of Wales' feathers, terminating in a blinding, +fizzing barrage of coloured rockets, and "God bless our Home" in +golden stars. + +"All very pretty," said I, "but what were the results?" + +"Precisely what I anticipated. A deserter came over yesterday who +was through it all and didn't intend to go through it again. They +had got the wind up properly, he said, hadn't had a wink of sleep for +a week. His officers had scratched themselves bald-headed trying to +guess what it was all about. All ranks stood to continuously, up to +their waists in mud, frozen stiff and half drowned, while my brave +little rogues of _poilus_, mark you, slept in their dug-outs, and the +only man on duty was the lad who was touching the fireworks off. O +friend of mine, there is much innocent fun to be got out of the Boche +if you'll only give him a chance!" + + + + +IV + +THE MESSLESS MESS + +Our mess was situated on the crest of a ridge, and enjoyed an +uninterrupted view of rolling leagues of mud; it had the appearance +of a packing-case floating on an ocean of ooze. + +We and our servants, and our rats and our cockroaches, and our other +bosom-companions slept in tents pitched round and about the mess. + +The whole camp was connected with the outer world by a pathway of +ammunition boxes, laid stepping-stonewise; we went to and fro, +leaping from box to box as leaps the chamois from Alp to Alp. Should +you miss your leap there would be a swirl of mud, a gulping noise, +and that was the end of you; your sorrowing comrades shed a little +chloride of lime over the spot where you were last seen, posted you +as "Believed missing" and indented for another Second Lieutenant (or +Field-Marshal, as the case might be). + +Our mess was constructed of loosely piled shell boxes, and roofed by +a tin lid. We stole the ingredients box by box, and erected the +house with our own fair hands, so we loved it with parental love; but +it had its little drawbacks. Whenever the field guns in our +neighbourhood did any business, the tin lid rattled madly and the +shell boxes jostled each other all over the place. It was quite +possible to leave our mess at peep o' day severely Gothic in design, +and to return at dewy eve to find it rakishly Rococo. + +William, our Transport Officer and Mess President, was everlastingly +piping all hands on deck at unseemly hours to save the home and push +it back into shape; we were householders in the fullest sense of the +term. + +Before the War, William assures us, he was a bright young thing, full +of merry quips and jolly practical jokes, the life and soul of any +party, but what with the contortions of the mess and the vagaries of +the transport mules he had become a saddened man. + +Between them--the mules and the mess--he never got a whole night in +bed; either the mules were having bad dreams, sleep-walking into +strange lines and getting themselves abhorred, or the field guns were +on the job and the mess had the jumps. If Hans, the Hun, had not +been the perfect little gentleman he is, and had dropped a shell +anywhere near us (instead of assiduously spraying a distant ridge +where nobody ever was, is, or will be) our mess would have been with +Tyre and Sidon; but Hans never forgot himself for a moment; it was +our own side we distrusted. The Heavies, for instance. The Heavies +warped themselves laboriously into position behind our hill, +disguised themselves as gooseberry bushes, and gave an impression of +the crack of doom at 2 a.m. one snowy morning. + +Our mess immediately broke out into St. Vitus's dance, and William +piped all hands on deck. + +The Skipper, picturesquely clad in boots (gum, high) and a goat's +skin, flung himself on the east wing, and became an animated +buttress. Albert Edward climbed aloft and sat on the tin lid, which +was opening and shutting at every pore. Mactavish put his shoulder +to the south wall to keep it from working round to the north. I +clung to the pantry, which was coming adrift from its parent stem, +while William ran about everywhere, giving advice and falling over +things. The mess passed rapidly through every style of architecture, +from a Chinese pagoda to a Swiss châlet, and was on the point of +confusing itself with a Spanish castle when the Heavies switched off +their hate and went to bed. And not a second too soon. Another +moment and I should have dropped the pantry, Albert Edward would have +been sea-sick, and the Skipper would have let the east wing go west. + +We pushed the mess back into shape, and went inside it for a peg of +something and a consultation. Next evening William called on the +Heavies' commander and decoyed him up to dine. We regaled him with +wassail and gramophone and explained the situation to him. The Lord +of the Heavies, a charming fellow, nearly burst into tears when he +heard of the ill he had unwittingly done us, and was led home by +William at 1.30 a.m., swearing to withdraw his infernal machines, or +beat them into ploughshares, the very next day. The very next night +our mess, without any sort of preliminary warning, lost its balance, +sat down with a crash, and lay littered about a quarter of an acre of +ground. We all turned out and miserably surveyed the ruins. What +had done it? We couldn't guess. The field guns had gone to bye-bye, +the Heavies had gone elsewhere. Hans, the Hun, couldn't have made a +mistake and shelled us? Never! It was a mystery; so we all lifted +up our voices and wailed for William. He was Mess President; it was +his fault, of course. + +At that moment William hove out of the night, driving his tent before +him by bashing it with a mallet. + +According to William there was one "Sunny Jim," a morbid transport +mule, inside the tent, providing the motive power. "Sunny Jim" had +always been something of a somnambulist, and this time he had +sleepwalked clean through our mess and on into William's tent, where +the mallet woke him up. He was then making the best of his way home +to lines again, expedited by William and the mallet. + +So now we are messless; now we crouch shivering in tents and talk +lovingly of the good old times beneath our good old tin roof-tree, of +the wonderful view of the mud we used to get from our window, and of +the homely tune our shell boxes used to perform as they jostled +together of a stormy night. + +And sometimes, as we crouch shivering in our tents, we hear a strange +sound stealing uphill from the lines. It is the mules laughing. + + + + +V + +CLIMATE AT THE FRONT + +If there is one man in France whom I do not envy it is the G.H.Q. +Weather Prophet. I can picture the unfortunate wizard sitting in his +bureau gazing into a crystal, _Old Moore's Almanack_ in one hand, a +piece of seaweed in the other, trying to guess what tricks the +weather will be up to next. + +For there is nothing this climate cannot do. As a quick-change +artist it stands _sanspareil_ (French) and _nulli secundus_ (Latin). + +And now it seems to have mislaid the Spring altogether. Summer has +come at one stride. Yesterday the staff-cars smothered one with mud +as they whirled past; to-day they choke one with dust. Yesterday the +authorities were issuing precautions against frostbite; to-day they +are issuing precautions against sunstroke. Nevertheless we are not +complaining. It will take a lot of sunshine to kill us; we like it, +and we don't mind saying so. + +The B.E.F. has cast from it its mitts and jerkins and whale-oil, +emerged from its subterranean burrows into the open, and in every +wood a mushroom town of bivouacs has sprung up over-night. Here and +there amateur gardeners have planted flower-beds before their tents; +one of my corporals is nursing some radishes in an ammunition box and +talks crop prospects by the hour. My troop-sergeant found two palm +plants in the ruins of a chateau glass-house, and now has them +standing sentry at his bivouac entrance. He sits between them after +evening stables, smoking his pipe and fancying himself back in +Zanzibar; he expects the coker-nuts along about August, he tells me. + +Summer has come, and on every slope graze herds of winter-worn gun +horses and transport mules. The new grass has gone to the heads of +the latter and they make continuous exhibitions of themselves, +gambolling about like ungainly lambkins and roaring with unholy +laughter. Summer has come, and my groom and countryman has started +to whistle again, sure sign that Winter is over, for it is only +during the Summer that he reconciles himself to the War. War, he +admits, serves very well as a light gentlemanly diversion for the +idle months, but with the first yellow leaf he grows restless and +hints indirectly that both ourselves and the horses would be much +better employed in the really serious business of showing the little +foxes some sport back in our own green isle. "That Paddy," says he, +slapping the bay with a hay wisp, "he wishes he was back in the +county Kildare, he does so, the dear knows. Pegeen, too, if she +would be hearin' the houn's shoutin' out on her from the kennels +beyond in Jigginstown she'd dhrop down dead wid the pleasure wid'in +her, an' that's the thrue word," says he, presenting the chestnut +lady with a grimy army biscuit. "Och musha, the poor foolish +cratures," he says and sighs. + +However, Summer has arrived, and by the sound of his cheery whistle +at early stables shrilling "Flannigan's Wedding," I understand that +the horses are settling down once more and we can proceed with the +battle. + +If my groom and countryman is not an advocate of war as a winter +sport, our Mr. Mactavish, on the other hand, is of the directly +opposite opinion. "War," he murmured dreamily to me yesterday as we +lay on our backs beneath a spreading parasol of apple-blossom and +watched our troop-horses making pigs of themselves in the young +clover--"war! don't mention the word to me. Maidenhead, Canader, +cushions, cigarettes, only girl in the world doing all the heavy +paddle-work--that's the game in the good ole summer-time. Call round +again about October and I'll attend to your old war." It is +fortunate that these gentlemen do not adorn any higher positions than +those of private soldier and second lieutenant, else, between them, +they would stop the War altogether and we should all be out of jobs. + + + + +VI + +THE PADRE + +You have all seen it in the latest V.C. list--"The Reverend Paul +Grayne, Chaplain to the Forces, for conspicuous bravery and gallant +example in the face of desperate circumstances." + +You have all pictured him, the beau-ideal of muscular Christian, the +Fighting Parson, eighteen hands high, terrific in wind and limb, with +a golden mane and a Greek profile; a Pekinese in the drawing-room, a +bulldog in the arena; a soupçon of Saint Francis with a dash of John +L. Sullivan--and all that. + +But we who have met heroes know that they are very seldom of the type +which achieves the immortality of the picture post card. + +The stalwart with pearly teeth, lilac eyes and curly lashes is C3 at +Lloyd's (Sir Francis), and may be heard twice daily at the Frivolity +singing, "My Goo-goo Girl from Honolulu" to entranced flappers; while +the lad who has Fritzie D. Hun backed on the ropes, clinching for +time, is usually gifted with bow legs, freckles, a dented proboscis +and a coiffure after the manner of a wire-haired terrier. + +The Reverend Paul Grayne, v.c., sometime curate of Thorpington Parva, +in the county of Hampshire, was no exception to this rule. +Æsthetically he was a blot on the landscape; among all the heroes I +have met I never saw anything less heroically moulded. + +He stood about five feet nought and tipped the beam at seven stone +nothing. He had a mild chinless face, and his long beaky nose, round +large spectacles, and trick of cocking his head sideways when +conversing, gave him the appearance of an intelligent little +dicky-bird. + +I remember very well the occasion of our first meeting. I was in my +troop lines one afternoon, blackguarding a farrier, when a loud +nicker sounded on the road and a black cob, bearing a feebly +protesting Padre upon his fat back, trotted through the gate, up to +the lines and began to swop How d'y' do's with my hairies. The +little Padre cocked his head on one side and oozed apologies from +every pore. + +He hadn't meant to intrude, he twittered; Peter had brought him; it +was Peter's fault; Peter was very eccentric. + +Peter, I gathered, was the fat cob, who by this time had butted into +the lines and was tearing at a hay net as if he hadn't had a meal for +years. + +His alleged master looked at me hopeless, helpless. What was he to +do? "Well, since Peter is evidently stopping to tea with my horses," +said I, "the only thing you can do is to come to tea with us." So I +lifted him down and bore him off to the cowshed inhabited by our mess +at the time and regaled him on chlorinated Mazawattee, marmalade and +dog biscuit. An hour later, Peter willing, he left us. + +We saw a lot of the Padre after that. Peter, it appeared, had taken +quite a fancy to us and frequently brought him round to meals. The +Padre had no word of say in the matter. He confessed that, when he +embarked upon Peter in the morning, he had not the vaguest idea where +mid-day would find him. Nothing but the black cob's fortunate rule +of going home to supper saved the Padre from being posted as a +deserter. + +He had an uneasy feeling that Peter would one day suddenly sicken of +the War and that he would find himself in Paris or on the Riviera. +We had an uneasy feeling that Peter would one day develop a curiosity +as to the Boche horse rations, and stroll across the line, and we +should lose the Padre, a thing we could ill afford to do, for by this +time he had taken us under his wing spiritually and bodily. On +Sundays he would appear in our midst dragging a folding harmonium and +hold Church Parade, leading the hymns in his twittering bird-like +voice. + +Then the spinster ladies of his old parish of Thorpington Parva gave +him a Ford car, and with this he scoured back areas for provisions +and threaded his tin buggy in and out of columns of dusty infantry +and clattering ammunition limbers, spectacles gleaming, cap slightly +awry, while his batman (a wag) perched precariously atop of a rocking +pile of biscuit tins, cigarette cases and boxes of tinned fruit, and +shouted after the fashion of railway porters, "By your leave! Fags +for the firin' line. Way for the Woodbine Express." + +But if we saw a lot of the Padre it was the Antrims who looked upon +him as their special property. They were line infantry, of the type +which gets most of the work and none of the Press notices, a +hard-bitten, unregenerate crowd, who cared not a whit whether Belgium +bled or not, but loved fighting for its own sake and put their faith +in bayonet and butt. And wherever these Antrims went, thither went +the Padre also, harmonium and his Woodbines. I have a story that, +when they were in a certain part of the line where the trenches were +only thirty yards apart (so close indeed that the opposing forces +greeted each other by their first names and borrowed one another's +wiring tools), the Padre dragged the harmonium into the front line +and held service there, and the Germans over the way joined lustily +in the hymns. He kept the men of the Antrims going on canteen +delicacies and their officers in a constant bubble of joy. He +swallowed their tall stories without a gulp; they pulled one leg and +he offered the other; he fell headlong into every silly trap they set +for him. Also they achieved merit in other messes by peddling yarns +of his wonderful innocence and his incredible absent-mindedness. + +"Came to me yesterday, the Dicky Bird did," one of them would relate; +"wanted advice about that fat fraud of his, Peter. 'He's got an +abrasion on the knob of his right-hand front paw,' says he. 'Dicky +Bird,' says I, 'that is no way to describe the anatomy of a horse +after all the teaching I've given you.' 'I am so forgetful and horsy +terms are so confusing,' he moans. 'Oh, I recollect now--his +starboard ankle!' The dear babe!" + +In the course of time the Antrims went into the Push, but on this +occasion they refused to take the Padre with them, explaining that +Pushes were noisy affairs, with messy accidents happening in even the +best regulated battalions. + +The Padre was up at midnight to see them go, his spectacles misty. +They went over the bags at dawn, reached their objective in twenty +minutes and scratched themselves in. The Padre rejoined them ten +minutes later, very badly winded, but bringing a case of Woodbines +along with him. + +My friend Patrick grabbed him by the leg and dragged him into a +shell-hole. Nothing but an inherent respect for his cloth restrained +Patrick from giving the Dicky Bird the spanking of his life. At 8 +a.m. the Hun countered heavily and hove the Antrims out. Patrick +retreated in good order, leading the Padre by an ear. The Antrims +sat down, licked their cuts, puffed some of the Woodbines, then went +back and pitchforked the Boche in his tender spots. The Boche +collected fresh help and bobbed up again. Business continued brisk +all day, and when night fell the Antrims were left masters of the +position. + +At 1 a.m. they were relieved by the Rutland Rifles, and a dog-weary +battered remnant of the battalion crawled back to camp in a sunken +road a mile in the rear. One or two found bivouacs left by the +Rutlands, but the majority dropped where they halted. My friend +Patrick found a bivouac, wormed into it and went to sleep. The next +thing he remembers was the roof of his abode caving in with the +weight of two men struggling violently. Patrick extricated himself +somehow and rolled out into the grey dawn to find the sunken road +filled with grey figures, in among the bivouacs and shell-holes, +stabbing at the sleeping Antrims. Here and there men were locked +together, struggling tooth and claw; the air was vibrant with a +ghastly pandemonium of grunts and shrieks; the sunken road ran like a +slaughter-house gutter. There was only one thing to do, and that was +to get out, so Patrick did so, driving before him what men he could +collect. + +A man staggered past him, blowing like a walrus. It was the Padre's +batman, and he had his master tucked under one arm, in his +underclothes, kicking feebly. + +Patrick halted his men beyond the hill crest, and there the Colonel +joined him, trotting on his stockinged feet. Other officers arrived, +herding men. "They must have rushed the Ruts., Sir," Patrick panted; +"must be after those guns just behind us." "They'll get 'em too," +said the Colonel grimly. "We can't stop 'em," said the Senior +Captain. "If we counter at once we might give the Loamshires time to +come up--they're in support, Sir--but--but, if they attack us, +they'll get those guns--run right over us." + +The Colonel nodded. "Man, I know, I know; but look at 'em"--he +pointed to the pathetic remnant of his battalion lying out behind the +crest--"they're dropping asleep where they lie--they're beat to a +finish--not another kick left in 'em." + +He sat down and buried his face in his hands. The redoubtable +Antrims had come to the end. + +Suddenly came a shout from the Senior Captain, "Good Lord, what's +that fellow after? Who the devil is it?" + +They all turned and saw a tiny figure, clad only in underclothes, +marching deliberately over the ridge towards the Germans. + +"Who is it?" the Colonel repeated. "Beggin' your pardon, the +Reverend, Sir," said the Padre's batman as he strode past the group +of officers. "'E give me the slip, Sir. Gawd knows wot 'e's up to +now." He lifted up his voice and wailed after his master, "'Ere, you +come back this minute, Sir. You'll get yourself in trouble again. +Do you 'ear me, Sir?" But the Padre apparently did not hear him, for +he plodded steadily on his way. The batman gave a sob of despair and +broke into a double. + +The Colonel sprang to his feet. "Hey, stop him, somebody! Those +swine'll shoot him in a second--child murder!" + +Two subalterns ran forward, followed by a trio of N.C.O.'s. All +along the line men lifted their weary heads from the ground and saw +the tiny figure on the ridge silhouetted against the red east. + +"Oo's that blinkin' fool?" + +"The Padre." + +"Wot's 'e doin' of?" + +"Gawd knows." + +A man rose to his knees, from his knees to his feet, and stumbled +forward, mumbling, "'E give me a packet of fags when I was broke." +"Me too," growled another, and followed his chum. "They'll shoot 'im +in a minute," a voice shouted, suddenly frightened. "'Ere, this +ain't war, this is blasted baby-killin'." + +In another five seconds the whole line was up and jogging forward at +a lurching double. "And a little child shall lead them," murmured +the Colonel happily, as he put his best sock forwards; a miracle had +happened, and his dear ruffians would go down in glory. + +But as they topped the hill crest, came the shrill of a whistle from +the opposite ridge, and there was half a battalion of the Rutlands +back casting for the enemy that had broken through their posts. With +wild yells both parties charged downwards into the sunken road. + +When the tumult and shouting had died Patrick went in quest of the +little Padre. + +He discovered him sitting on the wreck of his bivouac of the night; +he was clasping some small article to his bosom, and the look on his +face was that of a man who had found his heart's desire. + +Patrick sat himself down on a box of bombs, and looked humbly at the +Reverend Paul. It is an awful thing for a man suddenly to find he +has been entertaining a hero unawares. + +"Oh, Dicky Bird, Dicky Bird, why did you do it?" he inquired softly. + +The Padre cocked his head on one side and commenced to ooze apologies +from every pore. + +"Oh dear--you know how absurdly absent-minded I am; well, I suddenly +remembered I had left my teeth behind." + + + + +VII + +THE RIDING-MASTER + +The scene is a School of Instruction at the back of the Western Front +set in a valley of green meadows bordered by files of plumy poplars, +and threaded through by a silver ribbon of water. + +On the lazy afternoon breeze come the concerted yells of a bayonet +class, practising frightfulness further down the valley; also the +staccato chatter of Lewis guns punching holes in the near hillside. + +In the centre of one meadow is a turf _manège_. In the centre of the +_manège_ stands the villain of the piece, the Riding-Master. + +He wears a crown on his sleeve, tight breeches, jackboots, vicious +spurs and sable moustachios. His right hand toys with a long, long +whip, his left with his sable moustachios. He looks like Diavolo, +the lion-tamer, about to put his man-eating chums through hoops of +fire. + +His victims, a dozen infantry officers, circle slowly round the +_manège_. They are mounted on disillusioned cavalry horses who came +out with Wellington and know a thing or two. Now and again they wink +at the Riding-Master and he winks back at them. + +The audience consists of an ancient Gaul in picturesque blue pants, +whose _mètier_ is to totter round the meadows brushing flies off a +piebald cow; the School Padre, who keeps at long range so that he may +see the sport without hearing the language, and ten little _gamins_, +who have been splashing in the silver stream and are now sitting +drying on the bank like ten little toads. + +They come every afternoon, for never have they seen such fun, never +since the great days before the War when the circus with the boxing +kangaroo and the educated porks came to town. + +Suddenly the Riding-Master clears his throat. At the sound thereof +the horses cock their ears and their riders grab handfulls of leather +and hair. + +_R.-M._ "Now, gentlemen, mind the word. Gently away--tra-a-a-at." +The horses break into a slow jog-trot and the cavaliers into a cold +perspiration. The ten little gamins cheer delightedly. + +_R.-M._ "Sit down, sit up, 'ollow yer backs, keep the hands down, +backs foremost, even pace. Number Two, Sir, 'ollow yer back; don't +sit 'unched up like you'd over-ate yourself. Number Seven, don't +throw yerself about in that drunken manner, you'll miss the saddle +altogether presently, coming down--can't expect the 'orse to catch +you every time. + +"Number Three, don't flap yer helbows like an 'en; you ain't laid an +hegg, 'ave you? + +"'Ollow yer backs, 'eads up, 'eels down; four feet from nose to croup. + +"Number One, keep yer feet back, you'll be kickin' that mare's teeth +out, you will. + +"Come down off 'is 'ead, Number Seven; this ain't a monkey-'ouse. + +"Keep a light an' even feelin' of both reins, backs of the 'ands +foremost, four feet from nose to croup. + +"Leggo that mare's tail, Number Seven; you're goin', not comin', and +any'ow that mare likes to keep 'er tail to 'erself. You've upset 'er +now, the tears is fair streamin' down 'er face--'ave a bit of feelin' +for a pore dumb beast. + +"'Ollow yer backs, even pace, grip with the knees, shorten yer reins, +four feet from nose to croup. Number Eight, restrain yerself, me +lad, restrain yerself, you ain't shadow-sparrin', you know. + +"You too, Number Nine; if you don't calm yer action a bit you'll +burst somethin'. + +"Now, remember, a light feelin' of the right rein and pressure of the +left leg. Ride--wa-a-alk! Ri'--tur-r-rn! 'Alt--'pare to +s'mount--s'mount! Dismount, I said, Number Five; that means get +down. No, don't dismount on the flat of yer back, me lad, it don't +look nice. Try to remember you're an horfficer and be more dignified. + +"Now listen to me while I enumerate the parts of a norse in language +so simple any bloomin' fool can understand. This'll be useful to +you, for if you ever 'ave a norse to deal with and he loses one of +'is parts you'll know 'ow to indent for a new one. + +"The 'orse 'as two ends, a fore-end--so called from its tendency to +go first, and an 'ind-end or rear rank. The 'orse is provided with +two legs at each end, which can be easily distinguished, the fore +legs being straight and the 'ind legs 'avin' kinks in 'em. + +"As the 'orse does seventy-five per cent of 'is dirty work with 'is +'ind-legs it is advisable to keep clear of 'em, rail 'em off or strap +boxing-gloves on 'em. The legs of the 'orse is very delicate and +liable to crock up, so do not try to trim off any unsightly knobs +that may appear on them with a hand-axe--a little of that 'as been +known to sour a norse for good. + +"Next we come to the 'ead. On the south side of the 'ead we discover +the mouth. The 'orse's mouth was constructed for mincing 'is +victuals, also for 'is rider to 'ang on by. As the 'orse does the +other forty-five per cent of 'is dirty work with 'is mouth it is +advisable to stand clear of that as well. In fact, what with his +mouth at one end and 'is 'ind-legs at t'other, the middle of the +'orse is about the only safe spot, _and that is why we place the +saddle there_. Everything in the Harmy is done with a reason, +gentlemen. + +"And now, Number ten, tell me what coloured 'orse you are ridin'? + +"A chestnut? No, 'e ain't no chestnut and never was, no, nor a +raspberry roan neither; 'e's a bay. 'Ow often must I tell you that a +chestnut 'orse is the colour of lager beer, a brown 'orse the colour +of draught ale, and a black 'orse the colour of stout. + +"And now, gentlemen, stan' to yer 'orses, 'pare to mount--mount! + +"There you go, Number Seven, up one side and down the other. Try to +stop in the saddle for a minute if only for the view. You'll get +yourself 'urted one of these days dashing about all over the 'orse +like that; and s'posing you was to break your neck, who'd get into +trouble? _Me_, not you. 'Ave a bit of consideration for other +people, please. + +"Now mind the word. Ride--ri'--tur-r-rn. Walk march. Tr-a-a-at. +Helbows slightly brushing the ribs--_your_ ribs, not the 'orse's, +Number Three. + +"Shorten yer reins, 'eels down, 'eads up, 'ollow yer backs, four feet +from nose to croup. + +"Get off that mare's neck, Number Seven, and try ridin' in the saddle +for a change; it'll be more comfortable for everybody. + +"You oughter do cowboy stunts for the movin' pictures, Number Six, +you ought really. People would pay money to see you ride a norse +upside down like that. Got a strain of wild Cossack blood in you, eh? + +"There you are, now you've been and fell off. Nice way to repay me +for all the patience an' learning I've given you! + +"What are you lyin' there for? Day dreaming? I s'pose you're goin' +to tell me you're 'urted now? Be writing 'ome to Mother about it +next: 'Dear Ma,--A mad mustang 'as trod on me stummick. Please send +me a gold stripe. Your loving child, Algy.' + +"Now mind the word. Ride--can--ter!" + +He cracks his whip; the horses throw up their heads and break into a +canter; the cavaliers turn pea-green about the chops, let go the +reins and clutch saddle-pommels. + +The leading horse, a rakish chestnut, finding his head free at last +and being heartily fed-up with the whole business, suddenly bolts out +of the _manège_ and legs it across the meadow, _en route_ for stables +and tea. His eleven mates stream in his wake, emptying saddles as +they go. + +The ten little gamins dance ecstatically upon the bank, waving their +shirts and shrilling "_A Berlin! A Berlin!_" + +The ancient Gaul props himself up against the piebald cow and shakes +his ancient head. "_C'est la guerre_," he croaks. + +The deserted Riding-Master damns his eyes and blesses his soul for a +few moments; then sighs resignedly, takes a cigarette from his cap +lining, lights it and waddles off towards the village and his +favourite _estaminet_. + + + + +VIII + +NATIONAL ANTHEM + +Out here the telephone exists largely as a vehicle for the _jeux +d'esprit_ of the Brass Lids. It is a one-way affair, working only +from the inside out, for if you have a trifle of repartee to impart +to the Brazen Ones, the apparatus is either indefinitely engaged, or +_Na poo_ (as the French say). If you are one of these bulldog lads +and are determined to make the thing talk from the outside in, you +had better migrate _chez_ Signals, taking your bed, blankets, beer, +tobacco and the unexpired portion of next week's ration, and camp at +the telephone orderly's elbow. After a day or two it will percolate +through to the varlet's intelligence that you are a desperate dog in +urgent need of something, and he will bestir himself, and mayhap in a +further two or three days' time he will wind a crank, pull some +strings, and announce that you are "on," and you will find yourself +in animated conversation with an inspector of cemeteries, a jam +expert at the Base, or the Dalai Lama. If you want to give back-chat +to the Staff you had best take it there by hand. + +A friend of mine by name of Patrick once got the job of Temporary +Assistant Deputy Lance Staff Captain (unpaid), and before he tumbled +to the one-way idea, his telephone worked both ways and gave him a +lot of trouble. People were always calling him up and asking him +questions, which of course wasn't playing the game at all. Sometimes +he never got to bed before 10 p.m., answering questions; often he was +up again at 9 a.m., answering more questions--and such questions! + +A sample. On one occasion he rang up his old battalion. One Jimmy +was then Acting Assistant Vice-Adjutant. "Hello, wazzermatter?" said +Jimmy. "Staff Captain speaking," said Patrick sternly. "Please +furnish a return of all cooks, smoke-helmets, bombs, mules, Yukon +packs, tin bowlers, grease-traps and Plymouth Brothers you have in +the field!" + +"Easy--beg pardon, yes, Sir," said Jimmy and hung up. + +Presently the 'phone buzzed and there was Jimmy again. + +"Excuse me, Sir, but you wanted a return of various commodities we +have in the field. What field?" + +"Oh, the field of Mars, fat-head!" Patrick snapped and rang off. A +quarter of an hour later he was called to the 'phone once more and +the familiar bleat of Jimmy tickled his ear. "Excuse me, Sir--whose +mother?" + +On the other hand the great Brass Hat is human and makes a slip, a +clerical error, now and again, sufficient to expose his flank. And +then the humble fighting man can draw his drop of blood if he is +quick about it. To this same long-suffering Jimmy was vouchsafed the +heaven-sent opportunity, and he leapt at it. He got a chit from +H.Q., dated 6/7/17, which ran thus:-- + +"In reference to 17326 Pte. Hogan we note that his date of birth is +10/7/17. Please place him in his proper category." + +To which Jimmy replied:-- + +"As according to your showing 17326 Pte. Hogan will not be born for +another four days we are placed in a position of some difficulty. + +Signed -------- + +"P.S.--What if, when the interesting event occurs 17326 Pte. Hogan +should be a girl? + +"P.S.S.--Or twins?" + + +Our Albert Edward is just back from one of those Army finishing +schools where the young subaltern's knowledge of Shakespeare and the +use of the globes is given a final shampoo before he is pushed over +the top. Albert Edward's academy was situated in a small town where +schools are maintained by all our brave Allies; it is an educational +centre. The French school does the honours of the place and keeps a +tame band, which gives tongue every Sunday evening in the Grand +Place. Thither repair all the young ladies of the town to hear the +music. Thither also repair all the young subalterns, also for the +purpose of hearing the music. + +At the end of every performance the national anthems of all our brave +Allies are played, each brave Ally standing rigidly to attention the +while, in compliment to the others. As we have a lot of brave Allies +these days, all with long national war-whoops, this becomes somewhat +of a strain. + +One morning the French bandmaster called on the Commandant of the +English school. + +"Some Americans have arrived," said he. "They are naturally as +welcome as the sunshine, but" (he sighed) "it means yet another +national anthem." + +The Commandant sighed and said he supposed so. + +"By the way," said the _chef d'orchestre_, "what is the American +national anthem?" + +"'Yankee Doodle,'" replied the Commandant. + +The Chief Instructor said he'd always understood it was "Hail, +Columbia." + +The Adjutant was of the opinion that "The Star-Spangled Banner" +filled the bill, while the Quartermaster cast his vote for "My +Country, 'tis of thee." + +The _chef d'orchestre_ thrashed his bosom and rent his coiffure. +"Dieu!" he wailed, "I can't play all of them--_figurez-vous_!" + +Without stopping to do any figuring they heartily agreed that he +couldn't. "Tell you what," said the Commandant at length, "write to +your music merchant in Paris and leave it to him." + +The _chef d'orchestre_ said he would, and did so. + +Next Sunday evening, as the concert drew to a close, the band flung +into the _Marseillaise_, and the subalterns of all nations leapt to +attention. They stood to attention through "God Save the King," +through the national anthems of Russia, Italy, Portugal, Rumania, +Serbia, Belgium, Montenegro and Monte Carlo, all our brave Allies. +Then the _chef d'orchestre_ suddenly sprang upon a stool and waved +above his head the stripes and stars of our newest brave Ally, while +the band crashed into the opening strains of "When the midnight +choo-choo starts for Alabam." It speaks volumes for the discipline +of the Allied armies that their young subalterns stood to attention +even through that. + + + + +IX + +HORSE SENSE + +Time--NIGHT + +SCENE.--_A shell-pitted plain and a cavalry regiment under canvas +thereon. It is not yet "Lights out," and on the right hand the +semi-transparent tents and bivouacs glow like giant Chinese lanterns +inhabited by shadow figures. From an Officers' mess tent comes the +twinkle of a gramophone, rendering classics from "Keep Smiling." In +a bivouac an opposition mouth-organ saws at "The Rosary." On the +left hand is a dark mass of horses, picketed in parallel lines. They +lounge, hips drooping, heads low, in a pleasant after-dinner doze. +The Guard lolls against a post, lantern at his feet, droning a fitful +accompaniment to the distant mouth-organ. "The hours I spent wiv +thee, dear 'eart, are.--Stan' still, Ginger--like a string of pearls +ter me--ee ... Grrr, Nellie, stop kickin!" The range of desolate +hills in the background is flickering with gun-flashes and grumbling +with drum-fire--the Boche evensong._ + + +_A bay horse_ (_shifting his weight from one leg to the other_). +Somebody's catching it in the neck to-night. + +_A chestnut_. Yep. Now if this was 1914, with that racket loose, +we'd be standing to. + +_A gun-pack horse_. Why? + +_Chestnut_. Wind up, sonny. Why in 1914 our saddles grew into our +backs like the ivy and the oak. In 1914---- + +_A black horse_. Oh, dry up about 1914, old soldier; tell us about +the Battle of Hastings and how you came to let William's own Mounted +Blunderbusses run all over you. + +_A bay horse_. Yes, and how you gave the field ten stone and a +beating in the retreat to Corunna. What are your personal +recollections of Napoleon, Rufus? + +_Chestnut_. You blinkin' conscripts, you! + +_Black_. Shiss! no bad language, Rufus--ladies present. + +_Chestnut_. Ladies, huh. Behave nice and ladylike when they catch +sight of the nosebags, don't they? + +_A skewbald mare_. Well, we gotta stand up for our rights. + +_Chestnut_. 'Struth you do, tooth and hoof. What were you in civil +life, Baby? A Suffragette? + +_Skewbald_. No, I wasn't, so there. + +_Bay_. No, she was a footlights favourite; wore her mane in plaits +and a star-spangled bearing-rein and surcingle to improve her +fig-u-are; did pretty parlour tricks to the strains of the banjo and +psaltery. _N'est-ce pas, cherie_? + +Skewbald. Well, what if I did? There's scores of circus gals is +puffect lydies. I don't require none of your familiarity any'ow, +Mister. + +_Bay_. Beg pardon. Excuse my bluff soldierly ways; but nevertheless +take your nose out of my hay net, please. + +_A Canadian dun_. Gee! quit weavin' about like that, Tubby. Can't +you let a guy get some sleep. I'll hand you a cold rebuff in the +ribs in a minute. Wazzer matter with you, anyhow? + +_Tubby_. Had a bad dream. + +_Black_. Don't wonder, the way you over-eat yourself. + +_Bay_. Ever know a Quartermaster's horse that didn't? He's the only +one that gets the chance. + +_Skewbald_. And the Officers' chargers. + +_Voice from over the way_. Well, we need it, don't we? We do all +the bally headwork. + +_Bay_. Hearken even unto the Honourable Montmorency. Hello, Monty +there! Never mind about the bally headwork, but next time you're out +troop-leading try to steer a course somewhat approaching the +straight. You had the line opening and shutting like a concertina +this morning. + +_An iron-grey_. Begob, and that's the holy truth! I thought my ribs +was goin' ivery minnut, an' me man was cursin' undher his breath the +way you'd hear him a mile away. Ye've no more idea of a straight +line, Monty avic, than a crab wid dhrink taken. + +_Monty_. Sorry, but the flies were giving me gyp. + +_Canadian dun_. Flies? Say, but you greenhorns make me smile. Why, +out West we got flies that---- + +_Iron grey_. Och sure we've heard all about thim. 'Tis as big as +bulldogs they are; ivery time they bite you you lose a limb. Many a +time the traveller has observed thim flyin' away wid a foal in their +jaws, the rapparees! F' all that I do be remarkin' that whin one of +the effete European variety is afther ticklin' you in the short hairs +you step very free an' flippant, Johnny, acushla. + +_A brown horse_. Say, Monty, old top, any news? You've got a pal at +G.H.Q., haven't you? + +_Monty_. Oh, yes, my young brother. He's got a job on Haig's +personal Staff now, wears a red brow-band and all that--ahem! Of +course he tells me a thing or two when we meet, but in the strictest +confidence, you understand. + +_Brown_. Quite; but did he say anything about the end of the War? + +_Monty_. Well, not precisely, that is not exactly, excepting that he +says that it's pretty certain now that it--er--well, that it will end. + +_Brown_. That's good news. Thanks, Monty. + +_Monty_. Not a bit, old thing. Don't mention it. + +_Iron-grey_. 'Tis a great comfort to us to know that the War will +ind, if not in our day, annyway sometime. + +_Canadian dun_. You bet. Gee, I wish it was all over an' I was home +in the foothills with the brown wool and pink prairie roses +underfoot, and the Chinook layin' my mane over. + +_Iron-grey_. Faith, but the County Cork would suit me completely; a +roomy loose-box wid straw litter an' a leak-proof roof. + +_Tubby_. Yes, with full meals coming regularly. + +_A bay mare_. I've got a two-year-old in Devon I'd like to see again. + +_Monty_. I've no quarrel with Leicestershire myself. + +_Gunpack horse_. Garn! Wot abaht good old London? + +_Chestnut_. Steady, Alf, what are you grousing about? You never had +a full meal in your life until Lord Derby pulled you out of that +coster barrow and pushed you into the Army. + +_Tubby_. A full meal in the Army--help! + +_Brown_. Listen to our living skeleton. Do you chaps remember that +afternoon he had to himself in an oat field up Plug Street way? When +the grooms found him he was lying on his back, legs in the air, blown +up like a poisoned pup. "Blimy," says one lad to t'other, "'ere's +one of our observation bladders the 'Un 'as brought down." + +_Chestnut_. I heard the Officer boy telling the Troop Sergeant that +he'd buy a haystack some day and try to burst you, Tubby. The +Sergeant bet him a month's pay it couldn't be done. + +_Tubby_. Just because I've got a healthy appetite---- + +_Brown_. Healthy appetites aren't being worn this season, Sir--bad +form. How are the politicians' park hacks to be kept sleek if the +troop-horse don't tighten his girth a bit? Be patriotic, old dear; +eat less oats. + +_Chestnut_. That mess gramophone must be redhot by now. It's been +running continuous since First Post. I suppose somebody's mamma has +sent him a bottle of ginger-pop, and they're seeing life while the +bubbles last. + +_Monty_. Yes, and I suppose my young gentleman will be parading +to-morrow morning with a _camouflage_ tunic over his pyjamas, looking +to me to pull him through squadron drill. + +_Iron-grey_. God save us, thin! + +_A Mexican roan_. _Buenas noches!_ + +_Gunpack horse_. Hish! Orderly Officer. 'E's in the Fourth Troop +lines nah; you can 'ear 'im cursin' as he trips over the heel +shackles. + +_Monty_. Hush, you fellows. Orderly Officer. _Bong swar_. + +* * * * * * * * + +_Once more heads and hips droop. They pose in attitudes of sleep +like a dormitory of small boys on the approach of a prefect. The +line Guard comes to life, seizes his lantern and commences to march +up and down as if salvation depended on his getting in so many laps +to the hour. From the guard-tent a trumpet wails, "Lights out."_ + + + + +X + +"CONVEY," THE WISE IT CALL + +I am living at present in one of those villages in which the +retreating Hun has left no stone unturned. With characteristic +thoroughness he fired it first, then blew it up, and has been +shelling it ever since. What with one thing and another, it is in an +advanced state of dilapidation; in fact, if it were not that one has +the map's word for it, and a notice perched on a heap of brick-dust +saying that the Town Major may be found within, the casual wayfarer +might imagine himself in the Sahara, Kalahari, or the south end of +Kingsway. + +Some of these French towns are very difficult to recognise as such; +only the trained detective can do it. A certain Irish regiment was +presented with the job of capturing one. The scheme was roughly +this. They were to climb the parapet at 5.25 a.m. and rush a quarry +some one hundred yards distant. After half an hour's breather they +were to go on to some machine-gun emplacements, dispose of these, +wait a further twenty minutes, and then take the town. Distance +barely one thousand yards in all. Promptly at zero the whole field +spilled over the bags, as the field spills over the big double at +Punchestown, paused at the quarry only long enough to change feet on +the top, and charged yelling at the machine-guns. Then being still +full of fun and _joie de vivre_, and having no officers left to +hamper their fine flowing style, they ducked through their own +barrage and raced all out for the final objective. Twenty minutes +later, two miles further on, one perspiring private turned to his +panting chum, "For the love of God, Mike, aren't we getting in the +near of this damn town yet?" + +I have a vast respect for Hindenburg (a man who can drink the +mixtures he does, and still sit up and smile sunnily into the jaws of +a camera ten times a day, is worthy of anybody's veneration), but if +he thought that by blowing these poor little French villages into +small smithereens he would deprive the B.E.F. of head-cover and cause +it to catch cold and trot home to mother, he will have to sit up late +and do some more thinking. For Atkins of to-day is a knowing bird; +he can make a little go the whole distance and conjure plenty out of +nothingness. As for cover, two bricks and his shrapnel hat make a +very passable pavilion. Goodness knows it would puzzle a guinea-pig +to render itself inconspicuous in our village, yet I have watched +battalion after battalion march into it and be halted and dismissed. +Half an hour later there is not a soul to be seen. They have all +gone to ground. My groom and countryman went in search of +wherewithal to build a shelter for the horses. He saw a respectable +plank sticking out of a heap of débris, laid hold on it and pulled. +Then--to quote him verbatim--"there came a great roarin' from in +undernath of it, Sor, an' a black divil of an infantryman shoved his +head up through the bricks an' drew down sivin curses on me for +pullin' the roof off his house. Then he's afther throwin' a bomb at +me, Sor, so I came away. Ye wouldn't be knowin' where to put your +fut down in this place, Sor, for the dhread of treadin' in the belly +of an officer an' him aslape." + +Some people have the bungalow mania and build them bijoux maisonettes +out of biscuit tins, sacking and whatnot, but the majority go to +ground. I am one of the majority; I go to ground like a badger, for +experience has taught me that a dug-out--cramped, damp, dark though +it may be--cannot be stolen from you while you sleep; that is to say, +thieves cannot come along in the middle of the night, dig it up +bodily by the roots and cart it away in a G.S. waggon without you, +the occupant, being aware that some irregularity is occurring to the +home. On the other hand, in this country, where the warrior, when he +falls on sleep suffers a sort of temporary death, bungalows can be +easily purloined from round about him without his knowledge; and what +is more, frequently are. + +For instance, a certain bungalow in our village was stolen as +frequently as three times in one night. This was the way of it. One +Todd, a foot-slogging lieutenant, foot-slogged into our midst one +day, borrowed a hole from a local rabbit, and took up his residence +therein. Now this mud-pushing Todd had a cousin in the same +division, one of those highly trained specialists who trickle about +the country shedding coils of barbed wire and calling them "dumps"--a +sapper, in short. One afternoon the sapping Todd, finding some old +sheets of corrugated iron that he had neglected to dump, sent them +over to his gravel-grinding cousin with his love and the request of a +loan of a dozen of soda. The earth-pounding Todd came out of his +hole, gazed on the corrugated iron and saw visions, dreamed dreams. +He handed the hole back to the rabbit and set to work to evolve a +bungalow. By evening it was complete. He crawled within and went to +sleep, slept like a drugged dormouse. At 10 p.m. a squadron of the +Shetland ponies (for the purpose of deceiving the enemy all names in +this article are entirely fictitious) made our village. It was +drizzling at the time, and the Field Officer in charge was getting +most of it in the neck. He howled for his batman, and told the +varlet that if there wasn't a drizzle-proof bivouac ready to enfold +him by the time he had put the ponies to bye-byes, there would be no +leave for ten years. The batman scratched his head, then slid softly +away into the night. By the time the ponies were tilting the last +drops out of their nosebags the faithful servant had scratched +together a few sheets of corrugated, and piled them into a rough +shelter. The Major wriggled beneath it and was presently putting up +a barrage of snores terrible to hear. At midnight a battalion of the +Loamshire Light Infantry trudged into the village. It was raining in +solid chunks, and the Colonel Commanding looked like Victoria Falls +and felt like a submarine. He gave expression to his sentiments in a +series of spluttering bellows. His batman trembled and faded into +the darkness _à pas de loup_. By the time the old gentleman had +halted his command and cursed them "good night" his resourceful +retainer had found a sheet or two of corrugated iron somewhere and +assembled them into some sort of bivouac for the reception of his +lord. His lord fell inside, kicked off his boots and slept +instantly, slept like a wintering bear. + +At 2 a.m. three Canadian privates blundered against our village and +tripped over it. They had lost their way, were mud from hoofs to +horns, dead beat, soaked to the skin, chilled to the bone, fed up to +the back teeth. They were not going any further, neither were they +going to be deluged to death if there was any cover to be had +anywhere. They nosed about, and soon discovered a few sheets of +corrugated iron, bore them privily hence and weathered the night out +under some logs further down the valley. My batman trod me underfoot +at seven next morning. "Goin' to be blinkin' murder done in this +camp presently, Sir," he announced cheerfully. "Three officers went +to sleep in bivvies larst night, but somebody's souvenired 'em since, +an' they're all lyin' hout in the hopen now, Sir. Their blokes +daresent wake 'em an' break the noos. All very 'asty-tempered gents, +so I'm told. The Colonel is pertickler mustard. There'll be some +fresh faces on the Roll of Honour when 'e comes to." + +I turned out and took a look at the scene of impending tragedy. The +three unconscious officers on three camp beds were lying out in the +middle of a sea of mud like three lone islets. Their shuddering +subordinates were taking cover at long range, whispering among +themselves and crouching in attitudes of dreadful expectancy like men +awaiting the explosion of a mine or the cracking of Doom. As +explosions of those dimensions are liable to be impartial in their +attentions I took horse and rode afield. But according to my batman, +who braved it out, the Lieutenant woke up first, exploded noisily and +detonated the Field Officer who in turn detonated the Colonel. In +the words of my batman--"They went orf one, two, three, Sir, for orl +the world like a machine-gun, an eighteen-pounder and an How-pop-pop! +Whizz-bang! Boom!--very 'eavy casu-alities, Sir." + + + + +XI + +OUR MESS PRESIDENT + +Nobody out here seems exactly infatuated with the politicians +nowadays. The Front Trenches have about as much use for the Front +Benches as a big-game hunter for mosquitoes. The bayonet professor +indicates his row of dummies and says to his lads, "Just imagine they +are Cabinet Ministers--go!" and in a clock-tick the heavens are +raining shreds of sacking and particles of straw. The demon bomber +fancies some prominent Parliamentarian is lurking in the opposite +sap, grits his teeth, and gets an extra five yards into his bowling. + +But I am not entirely of the vulgar opinion. The finished politician +may not be a subject for odes, but a political education is a great +asset to any man. Our Mess President, William, once assisted a +friend to lose a parliamentary election, and his experience has been +invaluable to us. The moment we are tired of fighting and want +billets, the Squadron sits down where it is and the Skipper passes +the word along for William. William dusts his boots, adjusts his tie +and heads for the most prepossessing farm in sight. Arrived there, +he takes off his hat to the dog, pats the pig, asks the cow after the +calf, salutes the farmer, curtsies to the farmeress, then turning to +the inevitable baby, exclaims in the language of the country, "Mong +Jew, kell jolly ongfong" (Gosh, what a topping kid!), and bending +tenderly over it imprints a lingering kiss upon its india-rubber +features and wins the freedom of the farm. The Mess may make use of +the kitchen; the spare bed is at the Skipper's disposal; the cow will +move up and make room for the First Mate; the pig will be only too +happy to welcome the Subalterns to its modest abode. + +Ordinary billeting officers stand no chance against our William and +his political education. "That fellow," I heard one disgruntled +competitor remark to him, "would hug the devil for a knob of coke." +Once only did he meet his match, and a battle of Titans resulted. + +In pursuit of his business he entered a certain farmhouse, to find +the baby already in possession of another officer, a heavy red +creature with a monocle, who was rocking the infant's cradle +seventy-five revolutions per minute and making dulcet noises on a +moustache comb. + +William's heart fell to his field boots; he recognised the red +creature's markings immediately. This was another politician; no +bloodless victory would be his; fur would fly first, powder burn--Wow! + +The red person must have tumbled to William as well, for he increased +the revolutions to one hundred and forty per minute and broke into a +shrill lullaby of his own impromptu composition: + + "Go to sleep, Mummy's liddle Did-ums; + Go to sleep, Daddy's liddle Thing-me-jig." + + +Nevertheless this did not baffle our William. He approached from a +flank, deftly twitched the infant out of its cradle by the scruff of +its neck, and commenced to plaster it with tender kisses. However +the red man tailed it as it went past and hung on, kissing any bits +he could reach. When the mother reappeared they were worrying the +baby between them as a couple of hound puppies worry the hind leg of +a cub. She beat them faithfully with a broom and hove both of them +out into the wide wet world, and we all slept in a bog that night, +and William was much abused and loathed. But that was his only +failure. + +If getting billets is William's job, getting rid of them is the +Babe's affair. William, like myself, has far too great a mastery of +the patois to handle delicate situations with success. For instance, +when the farmer approaches me with tidings that my troopers have +burnt two ploughshares and a crowbar, and my troop-horses have +masticated a brick wall, I engage him in palaver, with the result +that we eventually part, I under the impression that the incident is +closed, and he under the impression that I have promised to buy him a +new farm. This leads to all sorts of international complications. + +The Babe, on the other hand, regards a knowledge of French as immoral +and only knows enough of it to order himself a drink. He is also +gifted with a slight stutter, which under the stress of a foreign +language becomes chronic. So when we evacuate a billet William +furnishes the Babe with enough money to compensate the farmer for all +damages we have not committed, and then effaces himself. Donning a +bright smile the Babe approaches the farmer and presses the lucre +into his honest palm. + +"Hi," says the worthy fellow, "what is this, then? One hundred +francs! Where is the seventy-four francs, six centimes for the fleas +your dog stole? The two hundred francs, three centimes for the +indigestion your rations gave my pig? The eight thousand and +ninety-nine francs, five centimes insurance money I should have +collected if your brigands had not stopped my barn from burning?--and +all the other little damages, three million, eight hundred thousand +and forty-four francs, one centime in all--where is it, hein?" + +"Ec-c-coutez une moment," the Babe begins. "Jer p-p-poovay expliquay +tut--tut--tut--tut--sh-sh-shiss----" says he, loosening his stammer +at rapid fire, popping and hissing, rushing and hitching like a +red-hot machine-gun with a siphon attachment. In five minutes the +farmer is white in the face and imploring the Babe to let bygones be +bygones. "N-n-not a b-bit of it, old t-top," says the Babe. "Jer +p-p-poovay exp-p-pliquay b-b-bub-bub-bub----" and away it goes again +like a combined steam riveter and shower bath, like the water coming +down at Lodore. No farmer however hardy has been known to stand more +than twenty minutes of this. A quarter of an hour usually sees him +bolting and barring himself into the cellar, with the Babe blowing +him kisses of fond farewell through the key-hole. + +We are billeted on a farm at the present moment. + +The Skipper occupies the best bed; the rest of us are doing the al +fresco touch in tents and bivouacs scattered about the surrounding +landscape. We are on very intimate terms with the genial farmyard +folk. Every morning I awake to find half a dozen hens and their +gentleman friend roosting along my anatomy. One of the hens laid an +egg in my ear this morning. William says she mistook it for her +nest, but I take it the hen, as an honest bird, was merely paying +rent for the roost. + +The Babe turned up at breakfast this morning wearing only half a +moustache. He said a goat had browsed off the other half while he +slept. The poor beast has been having fits of giggles ever since--a +moustache must be very ticklish to digest. + +Yesterday MacTavish, while engaged in taking his tub in the open, +noticed that his bath-water was mysteriously sinking lower and lower. +Turning round to investigate the cause of the phenomenon he beheld a +gentle milch privily sucking it up behind his back. There was a +strong flavour of Coal Tar soap in the _cafè au lait_ to-day. + +This morning at dawn I was aroused by a cold foot pawing at my face. +Blinking awake, I observed Albert Edward in rosy pyjamas capering +beside my bed. "Show a leg, quick," he whispered. "Rouse out, and +Uncle will show boysey pretty picture." + +Brushing aside the coverlet of fowl, I followed him tiptoe across the +dewy mead to the tarpaulin which he and MacTavish call "home." + +Albert Edward lifted a flap and signed me to peep within. It was, as +he had promised, a pretty picture. + +At the foot of our MacTavish's mattress, under a spare blanket lifted +from that warrior in his sleep, lay a large pink pig. Both were +occupied in peaceful and stertorous repose. + +"Heads of Angels, by Sir Joshua Reynolds," breathed Albert Edward in +my ear. + + + + +XII + +FUNNY CUTS + +All the world has marvelled at "the irrepressible good humour" of old +Atkins. Every distinguished tripper who comes Cook's touring to the +Front for a couple of days devotes at least a chapter of his +resultant book to it. "How in thunder does Thomas do it?" they ask. +"What the mischief does he find to laugh at?" Listen. + +Years ago, when the well-known War was young, a great man sat in his +sanctum exercising his grey matter. He said to himself, "There is a +war on. Men, amounting to several, will be prised loose from +comfortable surroundings and condemned to get on with it for the term +of their unnatural lives. They will be shelled, gassed, mined and +bombed, smothered in mud, worked to the bone, bored stiff and scared +silly. Fatigues will be unending, rations short, rum diluted, +reliefs late and leave nil. Their girls will forsake them for +diamond-studded munitioneers. Their wives will write saying, 'Little +Jimmie has the mumps; and what about the rent? You aren't spending +all of five bob a week on yourself, are you?' This is but a tithe +(or else a tittle) of the things that will occur to them, and their +sunny natures will sour and sicken if something isn't done about it." + +The great man sat up all night chewing penholders and pondering on +the problem. The Big Idea came with the end of the eighth penholder. + +He sprang to his feet, fires of inspiration flashing from his eyes, +and boomed, "Let there be _Funny Cuts!_"--then went to bed. Next +morning he created "I." (which stands for Intelligence), carefully +selected his Staff, arrayed them in tabs of appropriate hue, and told +them to go the limit. And they have been going it faithfully ever +since. What the Marines are to the Senior Service, "I." is to us. +Should a Subaltern come in with the yarn that the spook of Hindenburg +accosted him at Bloody Corner and offered him a cigar, or a balloon +cherub buttonhole you with the story of a Boche tank fitted with +rubber tyres, C-springs and hot and cold water, that he has seen +climbing trees behind St. Quentin, we retort, "Oh, go and tell it to +'I.'" and then sit back and see what the inspired official organ of +the green tabs will make of it. A hint is as good as a wink to them, +a nudge ample. Under the genius of these imaginative artists the +most trivial incident bourgeons forth into a Le Queux spell-binder, +and the whole British Army, mustering about its Sergeant-Majors, gets +selected cameos read to it every morning at roll-call, laughs +brokenly into the jaws of dawn and continues chuckling to itself all +day. Now you know. + +Our Adjutant had a telephone call not long ago. "Army speaking," +said a voice. "Will you send somebody over to Courcelles and see if +there is a Town Major there?" + +The Adjutant said he would, and a N.C.O. was despatched forthwith. +He returned later, reporting no symptoms of one, so the Adjutant rang +up Exchange and asked to be hooked on to Army Headquarters. "Which +branch?" Exchange inquired. "Why, really I don't know--forgot to +ask," the Adjutant confessed. "I'll have a try at 'A.'' + +"Hello," said "A." "There is no Town Major at Courcelles," said the +Adjutant. "You astound me, Fair Unknown," said "A."; "but what about +it, anyway?" The Adjutant apologised and asked Exchange for "Q." +department, "Hello," said "Q." "There is no Town Major at +Courcelles," said the Adjutant. "Sorry, old thing, whoever you are," +said "Q.," "but we don't stock 'em. Rations, iron; perspirators, +box; oil, whale, delivered with promptitude and civility, but not +Town Majors--sorry." The Adjutant sighed and consulted with Exchange +as to who possibly could have rung him up. + +Exchange couldn't guess unless it was "I."--no harm in trying, anyhow. + +"Hello!" said "I." "There is no Town Major at Courcelles," the +Adjutant droned somewhat wearily. "Wha-t!" "I." exclaimed, suddenly +interested. "Say it again, clearer." +"Cour-celles--No--Town--Major," the Adjutant repeated. There was a +pause; then he heard the somebody give off an awed "Good Lord!" and +drop the receiver. Next morning in _Funny Cuts_ (the organ of +Intelligence) we learned that "_Corps_ Headquarters was heavily +_Shelled_ last night. The Town Major is missing. This is evidence +that the enemy has brought long-range guns into the opposite sector." +Followed masses of information as to the probable make of the guns, +the size of shell they preferred, the life-story of the Battery +Commander, his favourite flower and author. + +The Boche, always on the alert to snaffle the paying devices of an +opposition firm, now has his "I." staff and _Funny Cuts_ as well. +From time to time we capture a copy and read this sort of thing: + +"From agonised screeches heard by one of our intrepid airmen while +patrolling over the enemy's lines yesterday, it is evident that the +brutal and relentless British are bayoneting their prisoners." + +A Highland Division, whose star pipers were holding a dirge and +lament contest on that date, are now ticking off the hours to the +next offensive. + +The Antrims had a _cordon bleu_ by the name of Michael O'Callagan. +He was a sturdy rogue, having retreated all the way from Mons, and +subsequently advanced all the way back to the Yser with a huge +stock-pot on his back, from which he had furnished mysterious stews +to all comers, at all hours, under any conditions. For this, and for +the fact that he could cook under water, and would turn out hot meals +when other _chefs_ were committing suicide, much was forgiven him, +but he was prone to look upon the _vin_ when it was _rouge_ and was +habitually coated an inch thick with a varnish of soot and pot-black. +One morning he calmly hove himself over the parapet and, in spite of +the earnest attentions of Hun snipers, remained there long enough to +collect sufficient débris to boil his dixies. Next day the Boche +_Funny Cuts_ flared forth scareheads: + +"SAVAGES ON THE SOMME. + +"The desperate and unprincipled British are employing black cannibal +Zulus in the defence of their system. Yesterday one of them, a chief +of incredibly depraved appearance, was observed scouting in the open." + + +The communiqué ended with a treatise on the Zulu, its black +man-eating habits, and an exhortation to "our old Brandenburgers" not +to be dismayed. + + + + +XIII + +LEAVE + +The Babe went to England on leave. Not that this was any new +experience for him; he usually pulled it off every twelve +months--influence, and that sort of thing, you know. He went down to +the coast in a carriage containing seventeen other men, but he got a +fat sleepy youth to sit on, and was passably comfortable. He crossed +over in a wobbly boat packed from cellar to attic with Red Tabs +invalided with shell shock, Blue Tabs with trench fever, and Green +Tabs with brain-fag; Mechanical Transporters in spurs and stocks, jam +merchants in revolvers and bowie-knives, Military Police festooned +with _pickelhaubes_, and here and there a furtive fighting man who +had got away by mistake, and would be recalled as soon as he landed. + +The leave train rolled into Victoria late in the afternoon. Cab +touts buzzed about the Babe, but he would have none of them; he would +go afoot the better to see the sights of the village--a leisurely +sentimental pilgrimage. He had not covered one hundred yards when a +ducky little thing pranced up to him, squeaking, "Where are your +gloves, Sir?" "I always put 'em in cold storage during summer along +with my muff and boa, dear," the Babe replied pleasantly. "Moreover, +my mother doesn't like me to talk to strangers in the streets, so +ta-ta." The little creature blushed like a tea-rose and stamped its +little hoof. "Insolence!" it squeaked. "You--you go back to France +by the next boat!" and the Babe perceived to his horror that he had +been witty to an Assistant Provost-Marshal! He flung himself down on +his knees, licking the A.P.M.'s boots and crying in a loud voice that +he would be good and never do it again. + +The A.P.M. pardoned the Babe (he wanted to save the polish on his +boots) on condition that he immediately purchased a pair of gloves of +the official cut and hue. The Babe did so forthwith and continued on +his way. He had not continued ten yards when another A.P.M. tripped +him up. "That cap is a disgrace, Sir!" he barked. "I know it, Sir," +the Babe admitted, "and I'm awfully sorry about it; but that hole in +it only arrived last night--shrapnel, you know--and I haven't had +time to buy another yet. I don't care for the style they sell in +those little French shops--do you?" + +The A.P.M. didn't know anything about France or its little shops, and +didn't intend to investigate; at any rate not while there was a war +on there. "You will return to the Front to-morrow," said he. The +Babe grasped his hand from him and shook it warmly. "Thank +you--thank you, Sir," he gushed; "I didn't want to come, but they +made me. I'm from Fiji; have no friends here, and London is somehow +so different from Suva it makes my head ache. I am broke and +couldn't afford leave, anyway. Thank you, Sir--thank you." + +"Ahem--in that case I will revoke my decision," said the A.P.M. "Buy +yourself an officially-sanctioned cap and carry on." + +The Babe bought one with alacrity; then, having tasted enough of the +dangers of the streets for one afternoon, took a taxi, and, lying in +the bottom, well out of sight, sped to his old hotel. When he +reached his old hotel he found it had changed during his absence, and +was now headquarters of the Director of Bones and Dripping. He +abused the taxi-driver, who said he was sorry, but there was no +telling these days; a hotel was a hotel one moment, and the next it +was something entirely different. Motion pictures weren't in it, he +said. + +Finally they discovered a hotel which was still behaving as such, and +the Babe got a room. He remained in that room all the evening, +beneath the bed, having his meals pushed in to him under the door. A +prowling A.P.M. sniffed at the keyhole, but did not investigate +further, which was fortunate for the Babe, who had no regulation +pyjamas. + +Next morning, crouched on the bottom boards of another taxi, he was +taken to his tailor, poured himself into the faithful fellow's hands, +and only departed when guaranteed to be absolutely A.P.M.-proof. He +went to the "Bolero" for lunch, ordered some oysters for a start, +polished them off and bade the waiter trot up the _consommé_. The +waiter shook his head. "Can't be done, Sir. Subaltern gents are +only allowed three and six-penceworth of food and you've already had +that, Sir. If we was to serve you with a crumb more, we'd be +persecuted under the Trading with the Enemy Act, Sir. There's an +A.P.M. sitting in the corner this very moment, Sir, his eyeglass +fixed on your every mouthful, very suspicious-like----" + +"Good Lord!" said the Babe, and bolted. He bolted as far as the next +restaurant, had a three-and-sixpenny _entrée_ there, went on to +another for sweets, and yet another for coffee and trimmings. These +short bursts between courses kept his appetite wonderfully alive. + +That afternoon he ran across a lady friend in Bond Street, "a War +Toiler enormously interested in the War" (see the current number of +_Social Snaps_). She had been at Yvonne's trying on her gauze for +the Boccaccio Tableaux in aid of the Armenians and needed some +relaxation. So she engaged the Babe for the play, to be followed by +supper with herself and her civilian husband. The play (a War drama) +gave the Babe a fine hunger, but the Commissionaire (apparently a +Major-General) who does odd jobs outside the Blitz took exception to +him. "Can't go in, Sir." "Why not?" the Babe inquired; "my friends +have gone in." "Yessir, but no hofficers are allowed to obtain +nourishment after 10 p.m. under Defence of the Realm Act, footnote +(_a_) to para. 14004." He leaned forward and whispered behind his +glove, "There's a Hay Pee Hem under the portico watching your +movements, Sir." The Babe needed no further warning; he dived into +his friend's Limousine and burrowed under the rug. + +Some time later the door of the car was opened cautiously and the +moon-face of the Major-General inserted itself through the crack. +"Hall clear for the moment, Sir; the Hay Pee Hem 'as gorn orf dahn +the street, chasin' a young hofficer in low shoes. 'Ere, tyke this; +I'm a hold soldier meself." He thrust a damp banana in the Babe's +hand and closed the door softly. + +Next morning the Babe dug up an old suit of 1914 "civies" and put +them on. A woman in the Tube called him "Cuthbert" and informed him +gratuitously that her husband, twice the Babe's age, had volunteered +the moment Conscription was declared and had been fighting bravely in +the Army Clothing Department ever since. Further she supposed the +Babe's father was in Parliament and that he was a Conscientious +Objector. In Hyde Park one urchin addressed him as "Daddy" and asked +him what he was doing in the Great War; another gambolled round and +round him making noises like a rabbit. In Knightsbridge a Military +Policeman wanted to arrest him as a deserter. The Babe hailed a taxi +and, cowering on the floor, fled back to his hotel and changed into +uniform again. + +That night, strolling homewards in the dark, immersed in thought, he +inadvertently took a pipe out of his pocket and lit it. An A.P.M. +who had been sleuthing him for half a mile leapt upon him, snatched +the pipe and two or three teeth out of his mouth and returned him to +France by the next boat. + +* * * * * * * * + +His groom, beaming welcome, met him at the rail-head with the horses. + +"Hello, old thing, cheerio and all the rest of it," Huntsman whinnied +lovingly. + +Miss Muffet rubbed her velvet muzzle against his pocket. "Brought a +lump of sugar for a little girl?" she rumbled. + +He mounted her and headed across country, Miss Muffet pig-jumping and +capering to show what excellent spirits she enjoyed. + +Two brigades of infantry were under canvas in Mud Gully, their cook +fires winking like red eyes. The guards clicked to attention and +slapped their butts as the Babe went by. A subaltern bobbed out of a +tent and shouted to him to stop to tea. "We've got cake," he lured, +but the Babe went on. + +A red-hat cantered across the stubble before him waving a friendly +crop, "Pip" Vibart the A.P.M. homing to H.Q. "Evening, boy!" he +holloaed; "come up and Bridge to-morrow night," and swept on over the +hillside. A flight of aeroplanes, like flies in the amber of sunset, +droned overhead _en route_ for Hunland. The Babe waved his official +cap at them: "Good hunting, old dears." + +They had just started feeding up in the regimental lines when he +arrived; the excited neighing of five hundred horses was music to his +ears. His brother subalterns hailed his return with loud and +exuberant noises, made disparaging remarks about the smartness of his +clothes, sat on him all over the floor and rumpled him. On sighting +the Babe, The O'Murphy went mad and careered round the table +wriggling like an Oriental dancer, uttering shrill yelps of delight; +presently he bounced out of the window, to enter some minutes later +by the same route, and lay the offering of a freshly slain rat at his +best beloved's feet. + +At this moment the skipper came in plastered thick with the mud of +the line, nodded cheerfully to his junior sub and instantaneously +fell upon the buttered toast. + +"Have a good time, Son?" he mumbled. "How's merrie England?" + +"Oh, England's all right, Sir," said the Babe, tickling The +O'Murphy's upturned tummy--"quite all right; but it's jolly to be +home again among one's ain folk." + + + + +XIV + +"HARMONY, GENTS!" + +No one, with the exception of the Boche, has a higher admiration for +the scrapping abilities of the Scot than I have, but in matters +musical we do not hear ear to ear. It is not that I have no soul; I +have. I fairly throb with it. I rise in the mornings trilling +trifles of Monckton and croon myself to sleep o' nights with snatches +of Novello. + +I do not wish to boast, but to hear me pick the "Moonlight Sonata" +out of a piano with one hand (the other strapped behind my back) is +an unforgettable experience. + +I would not yield to Paderewski himself on the comb, bones or Jew's +harp, and I could give A. Gabriel a run for his money on the +coachhorn. But these bagpipes! + +It is not so much the execution of the bagpiper that I object to as +his restricted repertoire. He can only play one noise. It is quite +useless a Scot explaining to me that this is the "Lament of Sandy +Macpherson" and that the "Dirge of Hamish MacNish"; it all sounds the +same to me. + +The brigade of infantry that is camped in front of my dug-out ("Mon +Repos") is a Scots brigade. Not temporary Scots from the Highlands +of Commissioner Street, Jo'burg, and Hastings Street, Vancouver +(about whom I have nothing to say), but real _pukka_, law-abiding, +kirk-going, God-fearing, bayonet-pushing Gaels, bred among the crags +of the Grampians and reared on thistles and illicit whuskey. And +every second man in this brigade is a confirmed bagpiper. + +They have massed pipes for breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; pipes +solos before, during, and after drinks. If one of them goes across +the road to borrow a box of matches, a piper goes with him raising +Cain. Their Officers' Mess is situated just behind "Mon Repos," so +we live in the orchestra stalls, so to speak, and hear all there is +to be heard. + +One evening, while Sandy Macpherson's (or Hamish MacNish's) troubles +were being very poignantly aired next door, Albert Edward came to the +conclusion that the limit had been reached. "They've been killing +the pig steadily for ten days and nights now," said he; "something's +got to be done about it." + +"I'm with you," said I; "but what are we two against a whole brigade? +If they were to catch you pushing an impious pin into one of their +sacred joy-bags there'd be another Second Lieutenant missing." + +"Desist and let me think," said Albert Edward, and for the next hour +he lay on his bed rolling and groaning--the usual signs that his +so-called brain is active. + +The following morning he rode over to the squadron, returning later +with the Mess gramophone and a certain record. There are records and +records, but for high velocity, armour-piercing and range this one +bangs Banagher. It is a gem out of that "sparkling galaxy of melody, +mirth and talent" (Press Agent speaking), "_I Don't Think_," which +scintillates nightly at the Frivolity Theatre. + +"When the Humming-birds are singing" is the title thereof, and Miss +Birdie de Maie renders it--renders it as she alone can, in a voice +like a file chafing corrugated iron. + +We started the birds humming at 4 p.m., and let it rip steadily until +11.15 p.m., only stopping to change needles. + +Albert Edward's batman unleashed the hub-bub again at six next +morning; my batman relieved him at eight, and so on throughout the +day in two-hour shifts. At night the line guards carried on. The +following morning, as our batmen threatened to report sick, we crimed +a trooper for "dumb insolence" and made him expiate his sin by +tending the gramophone. O'Dwyer, of one of the neighbouring +ammunition columns, came over in the afternoon to complain that his +mules couldn't get a wink of sleep and were muttering among +themselves; but we gave him a bottle of whiskey and he went away +quietly. + +Monk of the other column called an hour later to ask if we wanted to +draw shell-fire; but we bought him off with a snaffle bit and a +bottle of hair lotion. + +The whole neighbourhood grew restive. Somebody under cover of the +dark took a pot at the gramophone with a revolver and winged it in +the trumpet. Even the placid observation balloon which floats above +our camp grew nasty and dropped binoculars and sextants on us. We +built a protective breastwork of sandbags about it and carried on. +As for ourselves we didn't mind the racket in the least, having taken +the precaution of corking our ears with gunners' wax. + +Then one evening we discovered a Highland bomber worming up a drain +on his stomach towards our instrument. Cornered, he excused himself +on the plea that it was a form of Swedish exercise he always took at +twilight for the benefit of his digestion. An ingenious explanation, +but it hardly covered the live Mills bomb he was endeavouring to +conceal in a fold of his kilt. We drove him away with a barrage of +peg-mallets; but secretly we were very elated, for it was clear that +the strain was telling on the hardy Scot. + +As a precautionary measure we now surrounded the gramophone with a +barbed-wire entanglement, and so we carried on. + +Next day we saw a score of kiltie officers grouped outside their +Mess, heads together, apparently in earnest consultation. Every now +and again they would turn and glare darkly in our direction. + +"The white chiefs hold heap big palaver over yonder," Albert Edward +remarked. "They're tossing up now to decide who shall come over and +beard us. The braw bairn with the astrakhan knees has lost; he's +cocking his bonnet and asking his pals if he's got his sporran on +straight. Behold he approacheth, stepping delicately. I leave it to +you, partner." + +I lay in the grass and waited for the deputation. The gramophone, +safe behind its sandbags and wire, was doing business as usual, Miss +Birdie yowling away like a wild cat on hot cinders. The deputation +picked his way round the horse lines, nodded to me and sat down on +the oil-drum we keep for the accommodation of guests. He nervously +opened the ball by remarking that the weather was fine. + +I did not agree with him, but refused to argue. That baffled him for +some seconds, but he recovered by maintaining that it was anyway +finer than it had been in 1915. After that outburst he seemed at a +loss for a topic of conversation, and sat scratching his ear as if he +expected to get inspiration out of it as a conjurer gets rabbits. + +"Ye seem verra pairtial to music?" he ventured presently. + +"Passionately," said I. + +"Ah--hem! Ye seem verra pairtial to that one selection," he +continued. + +"Passionately devoted to it," said I. "Lovely little thing; I adore +its sentiment, tempo, tremolo and timbre, its fortissimo and allegro. +Just listen to the part that's coming now-- + + 'When the humming birds are singing + And the old church bells are ringing + We'll canoodle, we'll canoodle 'neath the moon. + Down in Alabama + You'll be my starry-eyed charmer; + On my white-haired kitten's grave we'll sit and spoon, spoon, + spoo-oo-oon.' + +Nifty bit of allegro work that--eh, what?" + +He nodded politely. "Ay--of course, sairtainly; but--er--er--don't +ye find it grows a wee monotonous in time?" + +"Never," I retorted stoutly. "Not in the least. No more than you +find the Lament or Dirge of Sandy Macpherson or Hamish MacNish +monotonous." + +He cocked his ears suddenly and stared at me. Then his chubby face +split slowly from ear to ear in the widest grin I ever saw, and up +went both his hands. + +"Kamerad!" said he. + + + + +XV + +THE MULE AND THE TANK + +The ammunition columns on either flank provide us with plenty of +amusement. They seem to live by stealing each other's mules. My +line-guards tell me that stealthy figures leading shadowy donkeys are +crossing to and fro all night long through my lines. The respective +C.O.'s, an Australian and an Irishman, drop in on us from time to +time and warn us against each other. I remain strictly neutral, and +so far they have respected my neutrality. I have taken steps toward +this end by surrounding my horses with barbed wire and spring guns, +tying bells on them and doubling the guard. + +Monk, the Australian, dropped in on us two or three days ago. "That +darn Sinn Feiner is the limit," said he; "lifted my best moke off me +last night while I was up at the batteries. He'd pinch Balaam's +ass." We murmured condolences, but Monk waved them aside. "Oh, it's +quite all right. I wasn't born yesterday, or the day before for that +matter. I'll make that merry Fenian weep tears of blood before I've +finished. Just you watch." + +O'Dwyer, the merry Fenian, called next day. + +"Give us a dhrink, brother-officers," said he. "I'm wake wid +laughter." + +We asked what had happened. + +"Ye know that herrin'-gutted bushranger over yonder? He'd stale the +milk out of your tea, he would, be the same token. Well, last night +he got vicious and took a crack at my lines. I had rayson to suspect +he'd be afther tryin' somethin' on, so I laid for him. I planted a +certain mule where he could stale it an' guarded the rest four deep. +Begob, will ye believe me, but he fell into the thrap head first--the +poor simple divil." + +"But he got your mule," said Albert Edward, perplexed. + +"Shure an' he did, you bet he did--he got old Lyddite." + +Albert Edward and I were still puzzled. + +"Very high explosive--hence name," O'Dwyer explained. + +"Dear hearrts," he went on, "he's got my stunt mule, my family +assassin! That long-ear has twenty-three casualties to his credit, +including a Brigadier. I have to twitch him to harness him, +side-line him to groom him, throw him to clip him, and dhrug him to +get him shod. Perceive the jest now? Esteemed comrade Monk is +afther pinchin' an infallible packet o' sudden death, an' he don't +know it--yet." + +"What's the next move?" I inquired. + +"I'm going to lave him there. Mind you I don't want to lose the old +moke altogether, because, to tell the truth, I'm a biteen fond of him +now that I know his thricks, but I figure Mr. Monk will be a severely +cured character inside a week, an' return the beastie himself with +tears an' apologies on vellum so long." + +I met O'Dwyer again two days later on the mud track. He reined up +his cob and begged a cigarette. + +"Been havin' the fun o' the worrld down at the dressin'-station +watchin' Monk's casualties rollin' in," said he. "Terrible +spectacle, 'nough to make a sthrong man weep. Mutual friend Monk +lookin' 'bout as genial as a wet hen. This is goin' to be a +wondherful lesson to him. See you later." He nudged his plump cob +and ambled off, whistling merrily. + +But it was Monk we saw later. He wormed his long corpse into "Mon +Repos" and sat on Albert Edward's bed laughing like a tickled hyena. +"Funniest thing on earth," he spluttered. "A mule strayed into my +lines t'other night and refused to leave. It was a rotten beast, a +holy terror; it could kick a fly off its ears and bite a man in half. +I don't mind admitting it played battledore and what's-'is-name with +my organisation for a day or two, but out of respect for O'Dwyer, +blackguard though he is, I..." + +"Oh, so it was O'Dwyer's mule?" Albert Edward cut in innocently. + +Monk nodded hastily. "Yes, so it turned out. Well, out of respect +for O'Dwyer I looked after it as far as it would allow me, naturally +expecting he'd come over and claim it--but he didn't. On the fourth +day, after it had made a light breakfast off a bombardier's ear and +kicked a gap in a farrier, I got absolutely fed up, turned the damn +cannibal loose and gave it a cut with a whip for God-speed. It made +off due east, cavorting and snorting until it reached the tank track; +there it stopped and picked a bit of grass. Presently along comes a +tank, proceeding to the fray, and gives the mule a poke in the rear. +The mule lashes out, catching the tank in the chest, and then goes on +with his grazing without looking round, leaving the tank for dead, as +by all human standards it should have been, of course. But instead +of being dead the box of tricks ups and gives the donk another butt +and moves on. That roused the mule properly. He closed his eyes and +laid into the tank for dear life; you could hear it clanging a mile +away. + +"After delivering two dozen of the best, the moke turned round to +sniff the cold corpse, but the corpse was still warm and smiling. +Then the mule went mad and set about the tank in earnest. He jabbed +it in the eye, upper-cut it on the point, hooked it behind the ear, +banged its slats, planted his left on the mark and his right on the +solar plexus, but still the tank sat up and took nourishment. + +"Then the donkey let a roar out of him and closed with it; tried the +half Nelson, the back heel, the scissors, the roll, and the +flying-mare; tried Westmorland and Cumberland style, collar and +elbow, Cornish, Greece-Roman, scratch-as-scratch-can and Ju-jitsu. +Nothing doing. Then as a last despairing effort he tried to charge +it over on its back and rip the hide off it with his teeth. + +"But the old tank gave a 'good-by-ee' cough of its exhaust and +rumbled off as if nothing had happened, nothing at all. I have never +seen such a look of surprise on any living creature's face as was on +that donk's. He sank down on his tail, gave a hissing gasp and +rolled over stone dead. Broken heart." + +"Is that the end?" Albert Edward inquired. + +"It is," said Monk; "and if you go outside and look half-right you'll +see the bereaved Mr. O'Dwyer, all got up in sackcloth, cinders and +_crêpe_ rosettes, mooning over the deceased like a dingo on an ash +heap." + + + + +XVI + +WAR PAINT + +After the 53rd Lancers had been in the trenches for seven +days--during which period the Boches hated them ceaselessly with +whizz-bangs, tear-shells, snipers, coal-boxes, hand and rifle +grenades, spring guns, rifle batteries, machine-guns, gas and liquid +fire; and something celestial leaked badly so that the front line +gave a muddy imitation of the Grand Canal, Venice--the infantry +relieved them and they came out looking like nothing on earth. + +They were marched into an ex-dye factory, boiled, fourteen in a vat, +issued with a change of underclothes and marched on to billets. + +The 53rd being a smart regiment, they were given twenty-four hours to +lick and polish themselves like unto the stars of the firmament for +brightness, or never hear the last of it. + +In twenty-four hours they paraded again, according unto orders, and +the stars of the firmament also ran. + +At noon the same day the party proceeding on Blighty leave was +paraded for inspection by the Orderly Officer. + +Pending the arrival of the O.O., the Regimental Sergeant-Major gave +them a preliminary look over. + +They were dressed by the right in file, chests thrown in the air, +faces shiny with soap and pink from razoring. Every badge, buckle +and button twinkled a challenge back at the sun, every spur shone +like a bar of silver, their leatherwork gleamed with the polish bloom +of a plum, their puttees and tunics were without spot or blemish, +every cap raked slightly over every right ear. They were smart men +of a smart regiment, whose boast it was that they lived and died +glitteringly. + +The R.S.M. ran a grey foxy eye over and through them. At the sixth +file from the right he paused, staggered, blanched, and broke into +tears. + +The Regiment was disgraced, the name gloriously won by dashing +generations of light cavalry men was gone for ever. Here was a +Fifty-third proposing to go home and swank about England practically +naked. Blankety blankety blank. O Lord! The sixth file went +pea-green under his tan, instinctively felt for his top left-hand +pocket button and did it up. + +The R.S.M. went on his way down the line, thrashing his leggings +severely with his whip and shaking with emotion. Ten files further +down he found a speck of brass polish lurking behind a belt-hook and +didn't expect to survive it. + +Sixteenth file rubbed it off with a handkerchief, trembling all over. + +The O.O. came on the scene, inspected them with a swelling of pride +tightening his tunic, found a few faults as a matter of principle, +and ordered them away. + +The R.S.M. escorted them to the road, dismissed them with his +blessing, adjuring them to be good little boys generally, and pay his +respects to a publican near the Elephant and Castle if they passed +that way. + +At 2 p.m. they entrained at the railhead along with carolling parties +from the thousand-and-one units that go to make the B.E.F. + +At 3 a.m. they detrained in the dim-lit vault of Victoria. As they +tramped out of the gates a little man, wearing square clothes and an +accent that twanged like a banjo, bored into the crowd. + +He let some squads of mud-caked line infantry go by unmolested, threw +but a cursory glance over a batch of rain-sodden gunners, then his +bright eye caught the brighter buttons of the Fifty-thirds and he +swooped upon them, thrusting pasteboards into every hand. The +sixteenth file paused with his chum under a lamp and read his card. + +It ran as follows: + +OUR HEROES' SUPPLY DEPT. + +Look the part and have your war-yarns believed at home. Put +yourselves in our hands and then watch the girls gather round. + + + LIST OF CHARGES + + Mud-spray (patent mud guaranteed to stick for five days) 1s. + Bullet-holes (punched in cap or tunic) 3d. each. + Blood-stains (indelible) 6d. + Prayer-book (with embedded bullet) 2s. 6. + +We have also a large stock of souvenirs--shell fragments, bullets, +German caps, helmets, etc., at moderate charges. Call and see us +right now. Depot just round the block. + + +The sixteenth file looked at his chum, fingering his card uneasily. +"Well, Bob, what d'you say? My lassie is won'erful 'ard to convince." + +"I'm with you," said his friend. "Mother is a fair terror too." + +They tramped after the little man. + +A quarter of an hour later they might have been seen tramping back +down Victoria Street looking like nothing on earth. + + + + +XVII + +THE PINCH OF WAR + +I came across him on the rim of the bog. He stood before a +whitewashed cabin glaring fiercely over the brown world. + +A coal-black dudeen hung empty and bottom up from his puckered mouth, +a rumpled frieze cap was perilously balanced atop of a fringe of +white hair. His full figure, upholstered in a worn velvet waistcoat, +was thrust well forward as if daring Fate to hit it another blow. + +At the moment he was acting as a scratching-post to a large white +billy-goat, which chafed itself luxuriously to and fro against his +straddled legs. At the sound of my horse's hoofs he turned his head. +At the sight of my uniform his eyes brightened, he withdrew a smutty +hand from a corduroy pocket and made a travesty of a salute towards +his cap, which almost lost its balance. + +"Hey! Good day to ye, Captain!" (I am a second lieutenant, but in +Ireland every lance-corporal has visionary batons on his +shoulder-straps.) + +I replied suitably, agreed that the weather was fine for the second +and trusted, if we were good, we might have an hour of it. + +"How is it wid the War this mornin', yer honour?" + +I replied that, as far as I knew, it was still there, had passed a +quiet night and was doing nicely, thanks. + +"Was you ever at the Front, Captain?" + +I nodded, and at that his eyes gleamed. + +"Begob!--then 'tis yerself has the luck. Wait till I tell you a +minute. I'm afther wishin' be all the Blessed Saints I was twinty +year younger, 'tis meself would be the first afther them German +Daygoes--I would so, the dirthy, desthroyin' blagyards! Tell me now, +Captain dear, did you ever kill wan of them at all?" + +He hung on my answer to such an extent that the white billy tore a +tatter from his canvas coat and ate it unrebuked. + +I wagged my head. "Don't know--couldn't say." + +"Och, shure, no! What would a grand gentleman like yourself be +wantin' wid such dirthy work--'tis a common private's job, so it is. +But was meself twinty year younger 'twould be a job I would take +great delight in the doin' of it. I would take great delight in +landin' wan o' them blagyards a puck wid a bay'net that would let the +daylight through him. I would have great courage an' delight in a +war wid such as they be, that's the blessed truth, the dirthy, +desthroyin', murdherin' divils! Arragh! I hate them!" + +He shook a grimy fist in the general direction of America, and the +billy, undisturbed, reached up and ate another ribbon off his coat. + +"Beggin' yer pardon, but will yer honour be goin' back to the War?" + +I said I hoped so some day. + +"Listen, then--I'm wishin' ye would kill a German, two Germans, d'ye +hear me now? Two Germans I'm afther wishin' ye." + +Again he brandished a trembling fist aloft and again the billy, +fearing naught, grazed its way up his back. + +"Thanks, very good of you," said I. "I'll remember. Good day." + +"Good day it is, an' God save yer honour!" + +Then with an overwhelming burst of generosity he promoted me two +ranks at once and wished again. + +"Colonel," he said solemnly, though shaking with passion, "I'm afther +wishin' ye three--ten--_fifteen_ Germans!" + +"Thanks," I said again, and picked up the reins, wondering if tragedy +had shadowed the bogside that morning, if some grey-eyed, +black-haired boy would come home no more from Flanders to that +whitewashed cabin. + +As I turned a beshawled girl poked her head round the door lintel and +smiled at me. + +"Och, faith, don't be noticin' the granda', yer honour; himself was +beyond to the town this mornin', an' they've riz the price o' porther +on him wan ha'penny. He do be as mad as the Sivinteen Divils!" + + + + +XVIII + +THE REGIMENTAL MASCOT + +When his honour the Colonel took the owld rigiment to France, Herself +came home bringin' the rigimental mascot with her. A big white +long-haired billy-goat he was, the same. + +"I'll not be afther lavin' him at the daypo," says Herself; "'tis no +place for a domestic animal at all, the language them little +drummer-boys uses, the dear knows," says she. + +So me bowld mascot he stops up at the Castle and makes free with the +flower-beds and the hall and the drawin'-room and the domestic maids +the way he'd be the Lord-Lieutenant o' the land, and not jist a plain +human Angory goat. A proud arrygent crature it is, be the powers! +Steppin' about as disdainy as a Dublin gerrl in Ballydehob, and if, +mebbe, you'd address him for to get off your flower-beds with the +colour of anger in your mouth he'd let a roar out of him like a Sligo +piper with poteen taken, and fetch you a skelp with his horns that +would lay you out for dead. + +And sorra the use is it of complainin' to Herself. + +"Ah, Delaney, 'tis the marshal sperit widin him," she'd say; "we must +be patient with him for the sake of the owld rigiment"; and with that +she'd start hand-feedin' him with warmed-up sponge cake and playin' +with his long silky hair. + +"Far be it from me," I says to Mikeen, the herd, "to question the +workings o' Providence, but were I the Colonel of a rigiment, which I +am not, and had to have a mascot, it's not a raparee billy I'd be +afther havin', but a nanny, or mebbe a cow, that would step along +dacently with the rigiment and bring ye luck, and mebbe a dropeen o' +milk for the orficers' tea as well. If it's such cratures that bring +ye fortune may I die a peaceful death in a poor-house," says I. + +"I'm wid ye," says Mikeen, groanin', he bein' spotted like a leopard +with bruises by rason of him havin' to comb the mascot's silky hair +twice daily, and the quick temper of the baste at the tangles. + +The long of a summer the billy stops up at the Castle, archin' his +neck at the wurrld and growin' prouder and prouder by dint of the +standin' he had with the owld rigiment and the high feedin' he had +from Herself. Faith, 'tis a great delight we servints had of him I'm +tellin' ye! It was as much as your life's blood was worth to cross +his path in the garden, and if the domestic maids would be meetin' +him in the house they'd let him eat the dresses off them before they +dare say a word. + +In the autumn me bowld mascot gets a wee trifle powerful by dint o' +the high feedin' and the natural nature of the crature. Herself, wid +her iligant lady's nose, is afther noticin' it, and she sends wan o' +the gerrls to tell meself and Mikeen to wash the baste. + +"There will be murdher done this day," says I to the lad, "but 'tis +the orders. Go get the cart rope and the chain off the bulldog, and +we'll do it. Faith, it isn't all the bravery that's at the Front," +says I. + +"That's the true wurrd," says he, rubbin' the lumps on his shins, the +poor boy. + +"Oh, Delaney," says the domestic gerrl, drawin' a bottle from her +apron pocket. "Herself says will ye plaze be so obligin' as to +sprinkle the mascot wid a dropeen of this ody-koloney scent--mebbe it +will quench his powerfulness, she says." + +I put the bottle in me pocket. We tripped up me brave goat with the +rope, got the bull's collar and chain, and dragged him away towards +the pond, him buckin' and ragin' between us like a Tyrone Street lady +in the arms of the poliss. To hear the roars he let out of him would +turn your hearts cowld as lead, but we held on. + +The Saints were wid us; in half an hour we had him as wet as an eel, +and broke the bottle of ody-koloney over his back. + +He was clane mad. "God save us all when he gets that chain off him!" +I says. "God save us it is!" says Mikeen, looking around for a tree +to shin. + +Just at the minut we heard a great screechin' o' dogs, and through +the fence comes the harrier pack that the Reserve orficers kept in +the camp beyond. ("Harriers" they called them, but, begob! there +wasn't anythin' they wouldn't hunt from a fox to a turkey, those +ones.) + +"What are they afther chasin'?" says Mikeen. + +"'Tis a stag to-day, be the newspapers," I says, "but the dear knows +they'll not cotch him this month, be must be gone by this half-hour, +and the breath is from them, their tongues is hangin' out a yard," I +says. + +'Twas at that moment the Blessed Saints gave me wisdom. + +"Mikeen," I says, "drag the mascot out before them; we'll see sport +this day." + +"Herself----" he begins. + +"Hoult your whisht," says I, "and come on." With that we dragged me +bowld goat out before the dogs and let go the chain. + +The dogs sniffed up the strong blast of ody-koloney and let a yowl +out of them like all the banshees in the nation of Ireland, and the +billy legged it for his life--small blame to him! + +Meself and Mikeen climbed a double to see the sport. + +"They have him," says Mikeen. "They have not," says I; "the crature +howlds them by two lengths." + +"He has doubled on them," says Mikeen; "he is as sly as a Jew." + +"He is forninst the rabbit holes now," I says. "I thank the howly +Saints he cannot burrow." + +"He has tripped up--they have him bayed," says Mikeen. + +And that was the mortal truth, the dogs had him. + +Oh, but it was a bowld billy! He went in among those hounds like a +lad to a fair, you could hear his horns lambastin' their ribs a mile +away. But they were too many for him and bit the grand silky hair +off him by the mouthful. The way it flew you'd think it was a +snowstorm. + +"They have him desthroyed," says Mikeen. + +"They have," says I, "God be praised!" + +At the moment the huntsman leps his harse up on the double beside us; +he was phlastered with muck from his hair to his boots. + +"What have they out there?" says he, blinkin' through the mud and not +knowin' rightly what his hounds were coursin' out before him, whether +it would be a stag or a Bengal tiger. + +"'Tis her ladyship's Rile Imperial Mascot Goat," says I; "an' God +save your honour, for she'll have your blood in a bottle for this +day's worrk." + +The huntsman lets a curse out of his stummick and rides afther them, +flat on his saddle, both spurs tearin'. In the wink of an eye he is +down among the dogs, larrupin' them with his whip and drawin' down +curses on them that would wither ye to hear him--he had great +eddication, that orficer. + +"Come now," says I to Mikeen, the poor lad, "let you and me bear the +cowld corpse of the diseased back to Herself, mebbe she'll have a +shillin' handy in her hand, the way she'd reward us for saving the +body from the dogs," says I. + +But was me bowld mascot dead? He was not. He was alive and well, +the thickness of his wool had saved him. For all that he had not a +hair of it left to him, and when he stood up before you, you wouldn't +know him; he was that ordinary without his fleece, he was no more +than a common poor man's goat, he was no more to look at than a +skinned rabbit, and that's the truth. + +He walked home with meself and Mikeen as meek as a young gerrl. + +Herself came runnin' out, all fluttery, to look at him. + +"Ah, but that's not my mascot," she says. + +"It is, Marm," says I; and I swore to it by the whole +Calendar--Mikeen too. + +"Bah! how disgustin'. Take it to the cowhouse," says she, and +stepped indoors without another word. + +We led the billy away, him hangin' his head for shame at his +nakedness. + +"Ye'll do no more mascotin' avic," says I to him. "Sorra luck you +would bring to a blind beggar-man the way you are now--you'll never +step along again with the drums and tambourines." + +And that was the true word, for though Herself had Mikeen rubbing him +daily with bear's grease and hair lotion he never grew the same grand +fleece again, and he'd stand about in the backfield, brooding for +hours together, the divilment clane gone out of his system; and if, +mebbe, you'd draw the stroke of an ash-plant across his ribs to +hearten him, he'd only just look at you, sad-like and pass no remarks. + + + + +XIX + +WAR VEGETATION + +'Tis her ladyship up at the Castle that has the War at heart; 'tis no +laughin' matter wid her. + +She came back from England wid the grandest modern notions for +conductin' the war in the home that ever ye'd see, an' a foreign +domestic maid she had hired in London. + +"'Tis a poor Belgium refuge she is, Delaney," says Herself to meself. +"In the home she is afther lavin' there is nothing left standin' but +the wine-cellar, an' that full o' German Huns--she is wet wid weepin' +yet," says Herself; "so be kind to her, for we must help our brave +Allies." + +So the Belgium refuge walks into the Castle an' becomes lady's maid. +A fine, upstandin' colleen it is, too, by the same token, wid notions +in dhress that turned all the counthry gurrls contemptjous wid envy, +an' a hat on the head of her that was like a conservatory for the +flowers that was in it. But did Herself's war work stop at adoptin' +our brave Alice? It did not. She gave the young ladies of the high +nobility a powerful organisin', an' they'd be in at Ballydrogeen +every day o' the week sellin' Frinch, Eyetalian, Rooshan, an' Japan +flags an' makin' a mint o' money at it. The lads that would be +comin' into Ballydrogeen Fair to do a bit of hand slappin' over a +pig, an' mebbe taste a tageen wid the luckpenny, would dishcover +themselves goin' home in the ass cart, pig an' all, sober as stones +an' plasthered thick wid flags the way you'd think they'd be the +winnin' boat at Galway Regatta. For 'tis a bould bouchal will stand +up to the young ladies of the high nobility whin they have their best +dhresses on an' do be prancin' up to ye, the smiles an' blarney +dhrippin' from them like golden syrup, wid their "Oh, Mickey, how is +your dear darlint baby? Have ye not the least little shillin' for +me, thin?" or their "Good day to ye, Terry Ryan; I'm all in love wid +that bay colt ye have, an' I will plague my Da into his grave until +he buys him for me. Will ye not have a small triflin' flag from me, +Terry Ryan?" + +But did Herself's war work stop at flag selling? It did not. Wan +mornin' she comes steppin' down the garden as elegant as a champion +hackney, holdin' her skirts high out of the wet. + +"Is that you, Delaney?" says she. + +"It is, your ladyship," says I, crawlin' out from behindt the swate +pays. + +"Listen to me," says she. "Thim flowers is nothin' but a luxury +these days. I'll have nothin' but war vigitables in my garden." + +Says I, "Beggin' your pardon, but phwat may they be?" She was +puzzled for a moment, an' stands there scratchin' her ear as ye might +say. + +"Oh, jist ordinary vigitables, only grown under war conditions," says +she at length. "At anny rate I'll have no flowers, so desthroy thim +entirely, an' grow vigitables in their place--d'you understand?" says +she. + +"I do, your ladyship," says I. + +I wint within to tell Anne Toher, the cook. "Herself is for +desthroyin' the flowers entirely, an' plantin' war vigitables," says +I. + +"An' phwat may they be?" says the woman. + +"The same as ordinary vigitables, only growed under war conditions," +says I. "Ivvry spud doin' its duty, ivvry parsnip strugglin' to be +two. We will have carrots an' onions in iwry bed up to the front +door, Frinch beans trained all over the porch. Ye'll jist lane out +of the kitchen winda an' gather in the dinner yourself; 'twill be a +great savin' o' labour," says I. + +"An' phwat'll ye do for the table decorations whin the gintry comes +callin'?" says Anne Toher. + +"Faith," says I, "'tis aisy done; I will jist set a bookay o' +hothouse cabbages in the vases, an' if, mebbe, the Colonel would be +comin' home on lave an' should ax a nosegay to stick in his coat, +begob I'll have a fine sprig of parsley for him," says I. + +"Ye poor man," says she, "'twill sour the heart within ye." Ah! +That was the true word, 'twas like pullin' me heart's blood out be +the roots to desthroy thim flowers; but it had to be done. War is +war. + +By June the garden was nothin' but a say of vigitables, an' divil a +touch of colour to take your eye was there in it, no matter how long +you'd look. + +Wan day I am up at the yard, seein' if, mebbe, Anne Toher would have +the taste o' tay in the pot, meself havin' a thirst on me that would +face the Shannon by dint of the hoein' I was afther doin' in the spud +plantations, whin the woman puts her head out of the kitchen winda. +"Whist, Delaney," says she, "there's gintry to lunch," says she. + +"Phwat gintry?" says I. + +"Sir Patrick Freebody, o' Michaelstown," says she, an' at that me +blood run cowld. + +Sir Patrick Freebody had the grandest garden over at Michaelstown +that ivver you'd see in the nation of Ireland, an' a cousin to me, +John O'Callaghan, was gardener to him. There was no love betwane us +either, by the same token. I would as soon wake John O'Callaghan as +I would the Divil, an' that's the morthal truth, for all that he was +a cousin to me. + +I knew how 'twould be as sure as I was alive in this worrld. Owld +Sir Pat would be into lunch before a bare board, an' whin he wint +home to Michaelstown he would be tellin' John O'Callaghan, an' I +would be skinned raw wid the jeerin' an' blaggardin' the same John +O'Callaghan would have wid me. + +"Whisper, whin will they be atein'?" says I to Anne Toher. + +"In ten minutes, please God, an' the spuds are soft," says she. + +"Begob," says I to meself, "I'll set flowers on that table or cut my +throat across," an' I ran away, not knowin' where I'd be findin' +thim, not within five miles. But I was not half-way round the laurel +bushes whin the Blessed Saints sent me light. + +In sivin minuites I had flowers in the middle bowl, an' backed away +behindt the hat-racks as Herself an' owld Sir Pat comes out of the +drawin'-room an' goes in to lunch. I set me eye to the kayhole and +watched, me heart like water betwane me teeth. + +Owld Sir Pat, he mumbles an' coughs an' talks about the weather, an' +the war, an' the recruitin'. + +Herself she talks about the soldiers' shest-protectors an' her war +work, an' how she was scared the Colonel was sittin' about at the +Front wid wet fate. + +Presently the owld man notices the flowers in the bowl an' lanes over +the table blinkin' at thim through his spectacles in his half-blind +way. + +"Lovely flowers ye have there, Lady Nugent, positive blaze o' colour. +How do you do it? Now, that scamp of a gardener of mine----" He +sits back again, tellin' Herself how John O'Callaghan had left his +chrysanthemums go to ruination wid blight. Her Ladyship takes wan +look at the flowers, her eyebrows go up, she turns as red as a +bateroot and bites her lip, but says nothin'. God bless her! I +backed away, breathin' aisy once more, but at that minuite down the +stairs comes our brave Alice, the Belgium refuge, all of a lather, +gabbing like a turkey in the foreign tongue, and runs straight for +the dinin'-room door. + +'Tis a mercy I have the quick wit; I pulled down the Colonel's +dhress-sword from where it hung on the wall and headed her off, +wavin' it at her the way I'd draw the stroke of it across her +windpipe. She wint leppin' back up the stairs like a mountainy hare +among the rocks, thinkin', mebbe, the German Huns was come at her +again out of the wine-cellar. + +An hour later I heard owld Sir Pat's car lavin' the front door, so I +sheathed me sword an' let her out of her bedroom where she had +herself locked in. + +A strong shindy the gurrl raised, an' Herself forced me to buy her a +new hat out of me wages, seein' that her owld wan was desthroyed by +dint of the soakin' an' crushin' it had in the flower bowl; but sorra +the bit did I care, for I passed John O'Callaghan beyond in +Michaelstown on Sunday, an' divil a word said he, but scowled at me +in a way that did my heart good to see. + + + + +XX + +A CHANGE OF FRONT + +We fell asleep with goose feathers of snow whirling against the +carriage windows, and woke to see a shot-silk sea flinging white lace +along a fairy coast on one side and pink and yellow villas nesting +among groves of palm and orange on the other. + +"Of course this sort of thing doesn't happen in real life," said +Albert Edward, flattening his proboscis against the pane. "Either +it's all a dream or else those oranges will suddenly light up; George +Grossmith, in a topper and spats, will trip in from the O.P. side; +girls will blossom from every palm, and all ranks get busy with song +and prance--tra-la-la!" + +The Babe kicked his blankets off and sat up. "Nothing of the sort. +We've arrived in well-known Italy, that's all. Capital--Rome. +Exports--old masters, chianti and barrel-organs. Faces South and is +centrally heated by Vesuvius." + +We rattled into a cutting, the sides of which were decorated with +posters: "Good Healt at the England," "Good Luck at Tommy," and drew +up in a flag-festooned station, on the platform of which was a +deputation of smiling signorinas who presented the Atkinses with +postcards, fruit and cigarettes, and ourselves with flowers. + +"Very _bon_--eh, what?" said the Babe as the train resumed its +rumblings. "All the same I wish we could thank them prettily and +tell them how pleased we are we've come. Does anybody handle the +patter?" + +Albert Edward thought he did. "Used to swot up a lot of Italian +literature when I was a lad; technical military stuff about the +divisions of Gaul by one J. Cæsar." + +"Too technical for everyday use," I objected. "A person called +D'Annunzio is their best seller now, I believe." + +"Somebody'd better hop off the bus at the next stop and buy a book of +the words," said the Babe. + +At the next halt I dodged the deputation and purchased a phrase-book +with a Union Jack on the cover, entitled _The English Soldier in +Italy_, published in Milan. + +Among military terms, grouped under the heading of "The Worldly War," +a _garetta_ (sentry-box) is defined as "a watchbox," and the +machine-gunner will be surprised to find himself described as "a +grapeshot-man." It has also short conversations for current use. + +"Have you of any English papers?" + +"Yes, sir, there's _The Times_ and _Tit-Bits_." + +(Is it possible that the land of Virgil, of Horace and Dante knows +not _The Daily Mail_?) + +"Give me, please, many biscuits." + +"No, sir, we have no biscuits; the fabrication of them has been +avoided by Government." + +"Waiter, show me a good bed where one may sleep undisturbated." + +_In the train_:-- + +"Dickens! I have lost my ticket." + +"Alas, you shall pay the price of another." + +A jocular vein is recommended with cabbies:-- + +"Coachman, are you free?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then long live liberty." + +Very young subalterns with romantic notions may waste good beer-money +on foreign phrase-books and get themselves enravelled in hopeless +international tangles, but not old Atkins. The English soldier in +Italy will speak what he has always spoken with complete success in +Poperinghe, Amiens, Cairo, Salonika, Dar-es-Salaam, Bagdad and +Jerusalem, to wit, English. + +But to return to our train. At nightfall we left the fairy coast +behind, its smiling _signorinas_, flags, flowers and fruit, and +swarmed up a pile of perpendicular scenery from summer to winter. +During a halt in the midst of moonlit snows our carriage door was +opened and we beheld outside an Italian officer, who saluted and gave +us an exhibition of his native tongue at rapid fire. + +"He's referring to us," said the Babe. "Answer him, somebody; tell +him we're on his side and all that." + +"_Viva l' Italia_," William exclaimed promptly. + +The Italian countered with a "Viva l'Inghilterra" and swept on with +his monologue. + +"Seems to want something," said Albert Edward. "Wonder if Cæsar is +too technical for him." + +"Read him something from _The English Soldier in Italy_," I suggested. + +The Babe thumbed feverishly through the handbook. "'Let us get in; +the guard has already cried'--No, that won't do. 'Give me a walk and +return ticket, please'--That won't do either. 'Yes, I have a trunk +and a carpet-bag'--Oh, this is absurd." He cast the book from him. + +At that moment the engine hooted, the trucks gave a preliminary buck +and started to jolt forward. The Italian sprang upon the running +board and, clinging to the hand-rail, continued to declaim +emotionally through the window. William became alarmed. "This chap +has something on his mind. Perhaps he's trying to tell us that a +bridge has blown up, or that the train is moving without a movement +order, or the chauffeur is drunk. For Heaven's sake somebody do +something--quick!" + +Thereupon Babel broke loose, each of us in his panic blazing off in +the foreign language which came easiest to his tongue. + +William called for a bath in Arabic. The Babe demanded champagne in +French. Albert Edward declined _mensa_, while I, by the luckiest +chance, struck a language which the Italian recognised with a glad +yelp. In a moment explanations were over and I had swung him into +the carriage and slammed the door. + +The new-comer was a lieutenant of mountain artillery. He was +returning from leave, had confided himself to the care of a Railway +Transport Officer, had in consequence missed every regular train and +wanted a lift to the next junction. That was all. I then set about +to make him as comfortable as possible, wrapping him in one of the +Babe's blankets and giving him his maiden drink of whisky out of +William's First Field Dressing. With tears streaming down his cheeks +he vented his admiration of the British national beverage. + +In return he introduced me to the Italian national smoke, an endless +cigar to be sucked up through a straw. Between violent spasms I +implored the name and address of the maker. We were both very +perfect gentlemen. + +We then prattled about the War; he boasting about the terrific depths +of snow in which he did his battling, while I boasted about the +Flanders mud. We broke about even on that bout. He gained a bit on +mountain batteries, but I got it all back, and more, on tanks. He +had never seen one, so I had it all my own way. Our tanks, after I +had finished with them, could do pretty nearly anything except knit. + +Defeated in the field, he turned home to Rome for something to boast +about. I should see St. Peter's, he said. It was magnificent, and +the Roman art treasures unsurpassable. + +I replied that our cathedral at Westminster was far newer, and that +the art in our National Cold Storage had cost an average of £5473 +19s. 154d. per square foot. Could he beat it? + +That knocked him out of his stride for a moment, but he struggled +back with some remark about seeing his Coliseum by moonlight. + +I replied that at ours we had modern electric light, Murphy and Mack, +Vesta Tilley and the Bioscope. + +Whether he would have recovered from that I know not, for at this +moment the lights of the junction twinkled in at the frosted windows +and he took his departure, first promising to call in at our Mess and +suffer some more whisky if in return I would crawl up his mountain +and meet the chamois and edelweiss. + +Later on, as I was making up my bed for the night, Albert Edward +poked his head out of the cocoon of horse-blankets in which he had +wound himself. + +"By the way, what ungodly jargon were you and that Italian champing +together so sociably?" + +"German," I whispered; "but for the Lord's sake don't tell anybody." + + + + +XXI + +ANTONIO GIUSEPPE + +Our squadron is at the present moment billeted in what the +house-agents would describe as a "unique old-world property," a +ramshackle pile which looks like a palace from the south and a +workhouse from the north. + +It commenced its career, back in the long ago, as a glorified +week-end bungalow for Doges. In course of time it became a monastery. + +When the pious monks took over they got busy with whitewash and +obliterated most of the Doges' sportive mural decorations. Most, but +not all. + +Methinks the Abbot had tripped the boulevards in his youth and he +spared some of the brighter spots of the more sportive frescoes in +memory of old times and to keep his heart up during Lent. Anyhow +they are still there. + +To-day our long-faced chums champ their feeds in cloisters where once +the good monks told their beads, and our bold sergeant boys quaff +their tonics beneath a painted ceiling whereon Rackham satyrs are +depicted chivvying Kirchner nymphs across a Leader landscape. + +A small portion of one immense wing is inhabited by a refugee lady, +who had retired in good order, haling the whole menagerie along with +her, calves, fowls, children, donkey, piebald pig and all. + +When first we came into residence here we heard strange nocturnal +swishings and shufflings overhead, where none should be, and +attributed them to the ghost of the Abbot, who had returned from +Purgatory with a bucket of lime and was striving to wash out his +former lapses. Later on we discovered it was the calves, who from +inscrutable motives of their own prefer living in the attics. How +Mrs. Refugee hoisted them up there in the first place and how she +proposes to get them down again when they ripen are questions she +alone can answer, but will never do so because we haven't enough +Italian to ask her. + +The piebald pig is supported entirely by voluntary contributions, +and, like many other such institutions, keeps frequent fasts. When +he retreated here there was no sty to accommodate him; but Mrs. +Refugee, with the practical originality that distinguishes her, +routed out a retired dog-kennel from somewhere and anchored him to +it. This has had the effect of creating in him a dual personality. + +Sometimes he thinks he is just fat old Dolce F. Niente the pig, and +behaves as such, and one can tread all over him without disturbing +his melodious slumbers. At others the collar and chain prey on his +mind and he imagines he is Patrise Defensor the trusty watch-dog, and +mows down all comers. + +The children and fowls are doing nicely. They speedily discover what +innumerable fowls and children all the world over had discovered +before them, namely, that the turtling dove is a wild beast compared +with the British warrior and his war-horse, and they victimise the +defenceless creatures accordingly. + +The result is that the Atkinses get only what husks of their rations +the children have neglected, and the fowls only allow the hairies +what oats they cannot possibly stagger away with. + +Antonio Giuseppe the donkey was also a war profiteer. Commerce might +stagnate, armies clash and struggle, nations bleed to death, he did +not care. "_Viva la guerra!_" said Antonio Giuseppe. "As long as +there is a British unit handy to dine out with I'm all for it." +These sentiments, though deplorable, were not without reason, for +until we came I very much doubt if he had ever had a full meal--a +real rib-straining blow-out--in his life. + +He was a miserable little creature, standing about a yard high by six +inches broad. By tucking in his tail he could have passed for a +rabbit at any fancy-dress ball. His costume was a patch-work affair +of hairy tufts and bare spaces. I think he must have been laid away +in a drawer without camphor at one time and been mauled by a moth. + +A disreputable ragamuffin person was Antonio Giuseppe the donkey, but +for all that he had a way with him, and was in his day the +Light-weight Champion Diner-out of all Italy--probably of the world. + +At night he reposed in the kitchen along with Mrs. Refugee, the +bambini and fowls. The day he spent in his observation post, lurking +behind a screen of mulberries and vines, keeping a watchful eye on +the horses. + +As soon as their nosebags were on he commenced to move stealthily +towards the lines, timing himself to arrive just as the nosebags came +off and the hay-nets went up. He then glided softly between the +horses and helped himself. Being tiny and very discreet he +frequently passed unobserved, but should the line-guard spot him he +had his plan of action. + +Oft-times have I seen a perspiring and blasphemous trooper pursuing +the winged Antonio Giuseppe round the lines with a stable broom; but +when the broom descended Antonio Giuseppe was not there to receive +it. He would nip under the breast-rope, slip in under one horse's +belly and out between the legs of another, dodging through and round +the astounded animals like a half-back through a loose scrum or a +greased pig at a fair, snatching a generous contribution from each +hay-net as he passed. Under this method Antonio throve and throve; +but the tale of splintered brooms grew and grew and the Quartermaster +loved me not. + +Yesterday the General intimated that he'd like to inspect us. Always +eager to oblige, we licked, polished, brushed and burnished +ourselves, pipeclayed our head-ropes, pomaded our moustaches, +powdered our noses and paraded. + +We paraded to-day in regimental column in a field west of our +palace-workhouse and sat stiff in our saddles, the cheerful sunshine +glowing on leather-work, glinting on brass and steel, conscious that +we could give any Beauty Chorus a run for its money. + +There sounded a shrill fanfaronade of trumpets, tootling the salute, +and a dazzle of gold and scarlet like a Turner sunset, blazed into +view--the General and his Staff. + +At the same moment Antonio Giuseppe espied us from his observation +post and, getting it into his head that we were picnicing out (it was +about lunch-time), hastened to join us. As the General reached the +leading squadron Antonio Giuseppe reached the near squadron and, +sliding unobtrusively into its ranks, looked about for the hay-nets. + +However the Second in Command noticed his arrival and motioned to his +trumpeter. The trumpeter spurned forward and pinked Antonio Giuseppe +in the hindquarters with his sword-point as a hint to him to move on. +Antonio, thinking the line-guards were upon him and with a new type +of broom, loosed a squeal of agony and straightway commenced his +puss-in-the-corner antics in and out and round about the horses' +legs. They didn't like it at all; it tickled and upset them; they +changed from the horizontal to the vertical, giggled and pawed the +air. + +Things were becoming serious. A hee-hawing tatterdemalion donkey, +playing "ring o' roses" with a squadron of war-horses, tickling them +into hysterics, detracts from the majesty of such occasions and is no +fit spectacle for a General. A second trumpeter joined in the chase +and scored a direct prick on the soft of Antonio Giuseppe's nose as +he dived out under the tail of a plunging gun-mare. Antonio whipped +about and fled towards the centre squadron, ears wobbling, braying +anguished S.O.S.'s. The two trumpeters, young and ardent lads, +thundered after him, swords at the engage, racing each other, knee to +knee for first blood. They scored simultaneously on the butt of his +tail, and Antonio, stung to the quick, shot clean through (or rather +under) the centre squadron into the legs of the General's horse, +tripping up that majestic animal and bringing the whole stately +edifice down into a particularly muddy patch of Italy. + +Tremendous and awful moment! As my groom and countryman expressed +it, "Ye cud hear the silence for miles." The General did not break +it. I think his mouth was too full of mud and loose teeth for words. +He arose slowly out of the ooze like an old walrus lifting through a +bed of seaweed black as death, slime dripping from his whiskers, and +limped grimly from the field, followed by his pallid staff proffering +handkerchiefs and smelling-salts. But I understand he became +distinctly articulate when he got home, and the upshot of it is that +we are to be put in the forefront of the nastiest battle that can be +arranged for us. + +And Antonio Giuseppe the donkey, author of all the trouble, what of +him? you ask. + +Antonio Giuseppe the donkey will never smile again, dear reader. +With his edges trimmed and "Welcome" branded across his back he may +serve as a mangy door-mat for some suburban maisonette, but at the +present moment he lies in the mud of the parade-ground, as flat as a +sole on a sand-bank, waiting for someone to roll him up and carry him +away. + +When a full-fed Major-General falls he falls heavily. + + + + +XXII + +"I SPY" + +I put my head into the Mess and discovered Albert Edward alone there +cheating himself at Patience. + +"My leave warrant has come and I'm off!" said I. "If Foch should +ring up tell him he'll have to struggle along by himself for a +fortnight. Cheeroh!" + +"Cheeroh!" said Albert Edward. "Give my regards to Nero, Borgia and +all the boys." + +I shut the door upon him and took the road to Rome. + +Arrived there I attempted to shed a card on the Pope, but was +repulsed by a halbardier in fancy dress; visited the catacombs (by +the way, in the art of catacombing we latter-day sinners have nothing +to learn from the early saints. Why, at Arras in 1917 we---- Oh, +well, never mind now!); kept a solemn face while bands solemnly +intoned Tipperary (under the impression it was the British National +Anthem); bought a bushel of mosaic brooches and several million +picture postcards and acted the perfect little tripper throughout. + +Then one day while stepping into a hotel lift I bumped full into +Wilfrid Wilcox Wilbur, stepping forth. + +You have all of you read the works of Wilfrid Wilcox Wilbur (_Passion +Flowers_, _Purple Patches_, etc. Boost and Boom. 6s.); if you +haven't you should, for Wilfrid is the lad to handle the soul-sob and +the heart-throb and warm up cold print generally. + +In pre-war days he was to be met with in London drawing-rooms about +tea-time wearing his mane rather longer than is done in the best +menageries, giving a very realistic imitation of a lap-dog. And now +behold him in military disguise parading the Eternal City! + +"What are you doing here?" I gasped. + +He put a finger to his lips. "Psst!" Then pushing me into the lift, +he ejected the attendant, turned a handle and we shot aloft. +Half-way between heaven and earth he stopped the conveyance and +having made quite sure we were not being overheard by either men or +angels, leaned up against my ear and whispered, "Secret Service!" + +I was amazed. "Not really!" + +Wilbur nodded. "Yes, really! That's why I have to be so careful; +they have their agents everywhere listening, watching, taking notes." + +I felt for my pocket-case momentarily fearful that They (whoever They +were) might have taken mine. + +"And do you have agents also, listening, noting, taking watches?" I +asked. + +Wilbur said he had and went on to explain that so perfect was his +system that a cat could hardly kitten anywhere between the Yildiz +Kiosk and Wilhelmstrasse without his full knowledge and approval. I +was very thrilled, for I had previously imagined all the cloak and +dagger spy business to be an invention of the magazine writer, yet +here was little Wilbur, according to himself, living a life of +continuous yellow drama, more Queuxrious than fiction, rich beyond +dreams of Garavice. (Publisher--"Tut-tut!" Author--"Peccavi!") + +I thrilled and thrilled. "Look here," I implored, "if you are going +to pull off a coup at any time, do let me come too!" + +Wilbur demurred, the profession wasn't keen on amateurs, he +explained; they were too impetuous, lacked subtlety--still if the +opportunity occurred he might--perhaps---- I wrung his hand, then, +seeing that bells on every landing had been in a state of uproar for +some fifteen minutes and that the attendant was commencing to swarm +the cable after his lift, we dropped back to earth again, returned it +to him and went out to lunch. + +"And now tell me something of your methods," said I, as we sat down +to meat. + +Wilbur promptly grabbed me by the collar and dragged me after him +under the table. + +"What's the matter now?" I gulped. + +"Fool!" he hissed. "The waiter is a Bulgarian spy." + +"Let's arrest him then," said I. + +Wilbur groaned. "Oh, you amateurs, you would stampede everything and +ruin all!" + +I apologised meekly and we issued from cover again and resumed our +meal, silently because (according to Wilbur) the peroxide blonde +doing snake-charming tricks with spaghetti at the next table was a +Hungarian agent, and there was a Turk concealed in the potted palms +near by. + +I thrilled and thrilled and thrilled. + +Then followed stirring days. Rome at that time, I gathered, was the +centre of the spy industry and at the height of the sleuthing season, +for they hemmed us in on every hand--according to Wilbur. I was +continually being dragged aside into the shadow of dark arcades to +dodge Austrian Admirals disguised as dustmen, rushed up black alleys +to escape the machinations of Bolshevick adventuresses parading as +parish priests, and submerged in fountains to avoid the evil eyes of +German diplomats camouflaged as flower girls--according to Wilbur. + +I thrilled and thrilled and thrilled and thrilled, bought myself a +stiletto and a false nose. + +However, after about a week of playing trusty Watson to Wilbur's +Sherlock without having effected a single arrest, drugged one +courier, stilettoed a soul, or being allowed to wear my false nose +once, my thrillings became less violent, and giving Wilbur the slip +one afternoon, I went on the prowl alone. About four of the clock my +investigations took me to Latour's. At a small marble table lapping +up ices as a kitten laps cream, I beheld Temporary Second Lieut. +Mervyn Esmond. + +You all of you remember Mervyn Esmond, he of the spats, the eyeglass +and grey top-hat, the Super-Knut of the Frivolity Theatre who used to +gambol so gracefully before the many "twinkling toes" of the +Super-Beauty Chorus, singing "Billy of Piccadilly." You must +remember Mervyn Esmond! + +But that was the Esmond of yore, for a long time past he has been +doing sterling work in command of an Army Pierrot troupe. + +I sat down beside him, stole his ice and finished it for him. + +"And now what are you doing here?" I asked. + +"I've come down from the line to get some new dresses for Queenie," +he replied. "She--he, that is--is absolutely in rags, bursts a pair +of corsets and a pair of silk stockings every performance, very +expensive item." + +I had better explain here and now that Queenie is the leading lady in +Mervyn's troupe. She--he, that is--started her--his--military career +as an artillery driver, but was discovered to be the possessor of a +very shrill falsetto voice and dedicated to female impersonations +forthwith. + +"She--he--is round at the dressmaker's now," Mervyn went on, +"wrestling with half a dozen _hysterical_ mannequins. I'm getting +her--him, I should say--up regardless. Listen. Dainty ninon +georgette outlined with chenile stitching. Charmeuse overtunic, +embroidered with musquash and skunk pom-poms. Crêpe de Chine undies +interwoven with blue baby ribbon, camis----" + +"Stop!" I thundered. "Do you want me to blush myself to death? I am +but a rough soldier." + +Mervyn apologised, wrapped himself round another ice and asked me how +I was amusing myself in Tiber-town. + +Having first ascertained that there were no enemy agents secreted +under the table or among the potted palms, I unburdened my soul to +him concerning Wilbur and the coups that never came off. + +He stared at me for a few moments, his eyes twinkling, then he leaned +over the table. + +"My active brain has evolved a be-autiful plan," said he. "It's +yours for another ice." + +I bought it. + +* * * * * * * * + +I found Wilbur sleuthing the crowd from behind a tall tumbler in the +Excelsior lounge, and dragging him into the lift, hung it up half-way +between here and hereafter, and whispered my great news. + +"Where, when?" he cried, blench-blanching. + +"In my hotel at midnight," I replied. "I hid in a clothes-basket and +heard all. We will frustrate their knavish tricks, thou and I." + +Wilbur did not appear to be as keen as I had expected, he hummed and +hawed and chatted about my amateurishness and impetuosity; but I was +obdurate, and taking him firmly by the arm led him off to dinner. + +I hardly let go of his arm at all for the next five hours, judging it +safer so. + +Five minutes before midnight I led him up the stairs of my hotel and +tip-toeing into a certain room, clicked on the light. + +"See that door over there?" I whispered, pointing, "'tis the +bathroom. Hide there. I shall be concealed in the wardrobe. In +five minutes the conspirators will appear. The moment you hear me +shout, 'Hands up, Otto von Schweinhund, _le jeu est fait_,' or words +to that effect--burst out of the bathroom and collar the lady." + +I pushed Wilbur into the bathroom (he was trembling slightly, +excitement no doubt) and closed the door. + +I had no sooner shut myself into the wardrobe when a man and a woman +entered the room. They were both in full evening dress, the man was +a handsome rascal, the woman a tall, languid beauty, gorgeously +dressed. She flung herself down in a chair and lit a cigarette. The +man carefully locked the door and crossed the room towards her. + +"Hansa," he hissed, "did you get the plans of the fortress?" + +She laughed and taking a packet of papers from the bosom of her +dress, flung it on the table. + +"'Twas easy, _mon cher_." + +He caught it and held it aloft. + +"Victory!" he cried. "The Vaterland is saved!" + +He passed round the table and stood before her, his eyes glittering. + +"You beautiful devil," he muttered, through clenched teeth. "I knew +you could do it. I knew you would bewitch the young attaché. All +men are puppets in your hands, beautiful, beautiful fiend!" + +The moment had come. Hastily donning my false nose, I flung open the +wardrobe, shouted the signal and covered the pair with my stiletto. +The woman screamed and flung herself into the arms of her accomplice. + +"Ah, ha, foiled again! Curse you!" He snarled and covered me with +the plans of the fortress. + +I grappled with him, he grappled with me, the beautiful devil +grappled with both of us; we all grappled. + +There was no movement from the bathroom door. + +We grappled some more, we grappled all over the table, over the +washstand and a brace of chairs. The villain lost his whiskers, the +villainess lost her lovely golden wig, the hero (me) lost his false +nose. I shouted the signal once more, the villain shouted it, the +villainess shouted it, we all shouted it. + +There was no movement from the bathroom door. + +We grappled some more, we grappled over the chest of drawers, under +the carpet and in and out of the towel-horse. + +A muffled report rang out from somewhere about the beautiful devil. + +"For God's sake, go easy!" she wheezed in my left ear. "My corsets +have went!" + +Then, as there was still no movement from the bathroom door, and we +none of us had a grapple left in us, we called "time." + +Mervyn sat up on the edge of the bed sourly regarding the bedraggled +Queenie. + +"In rags once more, twenty pounds' worth of georgette, charmeuse and +ninon whatisname torn to shreds!" he groaned. "Oh, you tom-boy, you!" + +"Come and dig these damn whalebones out of my ribs," said she. + +I staggered across the room and opening the bathroom door, peered +within. + +"Any sign of our friend Sherlock, the spy-hound?" Mervyn enquired. + +"Yes," said I. "He's tumbled in a dead faint into the bath!" + + + + +XXIII + +A FAUX PAS + +When we have finished slaying for the day, have stropped our gory +sabres, hung our horses up to dry and are sitting about after mess, +girths slackened and pipes aglow, it is a favourite pastime of ours +to discuss what we are going to do after the War. + +William, our mess president and transport officer, says frankly, +"Nothing." Three years' continuous struggle to keep the mess going +in whiskey and soda and the officers' kit down to two hundred and +fifty pounds per officer has made an old man of him, once so full of +bright quips and conundrums. The moment Hindenburg chucks up the +sponge off goes William to Chelsea Hospital, there to spend the +autumn of his days pitching the yarn and displaying his honourable +scars gained in many a bloody battle in the mule lines. + +So much for William. The Skipper, who is as sensitive to climate as +a lily of the hot-house, prattles lovingly during the summer months +of selling ice-creams to the Eskimos, and during the winter months of +peddling roast chestnuts in Timbuctoo. MacTavish and the Babe +propose, under the euphonious noms de commerce of Vavaseur and +Montmorency, to open pawn-shops among ex-munition-workers, and +thereby accumulate old masters, grand pianos and diamond tiaras to +export to the United States. For myself I have another plan. + +There is a certain historic wood up north through which bullets +whine, shells rumble and no bird sings. After the War I am going to +float a company, purchase that wood and turn it into a +pleasure-resort for the accommodation of tourists. + +There will be an entrance fee of ten francs, and everything else will +be extra. + +Tea in the dug-out--ten francs. Trips through trenches, accompanied +by trained guides reciting selected passages from the outpourings of +our special correspondents--ten francs. At night grand S.O.S. rocket +and Very light display--ten francs. While for a further twenty +francs the tourist will be allowed to pick up as many souvenirs in +the way of rolls of barbed wire, dud bombs and blind crumps as he can +stagger away with. By this means the country will be cleared of its +explosive matter and I shall be able to spend my declining years in +Park Lane, or, anyway, Tooting. + +Our Albert Edward has not been making any plans as to his future +lately, but just now it looks very much as if his future will be +spent in gaol. It happened this way. He had been up forward doing +some O. Pipping. While he was there he made friends with a battery +and persuaded the poor fools into doing some shooting under his +direction. He says it is great fun sitting up in your O. Pip, a pipe +in your teeth, a telescope clapped to your blind eye, removing any +parts of the landscape that you take a dislike to. + +"I don't care for that tree at A 29.b.5.8"," you say to the +telephone. "It's altogether too crooked (or too straight). Off with +its head!" and, hey presto! the offending herb is not. Or, "That +hill at C 39.d.7.4" is quite absurd; it's ridiculously lop-sided. I +think we'll have a valley there instead." And lo! the absurd +excrescence goes west in a puff of smoke. + +Our Albert Edward spent a most enjoyable week altering the geography +of Europe to suit his taste. Then one morning he made a trifling +error of about thirty degrees and some few thousand yards and removed +the wrong village. + +"One village looks very much like another, and what are a few +thousand yards this way or that in a war of world-wide dimensions? +Gentlemen, let us not be trivial," said our Albert Edward to the +red-hatted people who came weeping to his O. Pip. Nevertheless some +unpleasantness resulted, and our Albert Edward came home to shelter +in the bosom of us, his family. + +The unpleasantness spread, for twenty-four hours later came a chit +for our Albert Edward, saying if he had nothing better to do would he +drop in and swop yarns with the General at noon that day? Our Albert +Edward made his will, pulled on his parade boots, drank half a bottle +of brandy neat, kissed us farewell and rode off to his doom. As he +passed the borders of the camp The O'Murphy uncorked himself from a +drain, and, seeing his boon-companion faring forth a-horse, abandoned +the ratstrafe and trotted after him. + +A word or two explaining The O'Murphy. Two years ago we were camped +at one end of a certain damp dark gully up north. Thither came a +party of big marines and a small Irish terrier, bringing with them a +long naval gun, which they covered with a camouflage of sackcloth and +ashes and let off at intervals. Whenever the long gun was about to +fire the small dog went mad, bounced about behind the gun-trail like +an indiarubber ball, in an ecstasy of expectation. When the great +gun boomed he shrieked with joy and shot away up the gully looking +for the rabbit. The poor little dog's hunt up and down the gully for +the rabbit that never had been was one of the most pathetic sights I +ever saw. That so many big men with such an enormous gun should miss +the rabbit every time was gradually killing him with disgust and +exasperation. + +Meeting my groom one evening I spoke of the matter to him, casually +mentioning that there was a small countryman of ours close at hand +breaking his heart because there never was any rabbit. I clearly +explained to my groom that I was suggesting nothing, dropping no +hints, but I thought it a pity such a sportsman should waste his +talents with those sea-soldiers when there were outfits like ours +about, offering all kinds of opportunities to one of the right sort. +I again repeated that I was making no suggestions and passed on to +some other subject. + +Imagine my astonishment when, on making our customary bi-weekly trek +next day, I discovered the small terrier secured to our tool-limber +by a piece of baling-wire, evidently enjoying the trip and abusing +the limber-mules as if he had known them all his life. Since he had +insisted on coming with us there was nothing further to be said, so +we christened him "The O'Murphy," attached him to the strength for +rations and discipline, and for two years he has shared our joys and +sorrows, our billets and bully-beef, up and down the land of +Somewheres. + +But it was with our Albert Edward he got particularly chummy. They +had the same dislike of felines and the same taste in biscuits. Thus +when Albert Edward rode by, ears drooping, tail tucked in (so to +speak), _en route_ to the shambles, The O'Murphy saw clearly that +here was the time to prove his friendship, and trotted along behind. +On arriving at H.Q. the comrades shook paws and licked each other +good-bye. Then Albert Edward stumbled within and The O'Murphy hung +about outside saucing the brass-collared Staff dogs and waiting to +gather up what fragments remained of his chum's body after the +General had done with it. His interview with the General our Albert +Edward prefers not to describe; it was too painful, too humiliating, +he says. That a man of the General's high position, advanced age and +venerable appearance could lose his self-control to such a degree was +a terrible revelation to Albert Edward. "Let us draw a veil over +that episode," he said. + +But what happened later on he did consent to tell us. When the +General had burst all his blood vessels, and Albert Edward was +congratulating himself that the worst was over, the old man suddenly +grabbed a Manual of Military Law off his desk, hurled it into a +corner and dived under a table, whence issued scuffling sounds, +grunts and squeals. "See that?" came the voice of the General from +under the table. "Of all confounded impudence!--did you see that?" + +Albert Edward made noises in the negative. "A rat, by golly!" boomed +the venerable warrior, "big as a calf, came out of his hole and stood +staring at me. Damn his impudence! I cut off his retreat with the +manual and he's somewhere about here now. Flank him, will you?" + +As Albert Edward moved to a flank there came sounds of another +violent scuffle under the table, followed by a glad whoop from, the +General, who emerged rumpled but triumphant. + +"Up-ended the waste-paper basket on him," he panted, dusting his +knees with a handkerchief. "And now, me lad, what now, eh?" + +"Fetch a dog, sir," answered Albert Edward, mindful of his friend The +O'Murphy. The General sneered, "Dog be blowed! What's the matter +with the old-fashioned cat? I've got a plain tabby with me that has +written standard works on ratting." He lifted up his voice and +bawled to his orderly to bring one Pussums. "Had the old tabby for +years, me lad," he continued; "brought it from home--carry it round +with me everywhere; and I don't have any rat troubles. Orderly! + +"Fellers come out here with St. Bernard dogs, shotguns, poison, +bear-traps and fishing-nets and never get a wink of sleep for the +rats, while one common cat like my old Pussums would---- Oh, where +is that confounded feller?" + +He strode to the door and flung it open, admitting, not an orderly +but The O'Murphy, who nodded pleasantly to him and trotted across the +room, tail twinkling, love-light shining in his eyes, and deposited +at Albert Edward's feet his offering, a large dead tabby cat. + +Albert Edward remembers no more. He had swooned. + + + + +XXIV + +MON REPOS + +Albert Edward and I are on detachment just now. I can't mention what +job we are on because Hindenburg is listening. He watches every move +made by Albert Edward and me and disposes his forces accordingly. +Now and again he forestalls us, now and again he don't. On the +former occasions he rings up Ludendorff, and they make a night of it +with beer and song; on the latter he pushes the bell violently for +the old German God. + +The spot Albert Edward and I inhabit just now is very interesting; +things happen all round us. There is a tame balloon tied by a string +to the back garden, an ammunition column on either flank and an +infantry battalion camped in front. Aeroplanes buzz overhead in +flocks and there is a regular tank service past the door. One way +and another our present location fairly teems with life; Albert +Edward says it reminds him of London. To heighten the similarity we +get bombed every night. + +Promptly after Mess the song of the bomb-bird is heard. The +searchlights stab and slash about the sky like tin swords in a stage +duel; presently they pick up the bomb-bird--a glittering flake of +tinsel--and the racket begins. Archibalds pop, machine guns chatter, +rifles crack, and here and there some optimistic sportsman browns the +Milky Way with a revolver. As Sir I. Newton's law of gravity is +still in force and all that goes up must come down again, it is +advisable to wear a parasol on one's walks abroad. + +In view of the heavy lead-fall Albert Edward and I decided to have a +dug-out. We dug down six inches and struck water in massed +formation. I poked a finger into the water and licked it. "Tastes +odd," said I, "brackish or salt or something." + +"We've uncorked the blooming Atlantic, that's what," said Albert +Edward; "cork it up again quickly or it'll bob up and swamp us." +That done, we looked about for something that would stand digging +into. The only thing we could find was a molehill, so we delved our +way into that. We are residing in it now, Albert Edward, Maurice and +I. We have called it "_Mon Repos_," and stuck up a notice saying we +are inside, otherwise visitors would walk over it and miss us. + +The chief drawback to "_Mon Repos_" is Maurice. Maurice is the +proprietor by priority, a mole by nature. Our advent has more or +less driven him into the hinterland of his home and he is most +unpleasant about it. He sits in the basement and sulks by day, +issuing at night to scrabble about among our boots, falling over +things and keeping us awake. If we say "Boo! Shoo!" or any harsh +word to him he doubles up the backstairs to the attic and kicks earth +over our faces at three-minute intervals all night. + +Albert Edward says he is annoyed about the rent, but I call that +absurd. Maurice is perfectly aware that there is a war on, and to +demand rent from soldiers who are defending his molehill with their +lives is the most ridiculous proposition I ever heard of. As I said +before, the situation is most unpleasant, but I don't see what we can +do about it, for digging out Maurice means digging down "_Mon +Repos_," and there's no sense in that. Albert Edward had a theory +that the mole is a carnivorous animal, so he smeared a worm with +carbolic tooth-paste and left it lying about. It lay about for days. +Albert now admits his theory was wrong; the mole is a vegetarian, he +says; he was confusing it with trout. He is in the throes of +inventing an explosive potato for Maurice on the lines of a +percussion grenade, but in the meanwhile that gentleman remains in +complete mastery of the situation. + +The balloon attached to our back garden is very tame. Every morning +its keepers lead it forth from its abode by strings, tie it to a +longer string and let it go. All day it remains aloft, tugging +gently at its leash and keeping an eye on the War. In the evening +the keepers appear once more, haul it down and lead it home for the +night. It reminds me for all the world of a huge docile elephant +being bossed about by the mahout's infant family. I always feel like +giving the gentle creature a bun. + +Now and again the Boche birds come over disguised as clouds and spit +mouthfuls of red-hot tracer-bullets at it, and then the observers hop +out. One of them "hopped out" into my horse lines last week. That +is to say his parachute caught in a tree and he hung swinging, like a +giant pendulum, over my horses' backs until we lifted him down. He +came into "_Mon Repos_" to have bits of tree picked out of him. This +was the sixth plunge overboard he had done in ten days, he told us. +Sometimes he plunged into the most embarrassing situations. On one +occasion he dropped clean through a bivouac roof into a hot bath +containing a Lieutenant-Colonel, who punched him with a sponge and +threw soap at him. On another he came fluttering down from the blue +into the midst of a labour company of Chinese coolies, who +immediately fell on their faces, worshipping him as some heavenly +being, and later cut off all his buttons as holy relics. An eventful +life. + + + + +XXV + +"FLY, GENTLE DOVE" + +We were told off for a job of work over the bags not long ago. The +Staff sent us some pigeons with their love, and expressed the hope +that we'd drop them a line from time to time and let them know how +the battle was raging, and where. (The Staff live in constant terror +that one day the War will walk completely away from them and some +unruly platoon bomb its way up Unter den Linden without their knowing +a thing about it.) + +Next morning we duly pushed off, and in the course of time found +ourselves deep in Bocheland holding a sketchy line of outposts and +waiting for the Hun to do the sporting thing and counter. More time +passed, and as the Hun showed no signs of getting a move on we began +to look about us and take stock. + +Personally I felt that a square meal might do something towards +curing a hollow feeling that was gnawing me beneath the belt. As I +was rummaging through my haversack the pigeon-carrier approached and +asked for the book of rules. + +Now to the uninitiated, I have no doubt, pigeon-flying sounds the +easiest game in the world. You just take a picture-postcard, mark +the spot you are on with a cross, add a few words, such as, "Hoping +this finds you in the pink, as it leaves me at present--I don't +think," insert it in the faithful fowl's beak, say, "Home, John," and +in a few minutes it is rattling into the General's letter-box. This +is by no means the case. Pigeons are the kittlest of cattle. If you +don't treat them just so they will either chuck up the game on the +spot or hand your note to Hindenburg. To avoid this a book of the +rules is issued to pigeon-carriers, giving instructions as to when +and how the creatures should be fed, watered, exercised, etc. + +On this occasion I felt through my pockets for the book of the rules +and drew blank. "What's the matter with the bird, anyhow?" I asked. + +"Looks a bit dahn-'earted," said the carrier; "dejected-like, as you +might say." + +"Seeing you've been carrying it upside down for the last twenty-four +hours it isn't to be wondered at," said my Troop Sergeant; "blood's +run to its head, that's what." + +"Turn it the other way up for a bit and run the blood back again," I +suggested. + +"Exercise is what it wants," said my sergeant firmly. + +"By all means exercise it, then," said I. + +The carrier demurred. "Very good, sir--but how, sir?" + +"Ask the sergeant," said I. "Sergeant, how do you exercise a pigeon? +Lunge it, or put it through Swedish monkey motions?" + +The sergeant rubbed his chin stubble. + +"Can't say I remember the official method, sir; one might take it for +a walk at the end of a string, or----" + +"These official pigeons," I interposed, "have got to be treated in +the official manner or they won't work; their mechanism becomes +deranged. We had a pigeon at the Umpteenth Battle of Wipers and +upset it somehow. Anyway, when we told it to buzz off and fetch +reinforcements, it sat on a tree licking its fluff and singing, and +we had to throw mud at it to get it to shift. Where it went to then +goodness only knows, for it has never been seen since. I am going to +do the right thing by this bird." + +I thereupon sent a galloper to the next outpost, occupied by the Babe +and Co., asking him the official recipe for exercising pigeons. The +answer came back as follows:-- + +"Ask Albert Edward. All I know about 'em is that you mustn't +discharge birds of opposite sex together as they stop and flirt. + +P.S.--You haven't got such a thing as a bit of cold pudden about you, +guv'nor, have you? I'm all in." + +I sent the galloper galloping on to Albert Edward's post. + +"Don't discharge birds after sunset," ran his reply; "they're afraid +to go home in the dark--that's all I recollect. Ask the Skipper. + +P.S.--Got a bit of bully beef going spare? I'm tucked up something +terrible." + +I sighed and sent my messenger on to the Skipper, inquiring the +official method of exercising pigeons. Half an hour later his answer +reached me-- + +"Don't know. Try eating 'em. That's what I'm doing with mine." + +While on the subject of carrier-pigeons, I may mention that one +winter night I was summoned to Corps H.Q. Said a Red Hat: "We are +going to be rude to the Boche at dawn and we want you to go over with +the boys. When you reach your objectives just drop us a pigeon to +say so. Here's a chit, take it to the pigeon loft and get a good +nippy fowl. Good night and good luck." + +I found the pigeon-fancier inside an old London omnibus which served +for a pigeon-loft, spoon-feeding a sick bird. A dour Lancastrian, +the fancier studied my chit with a sour eye, then, grumbling that he +didn't know what the army was coming to turning birds out of bed at +this hour, he slowly climbed a ladder and, poking his head through a +trap in the roof, addressed himself to the pigeons. + +"That you, Flossie? No, you can't go with them tail feathers missing +to the General's cat. Jellicoe--no, you can't go neither, you've 'ad +a 'ard day out with them tanks. Nasty cough you've got, Gaby; I'll +give you a drop of 'ot for it presently. You're breathin' very +'eavy, Joffre; been over-eatin' yourself again, I suppose--couldn't +fly a yard. Eustace, you're for it." + +He backed down the ladder, grasping the unfortunate Eustace, stuffed +it in a basket and handed it to me. + +"I hope this is a good bird," said I, "nippy and all that?" + +The fancier snorted, "Good bird? Nothing can't stop 'im, barrages, +smoke, nothing. 'E's deserved the V.C. scores of times over; 'e's +the best bird in the army, an' don't you forget it, sir." + +I promised not to, caught up the basket and fled. + +I reached the neighbourhood of the line at about 2 a.m. It was +snowing hard and the whole front was sugared over like a +wedding-cake, every track and landmark obliterated. For some hours I +groped about seeking Battalion H.Q., tripping over hidden wire, +toboganning down snow-masked craters into icy shell-holes, the +inimitable Eustace with me. Finally I fell head-first into a dug-out +inhabited by three ancient warriors, who were sitting round a brazier +sucking cigarettes. They were Brigade Scouts, they told me, and were +going over presently. They were also Good Samaritans, one of them, +Fred, giving me his seat by the fire and a mug of scalding cocoa, +while his colleagues, Messrs. Alf and Bert, attended to Eustace, who +needed all the attention he could get. I caught snatches of their +conversation here and there: "Shall us toast 'im over the brazier a +bit, Alf?" "Wonder if a drop o' rum would 'earten 'im?" "Tip it +into his jaws when 'e yawns, Bert." + +At length Eustace's circulation was declared restored and the three +set about harnessing themselves for the war, encasing their legs in +sand-bags, winding endless mufflers round their heads and donning +innumerable odd overcoats, so that their final appearance was more +that of apple-women than scouts. + +We then set out for the battle, Bert leading the way towards the +barrage which was cracking and banging away in yellow flashes over +the Boche lines. + +Presently we heard a muffled hail ahead. + +"Wazzermatter, Bert?" Alf shouted. + +"They've quit--slung their 'ook," came the voice. + +Fifty yards brought us bumping up against Bert, who was prodding +through the débris of a German post with the point of his bayonet. + +"So the swines have beat it?" said Fred. "Any soovenirs?" + +"Nah!" said Bert, spitting, "not a blinkin' 'am-sandwich." + +"Is this really our objective?" I asked. + +"It is, sir," Bert replied. "Best sit down and keep quiet; the rest +of the boys will be along in a jiffy, and they'd bomb their own +grandmothers when they're worked up." + +I put my hand in the basket and dragged Eustace forth. He didn't +look up to V.C. form. Still I had explicit orders to release him +when our objective was reached, and obedience is second nature with +me. + +I secured my message to his leg, wished him luck and tossed him high +in the air. A swirl of snow hid him from view. + +I didn't call at H.Q. when I returned. I went straight home to bed +and stayed there. As they did not send for me and I heard no more +about it I conjectured that the infallible Eustace had got back to +his bus and all was well. Nevertheless I had a sort of uneasy +feeling about him. I heard no more of it for ten days, and then, out +walking one afternoon, I bumped into the pigeon-fancier. There was +no way of avoiding the man; the lane was only four feet wide, bounded +by nine-foot walls with glass on top. So I halted opposite him, +smiled my prettiest and asked after Eustace. "So glad he got home +all right," said I; "a great bird that." + +The fancier glared at me, his sour eyes sparkling, his fists opening +and shutting. I felt that only bitter discipline stood between them +and my throat. + +"Ay, sir," said he, speaking with difficulty, "he's a great bird, but +not the bird he was. He got home all right yesterday, but very stiff +in the legs from walking every step o' the way." + + + + +XXVI + +THERE AND BACK + +My batman is a man with a grievance. He squats outside my tent all +day moodily burnishing my buttons and swears and sighs, sighs and +swears. In the words of my groom and countryman, "Ye'd think there'd +be a black dog atin' the hearrt in his shest the way he is, the poor +scut." + +I learn that he has given out that if he sees a crump coming he'll +"Blinkin' well wait for it," that he presented his bosom chum with a +black eye gratis, and is declining beer. All this sounds like love, +but isn't. This is the way of it. + +Last week after nineteen months' undetected misbehaviour in the +tented field, he was granted ten days' leave. He departed radiant as +a May morn, groomed and glittering from spurs to cap badge. + +Within three days he was back again. + +According to his version of the affair, he reached the coast in good +order and was given a hearty meal by some ladies in a canteen but +lost it in mid-Channel. Owing to mines, air raids, and things both +boat and train were scandalously late, but in the end he arrived at +Victoria at 6 a.m. still in good order. Outside the station were a +number of civilians waiting for soldier relatives. One of them, a +small sandy man in a black bowler and tie, very respectable +(connected with the retail undertaking trade, my batman says) +accosted him and inquired whether anything had been seen of his +brother Charlie, a territorial bombardier who was supposed to be +coming by that train, but had not materialized. + +My batman could give no information and they fell into a discussion +as to what could have happened to Charlie: whether he might have +missed the train or fallen off the boat. My batman favoured the +latter theory, he had felt very like it himself, he said. One thing +led to another and presently the sandy man said: + +"Well, what about it?" lifting his elbow suggestively, and winking. + +My batman said he didn't mind if he did, so they adjourned to a +little place near by that the sandy man knew of, and had one or two, +the sandy man behaving like a perfect gentleman throughout, standing +drink for drink, cigar for cigar. + +At 7 a.m. or thereabouts, the sandy man excused himself on the plea +of business (which he explained was very healthy owing to the +inclemency of the weather) and betook himself off, my batman +returning to Victoria to retrieve his pack. + +By this time his order was not so good as it had been, owing, he +thinks, to (a) the excitement of being home again, hearing civilians +all talking English and seeing so many intact houses at once; (b) the +bereaved state of his stomach. Whatever it was he navigated to the +station with difficulty and "comin' over all dizzy like," reclined on +a platform bench and closed his eyes. + +When he opened them again it was to see the white cliffs of Albion +rapidly disappearing over the stern rail of a trooper. He closed his +eyes again and told himself he was dreaming, but not for long--he +might deceive his reason but not his stomach. + +He soon saw that he was in mid-Channel going back to France. He sat +up on deck and shouted for someone to stop the ship. + +"'E's come to, Bill," said a familiar voice at his side, and turning, +he beheld the cheerful countenances of Frederick Wilkes and William +Buck, two stalwarts of "ours" who were returning from leave. + +My batman asked Frederick Wilkes what he thought he was doing of. + +"Saving you from six months in clink for over-staying your leaf, ol' +dear!" Frederick replied cheerfully. "Me and Bill found you on the +station, blind to the world, so we loaded you on the train and +bringed you along. Pretty job we had of it, too, getting you past +the red-caps, you slopping about like a lu-natic." + +"Clink! Overstayin' my leaf!" shrilled my batman. "Gor-blimy! I +ain't 'ad no leaf--I only just landed!" + +"Delerious again, Bill," said Frederick, and Bill nodded. "Of course +you've had your leaf, an' a wonderful good leaf, too, by the looks of +you--blind to the world from start to finish, not knowin' dark from +daylight." + +"I'll tell the first R.T.O. I see all about it when I land--you +perishin' kidnappers!" foamed my batman. + +"Ho no, you won't!" said Frederick, complacently. "We aren't going +to 'ave you runnin' about in your light-'eaded condition disgracin' +the regiment--are we, Bill?" + +"Not likely," William Buck replied. "We're going to take you back +with us, safe and sound if we 'ave to break your neck to do it, an' +don't you forget it, ol' man!" + +I think it is extremely improbable that my batman ever will. + + + + +XXVII + +HOT AIR + +The scene is a base camp behind the Western Front. In the background +is a gravel pit, its brow fringed with pines. On the right-hand side +is a black hut; against one wall several cast-iron cylinders are +leaning; against another several stretchers; behind it a squad of +R.A.M.C. orderlies are playing pitch and toss for profit and +pleasure. On the left-hand side is a cemetery. + +On the turf in the centre of the stage are some two hundred members +of the well-known British family, Atkins. The matter in hand being +merely that of life and death those in the rear ranks are whiling +away the time by playing crown and anchor. Their less fortunate +comrades in the prominence of the front ranks are "havin' a bit o' +shut eye"--in other words are fast asleep sitting up, propped the one +against the other. + +Before them stands a Bachelor of Science disguised as a Second +Lieutenant. From the green and black brassard about his arm and the +_attar de chlorine_ and _parfum de phosgene_ which cling about him in +a murky aureole one would guess him to be connected with the Gas +Service. And one would be quite correct; he is. + +* * * * * * * * + +Lecturer: "Ahem! Pay attention to me, please; I am going to give you +a little chat on Gas. When you go up the line one of two things must +inevitably happen to you; you will either be gassed or you will not. +If you are not gassed strict attention to this lecture will enable +you to talk as if you had been. On the other hand, if you are gassed +it will enable you to distinguish to which variety you succumbed, +which will be most instructive. + +"There are more sorts of gas than one. There is the Home or Domestic +Gas, which does odd jobs about the house at a bob a time, and which +out here is fed to observation balloons to get them off the earth. +There is Laughing Gas, so called from the fun the dentist gets out of +his victims while they are under its influence; and lastly there is +Hun Gas, which is not so amusing. + +"Three varieties of gas are principally employed by the Hun. The +first of these is Chlorine. Chlorine smells like a strong sanitary +orderly or weak chloride of lime. The second on our list is Mustard +Gas, so called because it smells like garlic. Everything that smells +of garlic is not Mustard Gas, however, as a certain British Division +which went into the line alongside some of our brave Southern allies +regretfully discovered after they had been sweltering in their masks +for thirty-six long, long hours. + +"The third and last is Phosgene. Phosgene has a greenish whitish +yellowish odour all its own, reminiscent of decayed vegetation, +mouldy hay, old clothes, wet hides, burnt feathers, warm mice, +polecats, dead mules, boiled cabbage, stewed prunes, sour grapes, or +anything else you dislike. + +"As all these gases have a depressing effect on the consumer if +indulged in too freely the War Office has devised an effective +counter-irritant, the scientific wonder of the age, the soldier's +friend and _multum in parvo_--in short, the Respirator-Box. Here you +will observe I have a respirator-box as issued to the troops. + +"There are other kinds with lace trimmings and seasonable mottoes +worked in coloured beads for the use of the Staff; but they do not +concern us. Let us now examine the ordinary respirator-box. What do +we discover? A neat canvas satchel, knapsack or what-not, which will +be found invaluable for the storage of personal knick-knacks, such as +soap, knives and forks, socks, iron rations, mouth-organs, +field-marshal's batons, etc. Within the satchel (what-not or +knapsack) we discover a rubber sponge-bag pierced with motor goggles, +a clothes-peg, a foot of garden hose, a baby's teether (chewers among +you will find this a comforting substitute for gum), a yard or two of +strong twine (first-aid to the braces), a tube of Anti-Dimmer (use it +as tooth-paste, your smile will beam more brightly), and a record +card, on which you are invited to inscribe your name, age, vote and +clubs; your golf, polo and ludo handicaps; complaints as to the +cooking or service and any sunny sentiments or epigrams that may +occur to you from time to time. + +"Should you be in the line and detect the presence of hostile gas in +large numbers your first action should be to don your respirator-box +and your second to give the alarm. The donning of the respirator is +done in five motions by the best people:-- + +"1. Remove the cigarette, chewing-gum or false teeth from the mouth +and place it (or them) behind the ear (or ears). + +"2. Tear the sponge-bag out of the knapsack (what-not or satchel) and +slap it boldly on the face as you would a mustard-plaster. + +"3. Pin it to your nose by means of the clothes-peg. + +"4. Work the elastics well into the back hair. + +"5. Swallow the teether and carry on with deep breathing exercises, +as done by Swedes, sea-lions and such-like. + +"The respirator once in position, pass the good news on to your +comrades by performing _fortissimo_ on one of the numerous alarums +with which every nice front line is liberally provided. But please +remember that gas alarms are for gas only, and do not let your +natural exuberance or love of music carry you away, as it is liable +to create a false impression; witness the case of some of our +high-spirited Colonials, who, celebrating a national festival (the +opening of the whippet racing-season in New South Wales) with a full +orchestra of Klaxon and Strombos horns, rattles, gongs, shell-cases, +tin-cans, sackbuts, psalteries and other instruments of musick, sent +every living soul in an entire army area stampeding into their +smell-hats, there to remain for forty-eight hours without food, drink +or benefit of clergy. + +"Having given you full instructions as to the correct method of +entering your respirators I will now tell you how to extricate +yourselves. You must first be careful to ascertain that there is no +gas left about. Tests are usually made (1) with a white mouse, (2) +with a canary. + +"If the white mouse turns green there is gas present; if it don't +there ain't. If the canary wags his tail and whistles 'Gee! ain't it +dandy down in Dixie!' all is well, but if it wheezes 'The End of a +Perfect Day' and moults violently, beware, beware! If through the +negligence of the Quartermastering Department you have not been +equipped with either mice or canaries do not start sniffing for gas +yourselves, but remember that your lives are of value to your King +and country and send for an officer. To have first sniff of all gas +is one of an officer's privileges; he hasn't many, but this is one of +them and very jealously guarded as such. If an officer should catch +you snuffing up all the gas in the neighbourhood he will be +justifiably annoyed and peevish. + +"Now; having given you all the theory of anti-gas precautions, we +will indulge in a little practice. When I shout the word 'Gas!' my +assistants will distribute a few smoke bombs among you, and every man +will don his respirator in five motions and wend his way towards the +gas-chamber, entering it by the south door and leaving it by the +north. Is that quite clear? Then get ready. Gas!" + +* * * * * * * * + +Four or five N.C.O. Instructors suddenly pop up out of the gravel pit +and bombard the congregation with hissing smoke grenades. The front +ranks wake up, spring to their feet in terror and leg it for safety +at a stretched gallop, shedding their respirators for lightness' sake +as they flee. The rear ranks, who, in spite of themselves, have +heard something of the lecture, burrow laboriously into their masks. +Some wear them as hats, some as ear-muffs, some as chest-protectors. + +The smoke rolls over them in heavy yellow billows. + +Shadow shapes, hooded like Spanish inquisitors, may be seen here and +there crouched as in prayer, struggling together or groping blindly +for the way out. One unfortunate has his head down a rabbit-hole, +several blunder over the edge of the gravel pit and are seen no more. + +There is a noise of painful laboured breathing as of grampuses in +deep water or pigs with asthma. + +The starchy N.C.O. Instructors close on the helpless mob and with +muffled yelps and wild waving of arms herd them towards the south +door of the gas-chamber, push them inside and shoot the bolts. + +The R.A.M.C. Orderlies are busy hauling the bodies out of the north +door, loading them on stretchers and trotting them across to the +cemetery, at the gates of which stands the Base Burial Officer +beaming welcome. + +The lecturer, seeing the game well in progress, lights a pipe and +strolls home to tea. + + + + +XXVIII + +THE CONVERT + +I found No. 764, Trooper Hartley, W.J., in the horse lines, sitting +on a hay-bale perusing a letter which seemed to give him some +amusement. On seeing me he arose, clicked his spurs and saluted. I +returned the salute, graciously bidding him carry on. We go through +the motions of officer and man very punctiliously, William and I. In +other days, in other lands, our relative positions were easier. + +The ceremonies over I sat down beside him on the hay-bale, and we +became Bill and Jim to each other. + +"Did you ever run across Gustav Müller in the old days?" William +inquired, thumbing a fistful of dark Magliesburg tobacco into his +corn-cob incinerator. "'Mafoota,' the niggers called him, a beefy +man with an underdone complexion." + +"Yes," I said, "he turned up in my district on the Wallaby in 1913 or +thereabouts, with nothing in the world but a topee, an army overcoat +and a box of parlour magic. Set up as a wizard in Chala's kraal. +Used to produce yards of ribbon out of the mouths of the afflicted, +and collapsible flower-pots out of their nostrils--casting out +devils, you understand. Was scratching together a very comfortable +practice; but he began to dabble in black politics, so I moved him +on. An entertaining old rogue; I don't know what became of him." + +William winked at me through a cloud of blue tobacco smoke. "I do. +He went chasing a rainbow's end North of the Lakes, and I went along +with him. You see, Gustav's great-aunt Gretchen appeared to him in a +dream and told him there was alluvial gold in a certain river bed, +tons of it, easy washing, so we went after it. We didn't find it; +but that's neither here nor there; a man must take a chance now and +again, and this was the first time Gustav's great-aunt had let him +down. She'd given him the straight tip for two Melbourne Cups and a +Portugoose lottery in her time. Some girl, great-aunt Gretchen! +Anyway there was Gustav and me away up at the tail-end of Nowhere, +with the boys yapping for six months' back pay, and we couldn't have +bought a feed of hay for a nightmare between us. We just naturally +had to do something, so----" + +"So you just naturally took to poaching ivory," said I. "I know you. +Go on." + +William grinned. "Well, a man must live, you know. How'msodever we +struck a bonanza vein of _m'jufu_ right away and piled up the long +white nuggets in a way that would drive you to poetry. A Somali Arab +took the stuff from us on the spot, paying us in cattle at a +fifty-per-cent discount, which was reasonable enough, seeing that he +ran ninety per cent of the risks. Everything sailed along like a +beautiful dream. The elephants was that tame they'd eat out of your +hand, and you could stroll out and bowl over a dozen of the silly +blighters before breakfast if you felt in the mood. The police +hadn't got our address as yet. The only competitor that threatened +got buckshot in his breeches, which changed his mind and direction +for him very precipitous. The industry boomed and boomed. + +"'Another year of this,' says I to myself, 'and I'll retire home and +grow roses, drive a pony-trap and be a churchwarden.' + +"Then one day the Arab headman blows into camp, and squatting outside +our tent, commences to lamentate and pipe his eye in a way that would +make you think he'd ate a skinful of prickly pears. + +"'What's biting you, Bluebell?' I asked. + +"'_Allah akbar_! God is good but business is rotten,' says he, and +pitches a woeful yarn how that columns of Askaris was marching +thither and thence, poking their flat noses in where they wasn't +invited; Inglische gunboats were riding every wave, scaring seven +bells out of the coast dhows, and consequently commerce was sent to +blazes and a poor man couldn't get an honest living no-how. The long +and short of it was that ivory smuggling was off for the period of +the War. + +"'What war, you scum?' says Gustav, pricking his freckled ears. +'Who's warring?' + +"'The Inglische and Germans, of course,' says the Arab. 'Didn't the +B'wana know?' + +"'No, the B'wana doesn't,' says I; 'our private Marconi outfit is +broke down owing to the monkeys swinging on the wires. Now trot +home, you barbarous ape, while me and my colleague throws a ray of +pure intellect on the problem. _Bassi_.' + +"So he soon dismisses at the double and is seen no more in them +vicinities. + +"'Well, partner,' says I to Gustav, 'this is a fair knock-out--what?' + +"But Gustav, he grumbles something I couldn't catch and walks off +into the bush with his head down, afflicted with thought. + +"He didn't come in for supper, so I scoffed his share and turned in. + +"At moonrise I thought I heard a bull elephant trumpeting like he was +love-sick, but it wasn't. It was Gustav coming home singing the +_Wacht am Rhein_. He brings up opposite my bed. + +"'Oh, give over and let the poor lions and leopards snatch some +sleep,' says I. + +"'I was born in Shermany,' says he. + +"'Don't let that keep you awake, ole man,' says I. 'What saith the +prophet? "If a cat kittens on a fish-plate they ain't necessarily +herrings."' + +"'I'm a Sherman,' says he. + +"'You've been so long with white men that nobody'd know it,' says I. +'Forget it, and I won't tell on you. Why, you ain't seen Shermany +these thirty years, and you wouldn't know a squarehead if you was to +trip over one. Go to bed, Mr. Caruso.' + +"'Well, I'm going to be a mighty good Sherman now, to make up for +lost time,' says he grim-like, 'and in case you got any objections +I'll point out that you've the double express proximitous to your +stomach.' + +"He had me bailed up all right. Arguments weren't no use with the +cuss. 'I'm a Sherman' was all he'd say; and next day we starts to +hoof it to Germany territory, me promenading in front calling Gustav +every name but his proper one, and him marching behind, prodding me +in the back with the blunderbuss. He disenjoyed that trip even more +than I did; he had to step behind me all day for fear I'd dodge him +into the bush; and he sat up all night for fear the boys would rescue +me. He got as red-eyed as a bear and his figure dropped off him in +bucketfuls. + +"At the end of a month we crossed the border and hit the trail of the +Deutscher--burnt villages everywhere, with the mutilated bodies of +women and picaninnies lying about, stakes driven through 'em, Waugh! + +"'Are you still a Sherman?' I asks; but Gustav says nothing; he'd +gone a bit white about the gills all the same. Then one morning we +tumbles into one of their columns and the game is up. I was given a +few swipes with a _kiboko_ for welcome and hauled before the +Commander, a little short cove with yellow hair, a hand-carved jaw +and spectacles. He diagnosed my case as serious, prescribed me some +more _kiboko_, and I was hove into a grass hut under guard, pending +the obsequies. + +"The Officers called Gustav a good sport, gave him a six-by-four +cigar and took him off to dinner. I noticed he looked back at me +once or twice. So I sits down in the hut and meditates on some +persons' sense of humour, with a big Askari buck padding it up and +down outside, whiling away the sunny hours with a bit of +disembowelling practice on his bayonet. + +"A couple of days flits by while the column is away spreading the +good word with fire and stake. Then on the third night I hears a +scuffle outside the hut, and the Askari comes somersaulting backwards +through the grass wall like as if an earthquake had butted him in the +brisket. He gave a couple of kicks and stretched out like as if he +was tired. + +"'Whist! Is that you, Bill?' comes a whisper through the hole. + +"'What's left of me,' says I. 'Who are you?' + +"'Me--Gustav,' says the whisperer. + +"'What's the antic this time? Capturing me again?' says I. + +"'No, I'm rescuing you now,' says he. + +"'The devil you are,' says I, and with that I glided out through the +hole and followed him on my stomach. A sentry gave tongue at the +scrub-edge, but Gustav rose up out of the grass and bumped him behind +the ear and we went on. + +"'Well, you're a lovely quick-change artist, capturing a bloke one +moment and rescuing him the next,' says I presently. 'What's come +over you? Ain't you a Sherman no more?' + +"Gustav groans as if his heart was broke. 'I've been away thirty +years. I didn't know they was like that; I'd forgotten. Oh, my +Gawd, what swine!' He spits like a man that has bit sour beer, and +we ran on again." + + +"Didn't they chase you?" I asked. + +William nodded. + +"But they couldn't catch two old bush-bucks like us, and the next day +we fell in with a British column that was out hunting them. 'Twas a +merry meeting. Gustav enlisted with the Britishers on the spot." + +William tapped the travel-soiled letter in his hand. "This is from +him. He's down in Nairobi, wounded. He says he's sitting up taking +nourishment, and that great-aunt Gretchen has appeared to him again +and showed him a diamond pipe in the Khali Hari, which will require a +bit of looking into _après la guerre_--if there ever is any _après_." + + + + +XIX + +A REST CURE + +Not long ago a notice appeared in Part II Orders to the effect that +our Army had established a Rest Home at X where invalid officers +might be sent for a week's recuperation. + +Now X is a very pleasant place, consisting of a crowd of doll's-house +châlets set between cool pine-woods and the sea. + +The châlets are labelled variously "Villa des Roses," "Les +Hirondelles," "Sans Souci," and so on, and in the summertimes of +happier years swarmed with comfortable bourgeois, bare-legged +children and Breton nannas; but in these stern days a board above the +gate of "Villa des Roses" announces that the Assistant-Director of +Agriculture may be found within meditating on the mustard-and-cress +crop, while "Les Hirondelles" and "Sans Souci" harbour respectively +the Base Press Censor (whose tar-brush hovered over this perfectly +priceless article) and a platoon of the D.L.O.L.R.R.V.R. (Duchess of +Loamshire's Own Ladies' Rabbit Rearing Volunteer Reserve). + +X, as I said before, is an exceedingly pleasant place; you may lean +out of the window o' mornings and watch the D.L.O.L.R.R.V.R.'s +Sergeant-Majoress putting her platoon through Swedish monkey motions, +and in the afternoons you can recline on the sands and watch them +sporting in the glad sea-waves (telescopes protruding from the upper +windows of "Villa des Roses" and "Sans Souci" suggesting that the +A.D.A. and the B.P.C. are similarly employed). + +The between-whiles may be spent lapping up ozone from the sea, resin +from the pine-woods, and champagne cocktails which Marie-Louise mixes +so cunningly in the little café round the corner; and what with one +thing and another the invalid officer goes pig-jumping back to the +line fit to mince whole brigades of Huns with his bare teeth. + +X, you will understand, is a very admirable institution, and when we +heard about this Rest Home we were all for it and tried to cultivate +fur on the tongue, capped hocks and cerebral meningitis; but the +Skipper hardened his heart against us and there was nothing doing. + +Then one morning MacTavish came over all dithery-like in the lines, +fell up against a post, smashed his wrist-watch and would have +brained himself had that been possible. + +He picked himself up, apologised for making a fool of himself before +the horses, patched his scalp with plaster from his respirator, +borrowed my reserve watch "Pretty Polly," and carried on. + +"Pretty Polly" can do two laps to any other watch's one without +turning a hair-spring. Externally she looks very much like any other +mechanical pup the Ordnance sells you for eleven francs net; her +secret lies in her spring, which, I imagine, must have been intended +for "Big Ben," but sprang into the wrong chassis by mistake. + +At all events as soon as it is wound up it lashes out left and right +with such violence that the whole machine leaps with the shock of its +internal strife and hops about on the table after the manner of a +Mexican dancing bean, clucking like an ostrich that has laid twins. + +It will be gathered that my "Pretty Polly" is not the ultimate +syllable in the way of accuracy, but as MacTavish seemed to want her +and had been kind to me in the way of polo-sticks, I handed her over +without a murmur. + +The same afternoon MacTavish came over dithery again, dived into a +heap of bricks and knocked himself out for the full count. + +We put him to bed and signalled the Vet. The Vet reported that +MacTavish's temperature was well above par and booming. He went on +to state that MacTavish was suffering from P.U.O. (which is Spanish +for "flu") and that he probably wouldn't weather the night. + +The Skipper promptly 'phoned O.C. Burials, inviting him to dine next +evening, and Albert Edward wired his tailor, asking what was being +worn in headstones. + +William, our Mess President, took up a position by the sick man's +side in hopes he would regain consciousness for long enough to settle +his mess-bill, and the rest of us spent the evening recalling +memories of poor old Mac, his many sterling qualities, etc. + +However, next morning a batman poked his head into the Mess and said +could Mr. MacTavish have a little whisky, please, he was fancying it, +and anyway you couldn't force none of that there grool down him not +if you was to use a drenching bit. + +At noon the batman was back to say that Mr. MacTavish was fancying a +cigarette now, also a loan of the gramophone and a few cheerful +records. + +The Skipper promptly 'phoned postponing O.C. Burials, and Albert +Edward wired his tailor, changing his order to that of a canary +waistcoat. + +That evening MacTavish tottered into the Mess and managed to surround +a little soup, a brace of cutlets and a bottle of white wine without +coming over dithery again. + +But for all that he was not looking his best; he weaved in his walk, +his eye was dull, his nose hot, his ear cold and drooping, and the +Skipper, gazing upon him, remembered the passage in Part II Orders +and straightway sat down and applied that MacTavish be sent to X at +once, adding such a graphic pen-picture of the invalid (most of it +copied from a testimonial to somebody's backache pills) as to reduce +us to tears and send MacTavish back to his bed badly shaken to hear +how ill he'd been. + +The Skipper despatched his pen-picture to H.Q. and forgot all about +it, and so did H.Q. apparently, for we heard nothing further, and in +due course forgot all about it ourselves, and in the meanwhile +MacTavish got back into form, and MacTavish in form is no shrinking +lily be it said. + +He has a figure which tests every stitch in his Sam Browne, a bright +blue eye and a complexion which an external application of mixed +weather and an internal application of tawny port has painted the hue +of the beetroot. + +Then suddenly, like a bomb from the blue, an ambulance panted up to +the door and presented a H.Q. chit to the effect that the body of +MacTavish be delivered to it at once to bear off to X. + +The Skipper at the time was out hacking and Albert Edward was in +charge; he sent an orderly flying to MacTavish, who rolled in from +his tent singing "My Friend John" at the top of his voice and looking +more like an over-fed beetroot than ever. + +"Dash it all, I don't want to go to their confounded mortuary," he +shouted; "never felt fitter in my life. I can't go; I won't go!" + +"You'll have to," said Albert Edward; "can't let the Skipper down +after that pen-picture he wrote; the Staff would never believe +another word he said. No, MacTavish, my son, you'll have to play the +game and go." + +"But, you ass, look at him," wailed the Babe; "look at his ruddy, +ruby, tomato-ketchup, plum-and-apple complexion. What are you going +to do about that?" + +"I'll settle his complexion," replied Albert Edward grimly; "tell his +man to toss his tooth-brush into the meat-waggon; and you, Mac, come +with me." + +He led the violently protesting MacTavish into the kitchen. The cook +tells me Albert Edward pounded two handfuls of flour into MacTavish's +complexion and filled his eye-sockets up with coal-dust, and I quite +believe the cook, for in five minutes' time I came on Albert Edward +dragging what I at first took to be the body of a dead Pierrot down +the passage towards the waiting ambulance, at the same time exhorting +it to play the game and wobble for the Skipper's sake. + +The wretched MacTavish, choking with flour and blinded with +coal-dust, wobbled like a Clydesdale with the staggers. + +I saw a scared R.A.M.C. orderly bound out of the car and assist +Albert Edward to hoist MacTavish aboard, trip him up and pin him down +on a stretcher. Then the ambulance coughed swiftly out of sight. + +The allotted week passed but no MacTavish came bounding back to us +like a giant refreshed with great draughts of resin, and we grew +anxious; which anxiety did not abate when, in reply to the Skipper's +inquiries, the Rest Home authorities wired denying all knowledge of +him. + +Goodness knows what we should have done if a letter from MacTavish +himself had not arrived next morning, to say that he had lain on his +back in the ambulance digging coal-dust out of his eyes and coughing +up flour till the car stopped, not, to his surprise, at the Rest +Home, but at a Casualty Clearing Station. + +Some snuffling R.A.M.C. orderlies bore him tenderly to a tent and a +doctor entered, also snuffling. MacTavish is of the opinion that the +whole of the medical staff had P.U.O., and the doctor was the sickest +of the lot and far from reliable. + +At all events, on seeing MacTavish's face, he ejaculated a bronchial +"Good Lord!" and tearing MacTavish's tunic open, stuck a trumpet +against his tummy and listened for the ticks. + +Apparently he heard something sensational, for he wheezed another +"Good Lord!" and decorated MacTavish with a scarlet label. + +Within an hour our hero found himself on board a Red Cross train _en +route_ for the coast. + +There were a lot of cheerful wounded on the bus, getting all the soup +and jelly they wanted; but MacTavish got only lukewarm milk and +precious little of that. From scraps of hushed conversation he +caught here and there he gathered that his life hung by a thread. + +He was feeling very bewildered and depressed, he said, but, +remembering his duty to the Skipper, played the game and kept body +and soul together on drips of jelly surreptitiously begged from the +cheerful wounded. + +Next morning he found himself in hospital in England, where he still +remains. He says he has been promoted from warm milk to cold slops, +but is still liable to die at any moment, he understands. + +He has discovered that he was sent home with "galloping heart +disease," but nobody in the hospital can get even a trot out of it, +and boards of learned physicians sit on him all day long, their +trumpets planted on his tummy listening for the ticks. + +MacTavish says he thinks it improbable that they ever will hear any +ticks now, for the excellent reason that he threw the cause +thereof--my "Pretty Polly," to wit--out of the window the day he +arrived. + +In a postscript he adds that he considers he has played the game far +enough, and that if the Skipper doesn't come and bail him out soon +he'll bite the learned physicians, kiss the nurses, sing "My Friend +John" and disgrace the Regiment for ever. + + + + +XXX + +THE HARRIERS (I) + +The Boche having lately done a retreat--"strategic retirement," +"tactical adjustment," "elastic evasion," or whatever Ludendorff is +calling it this week--in plain words the Boche, having gloriously +trotted backwards off a certain slice of France, Albert Edward and I +found ourselves attached to a Corps H.Q. operating in a wilderness of +grass-grown fields, ruined villages and smoking châteaux. + +One evening Albert Edward loitered up to the hen-house I was +occupying at the time and chatted to me through the wires as I shaved. + +"Put up seventeen hares and ten covey of partridges visiting outposts +to-day--take my advice and scrap that moustache while you're about +it, it must be a heavy drain on your system--and twenty hares and +four covey riding home. Do you find lathering the ears improves +their growth, or what?" + +"The country is crawling with game," said I, ignoring his +personalities, "and here we are hanging body and soul together on +bully and dog biscuit." + +"Exactly," said Albert Edward, "and in the meanwhile the festive +_lapin_ breeds and breeds. Has it ever occurred to you that, if +something isn't done soon, we'll have Australia's sad story over +again here in Picardy? Give the rabbits a chance and in no time +they'll have eaten off all the crops in France. Why, on the Burra +I've seen----" + +"One moment," said I; "if I listen to your South Australian rabbit +story again you've got to listen to my South African locust yarn; +it's only fair." + +"Oh, shut up," Albert Edward growled; "can't you understand this +question is deadly serious?" + +"Best put the Tanks on to 'em then," I suggested; "they'd enjoy +themselves, and the Waterloo Cup wouldn't be in it--Captain +Monkey-Wrench's brindled whippet, 'Sardine Tin,' 6 to 4; Major +Spanner's 'Pig Iron,' 7 to 2; even money the field." + +"Your humour is a trifle strained," said Albert Edward; "if you're +not careful you'll crack a joke at the expense of a tendon one of +these days." + +"Look here," said I, wiping the blood off my safety-razor, "you're +evidently struggling to give expression to some heavy brain wave; out +with it." + +"What about a pack of harriers?" said Albert Edward. "There must be +swarms of sportive tykes about, faithful Fidos that have stuck to the +dear old homestead through thick and thin, also refugee animals that +follow the sweet-scented infantry cookers. I've got my old +hunting-horn; you've got your old crop; between the two we ought to +be able to mobilize 'em a bit and put the wind up these darn hares. +I'm going to try anyway. I may say I look on it as a duty." + +"Looked on in that light it's a sacred duty," said I; +"and--er--incidentally we might reap a haunch of hare out of it now +and again, mightn't we?" + +"Incidentally, yes," said Albert Edward, "and a trifle of sport into +the bargain--incidentally." + +So we set about collecting a pack there and then by offering our +servants five francs per likely dog and no questions asked. + +No questions were asked, but I have a strong suspicion that our +gentlemen were up all night and that there were dark deeds done in +the dead of it, for the very next evening my groom and countryman +presented us with a bill for forty-five francs. + +The dogs, he informed us, were kennelled "in a little shmall place +the like of an ice-house" at the northern extremity of the château +grounds, and that "anyway a blind man himself couldn't miss them wid +the screechin' an' hollerin' they are afther raisin' be dint of the +confinement." + +I had an appointment with the Q. Staff (to explain why I had indented +for sixty-four horse rations while only possessing thirty-two horses, +the excuse that they all enjoyed very healthy appetites apparently +not sufficing), so Albert Edward went forth to inspect the pack alone. + +He came into Mess very late, looking hot and dishevelled. + +"My word, they've looted a blooming menagerie," he panted in my ear; +"still, couldn't expect to pick Pytchley puppies off every bush, I +suppose." + +"What have they got, actually?" I inquired. + +"Two couple of Belgian light-draught dogs--you know, the kind they +hitch on to any load too heavy for a horse--an asthmatic beagle, an +anæmic bloodhound, a domesticated wolf, an unfrocked poodle, and a +sort of dropsical pug." + +"What on earth is the pug for?" I asked. + +"Luck," said Albert Edward. "Your henchman says 'them kind of little +dogs do be bringing ye luck,' and backs it up with a very convincing +yarn of an uncle of his in Bally-something who had a lucky dog--'as +like this wan here as two spits, except maybe for the least little +curliness of the tail'--which provided complete immunity from ghosts, +witches' evil and ingrowing toe-nails. I thought it cheap at five +francs." + +"But, good Lord, that lot'll never hunt hares," I protested. + +"Won't they?" said Albert Edward grimly. "With the only meal they'll +ever see prancing along in front of them, and you and me prancing +along behind scourging 'em with scorpions, I rather fancy they will. +By the way, I know you won't mind, but I've had to shift your bed out +under the chestnut-tree; it's really quite a good tree as trees go." + +"But why can't I stop in my hen-house?" I objected. + +"Because I've just moved the pack there," said he. + +"But why?" I went on. "What's the matter with the ice-house?" + +"That's just it," he hissed in my ear; "it isn't an ice-house--never +was; it's the De Valcourt family vault." + +The next day being propitious, we decided to hold our first meet that +evening, and issued a few invitations. The Veterinary Bloke and the +Field Cashier promised to show up, likewise the Padre, once the +sacredness of our cause had been explained to him. + +At noon "stables" Albert Edward reported the pack in fine fettle. +"Kicking up a fearful din and look desperate enough to hunt a holy +angel," said he. "At five o'clock, me lad, Hard forrard! Tally-ho! +and Odds-boddikins!" + +However at 4.45 p.m., just as I was mounting, he appeared in my lines +wearing slacks and a very downcast expression. + +"Wash-out," he growled; "they've been fed and are now lying about, +blown up and dead to the world." + +"But who the devil fed them?" I thundered. + +"They fed themselves," said Albert Edward. "They ate the blooming +lucky dog at half-past four." + +We therefore postponed the hunt until the morrow; but cannibalism (so +cannibals assure me), once indulged in, becomes as absorbing as +morphia or jig-saws, and at two-fifteen the next afternoon my groom +reported the beagle to have gone the way of the pug, and the pack +once more dead to the world. + +There was nothing for it but to postpone the show yet again, and tie +up each hound separately as a precaution against further orgies. + +However it seemed to have become a habit with them, for the moment +they were unleashed on the evening of the third day they turned as +one dog upon the poodle. + +I wiped the bloodhound's nose for him with a deft swipe of my whip +lash, and Albert Edward's charger anchored the domesticated wolf by +treading firmly on its tail, all of which served to give the fugitive +a few seconds' start; and then a wave of mad dog dashed between our +horses' legs and was on his trail screaming for gore. + +The poodle heard the scream and did not dally, but got him hence with +promptitude and agility. He streaked across the orchard, leading by +five lengths; but the good going across the park reduced his +advantage. He dived through the fence hard pressed and, with the +bloodhound's hot breath singeing his tail feathers, leaped into the +back of a large farm-cart which happened, providentially for him, to +be meandering down the broad highway. + +In the shafts of the cart was a sleepy fat Percheron mare. On the +seat was a ponderous farmeress, upholstered in respectable black and +crowned with a bead bonnet. They were probably making a sentimental +excursion to the ruins of their farm. I know not; but I do know that +the fat mare was suddenly shocked out of a pleasant drowse to find +herself the centre of a frenzied pack of wolves, bloodhounds and +other dog-hooligans, and, not liking the look of things, promptly +bolted. + +Albert Edward and I dropped over the low hedge to see the cart +disappearing down the road in a whirl of dust pursued by our +vociferous harriers. + +The fat farmeress, her bonnet wobbling over one ear, was tugging +manfully at the reins and howling to Saint Lazarus of Artois to put +on the brakes. Over the tail-board protruded the head of the poodle, +yelping derision at his baffled enemies. + +People will tell you Percherons cannot gallop; can't they? Believe +me that grey mare flitted like a startled gazelle. At all events she +was too good for our pack, whom we came upon a mile distant, lying on +their backs in a ditch, too exhausted to do anything but put their +tongues out at us, while far away we could see a small cloud of dust +careering on towards the horizon. + +"God help the Traffic Controlman at the next corner," Albert Edward +mused; "he'll never know what struck him. Well, that was pretty +cheery while it lasted, what? To see that purler the Padre took over +the garden-wall was alone worth the money." + +"Oh, well, I suppose we'd best herd these perishers home to kennels +while they're still too weak to protest. Come on." + +"And in the meanwhile the festive _lapin_ breeds and breeds," said +Albert Edward. + + + + +XXXI + +THE HARRIERS (II) + +Albert Edward and I were seated on a log outside the hen-house which +kennelled our pack when we perceived Algy, the A.D.C., tripping +daintily towards us. Albert Edward blew a kiss. "Afternoon, Algy. +How _chit_ he looks in his pink and all! Tell me, do people ever +mistake you for a cinema attendant and give you pennies?" + +"Afternoon, Algy," said I. "Been spending a strenuous morn carrying +the old man's respirator--with his lunch inside?" + +For answer Algy tipped me backwards off the log, and sitting down in +my place, contemplated our hounds for some seconds. + +"And are these the notorious Hare-'em Scare-'ems?" he inquired. + +I nodded. "Yessir; absolutely the one and only pack of harriers +operating in the war zone. Guaranteed gun-broke, shell-shocked, +shrapnel-pitted and bullet-bitten." + +Algy sniffed. "What's that big brute over in the corner, he of the +crumpled face and barbed smile? Looks like a bloodhound." + +"Is a bloodhound," said Albert Edward. "If you don't believe me step +inside and behave like raw rump steak for a moment." + +Algy pointed his cane. "And that creature industriously delousing +itself? That's a wolf, of course?" + +"Its wolfery is only skin-deep," said I. "A grey gander all but +annihilated it yesterday. In my opinion it's a sheep in wolf's +clothing." + +Algy wagged his cane, indicating the remaining two couples. + +"And these? What breed would you call them?" + +Albert Edward grunted. "You could call them any breed you like and +be partly right. We've named them 'The Maconochies,' which, being +interpreted, meaneth a little of everything." + +"And how many hares have you killed?" Algy inquired. + +"We haven't exactly killed any as yet," said I, "but we've put the +breeze up 'em; their _moral_ is very low." + +"Well, my bold Nimrods," said Algy, "I'm sorry to say the game is up." + +"What do you mean by 'game'?" objected Albert Edward. "I've told you +before that this is a serious attempt to avert a plague of rodents. +Why, in Australia I've seen----" + +Algy held up his hand. + +"I know, I know. But some people who have not enjoyed your harrowing +Colonial experience are a trifle sceptical. Listen. Last evening, +as I was driving home with the old man through Vaux-le-Tour, whom +should I see but you two sportsmen out on the hillside riding down a +hare, followed at some distance by three mounted bargees----" + +"The Padre, the Field Cashier and O.C. Bugs," Albert Edward +explained. "We're making men of 'em. Go on." + +--"followed at a still greater distance," continued Algy, "by a +raging band of mongrels. By the way, don't you get your hunt the +wrong way round, the cart before the horse, so to speak? I always +thought it customary for the hounds to go first." + +"In some cases the hare wouldn't know it was being hunted if they +did," said I. "This is one of them. Forge ahead." + +"Well, so far so good; the old gent was drowsing in his corner and +there was no harm done." + +"So you gave him a dig in the ribs, I suppose, and bleated, 'Oh, look +at naughty boys chasing ickle bunny wabbit!'" sneered Albert Edward. + +Algy wagged his head. "Not me. You woke him up yourself, my son, by +tootling on your little tin trumpet. He heard it through his dreams, +shot up with a 'Good Lord, what's that?' popped his head out of the +window and saw the brave cavalcade reeling out along the sky-line +like a comic movie. He drank in the busy scene, then turned to me +and said----" + +Albert Edward interrupted. "I know exactly what he said. He said, +'Algy, me boy, that's the spirit. _Vive le sport_! How it reminds +us of our young days in the Peninsular! Oft-times has our cousin of +Wellington remarked to us how Waterloo was won on the playing----'" + +Algy cut off the flow and continued with his piece. "He said to me, +'God bless my soul, if those young devils aren't galloping a hare!' +I said, 'Sir, they maintain that they are doing good work by averting +a threatened plague of rodents, a state of affairs which has proved +very detrimental to the Anti-podes.' + +"'Threatened plague of grandmothers!' replied the old warrior. +'They're enjoying themselves, that's what they're doing--having a +splendid time. Mind you, I've no objection to you young chaps +amusing yourselves _in secret_, but this is too damn flagrant +altogether. Just imagine the hullabaloo in the House if word of +these goings-on got home. "B.E.F. enjoying themselves! Don't they +know there's a war on? _Cherchez le général_ and off with his head!" +Trot round and see your dog-fancying friends and tell 'em that if +they're fond of good works I recommend crochet.' Thus the General. +I must be off now, got to take the old bird up to have a peep at the +War. Good-byee." + +Algy tripped daintily off home again, twirling his cane and whistling +cheerfully. Sourly we watched him depart. + +"I believe that youth positively revels in spreading gloom," Albert +Edward growled. "Oh, well, I suppose we'll have to get rid of the +dogs now. Orders is orders." + +"But do you think they'll go?" I asked. "We've been feeding 'em +occasionally of late." + +"We'll herd 'em down to where they can get wind of the infantry +cookers," said Albert Edward; "once they sniff the rare old stew +they'll forget all about us." + +Accordingly an hour later we released our pack from the hen-house for +the last time. They immediately gave chase to an errant tabby +kitten, which threw off a noise like many siphons and shot up a tree, +baffling them completely. We speedily herded them out of the château +grounds, Albert Edward ambling in front, wringing mournful music out +of his horn, and I bringing up the rear, snapping my whip-cracker +under the sterns of the laggards. We had no sooner left the park for +the open grass country beyond when up jumped a buck hare, right from +under our feet, and away went the pack rejoicing, bass and falsetto. + +Albert Edward tugged his excited mare to a standstill. "Look at +those blighters!" he shouted. "Hunting noses down in pukka style for +the first time, just because they know we can't follow them. Oh, +this is too much!" + +"I don't see why we shouldn't follow them at a distance," said I. +"We can pretend there's no connection--there is no connection really, +we didn't lay 'em on. They're hunting on their own. We're just out +for a ride." + +Albert Edward winked an eye at me and gave his mare her head. The +pack by this time was well across the plain, the wolf leading, +noisily supported by the Maconochies and the bloodhound. Thrice the +hare turned clear and squatted, but, thanks to the blood dog's +infallible nose, he was ousted each time and pushed on, failing +visibly. He made a sharp curve towards the windmill, and Albert +Edward and I topped the miller's fence in time to see the Maconochies +roll him over among the weeds. We also saw something on the highway +behind the mill which we had not previously noticed, namely a grey +Limousine. On a fallen tree by the wayside sat the General, his face +as highly coloured as his hat. Towards us down the garden-path +tripped Algy, twirling his cane and whistling cheerily. Albert +Edward groaned. + +"Something in the demeanour of yon youth tells me he beareth our +death-warrants. Here, you hold the horses while I feed the +guillotine. This is by far, far the best thing that I have ever +done." + +He slung his reins and tottered to his doom. I watched him approach +within five yards of the old man when a strange thing happened. The +General suddenly uttered a loud cry and, leaping to his feet, +commenced to dance up and down the road, tearing and belabouring +himself and swearing so outrageously that I had difficulty in holding +the horses. His chauffeur and Algy rushed to his side, and they and +Albert Edward grouped in a sympathetic circle while he danced and +raved and beat himself in their midst. Presently the air seemed to +be full of flying tunics, shirts, camisoles, etc., and a second later +I beheld the extraordinary spectacle of a Lieutenant-General dancing +practically nude (expecting for his cap and boots) in the middle of a +French highway, while two subalterns and a private smacked him all +over, and most heartily. For nearly a minute it continued, and then +he seemed to get himself under control and was led away by Algy to +his car, the chauffeur following, retrieving apparel off trees and +bushes. Albert Edward, one quivering smirk, wobbled up and took his +reins. "By Jove! saved again. He can't very well bite the hand that +spanked him, can he?" + +"But what on earth was the matter?" I asked. "A fit, religious +mania, a penance--what?" + +"He sat on a waspodrome," said Albert Edward, "and they got on his +tail." + + + + +XXXII + +THE CAMERA CANNOT LIE + +When I was young I was extremely handsome. I have documentary +evidence to prove as much. There is in existence a photograph of a +young gentleman standing with his back to a raging seascape, one hand +resting lightly on a volume of Shakespeare, which in turn is +supported by a rustic table. The young gentleman has wide innocent +eyes, a rosebud mouth and long golden curls (the sort poor dear old +Romney used to do so nicely). For the rest he is tastefully +upholstered in a short-panted velvet suit, a lace collar and white +silk socks. "_Little Lord Fauntleroy_," you murmur to yourself. No, +Sir (or Madam), it is ME--or was me, rather. When I was young no +girl thought herself properly married unless I was present at the +ceremony, got up like a prize rabbit and tethered to the far end of +her train. Nowadays I am not so handsome. True, you can urge a +horse past me without blindfolding it and all that, but nobody ever +mistakes me for Maxine Elliott. + +Personally I was quite willing to be represented at the National +Portrait Gallery by a coloured copy of the presentment described +above, but my home authorities thought otherwise, and when last I was +in England on leave--shortly after the Battle of Agincourt--they +shooed me off to Valpré. "Go to Valpré," they said; "he is so +artistic." So to Valpré I went, and was admitted by a handmaid who +waved a white hand vaguely towards a selection of doors, murmuring, +"Wait there, please." I opened the nearest door at a venture and +entered. + +In the waiting-room three other handmaids were at work on +photographs. One was painting dimples on a lady's cheek; one filling +in gaps in a Second-Lieutenant's moustache; one straightening the +salient of a stockbroker's waistcoat. Presently the first handmaid +reappeared and somewhat curtly (I was waiting in the wrong room, it +seemed) informed me that the Master was ready. So I went upstairs to +the operating theatre. After an impressive interval a curtain was +thrust aside and the Master entered. He was not in the least like +the artist of my first photograph, who had chirruped and done tricks +with an indiarubber monkey to make me prick my ears and appear +sagacious. This man had the mane of a poodle, a plush smoking-jacket +with rococo trimmings, satin cravat, rings and bangles like the lads +in _La Bohème_, and I knew myself to be in the presence of True Art, +and bowed my head. + +At the sight of me he winced visibly; didn't seem to like my looks at +all. However he pulled himself together and advanced to reconnoitre. +He pushed me into a chair, manipulated some screws at the back, and I +found my head fast in a steel clamp. I pleaded for gas or cocaine, +but he took no notice and prowled off to the far end of the theatre +to observe if distance would lend any enchantment. Apparently it +would not. The more he saw of me the less he seemed to admire the +view. + +Suddenly the fire of inspiration lit his eye and he came for me. I +struggled with the clamp, but it clave like a bull-terrier to a +mutton chop. In a moment he had me by the head and started to mould +it nearer to his heart's desire with plump powerful hands. He +crammed half my lower jaw into my breast pocket, pinned my ears back +so tightly that they wouldn't wag for weeks, pressed my nose down +with his thumb as though it were the button of an electric bell and +generally kneaded my features from the early Hibernian to the late +Græco-Roman. Then, before they could rebound to their normal +positions, he had sprung back, jerked the lanyard and fired the +camera. + +Some weeks later the finished photographs arrived. The handmaids had +done their bit, and the result was a pleasing portraiture, an _objet +d'art_, an ornament to anybody's family album. The man Valpré was an +artist all right. + +A few days ago the Skipper whistled me into the orderly room. His +table was littered with parade states, horse-registers and slips of +cardboard, all intermingled. The Skipper himself appeared to be +undergoing some heavy mental disturbance. His forehead was furrowed, +his toupet rumpled, and he sucked his fountain-pen, unconsciously +imbibing much dark nourishment. + +"Identification cards," he explained, indicating the slips. "Got to +carry 'em now. Comply with Italian regulations. Been trying to +describe you. Napoo." He prodded the result towards me. I scanned +it and decided he had got it mixed with horse-registers. It read as +follows:-- + + Born . . . . . . . Yes. + Height . . . . . . 17 hands. + Hair . . . . . . . Bay. + Eyes . . . . . . . Two. + Nose . . . . . . . Undulating. + Moustache . . . . Hogged. + Complexion . . . . Natural. + Special Marks . . + + +The Skipper pointed to the blank space. "That's what I want to +know--special marks. Got any? Snip, blaze, white fetlock, anything?" + +"Yessir," said I. "Strawberry patch on off gaskin." + +He sucked thoughtfully at his fountain-pen. "Mmph," he said, +"shouldn't mention it if I were you. Don't want to have to undress +in the middle of the street every time you meet an Intelligence, do +you?" I agreed that I did not--not before June, anyhow. The Skipper +turned to the card again and frowned. + +"Couldn't call it a speaking likeness exactly, this little +pen-picture of you, could one? If you only had a photograph of +yourself now." + +"I have, Sir," said I brightly. + +"Good Lord, man, why didn't you say so before? Here, take this and +paste the thing in. Now trot away." + +I trotted away and pasted Valpré's _objet d'art_ on to the card. + +Yesterday evening Albert Edward and I were riding out of a certain +Italian town (no names, no pack drill). Albert Edward got involved +in a right-of-way argument between five bullock wagons and two +lorries, and I jogged on ahead. On the fringe of the town was a +barrier presided over by a brace of Carabinieri caparisoned with war +material, whiskers and cocked hats of the style popularised by +Bonaparte. Also an officer. As I moved to pass the barrier the +officer spied me and, not liking my looks (as I hinted before, nobody +does), signed to me to halt. Had I an identification card, please? +I had and handed it to him. He took the card and ran a keen eye over +the Skipper's little pen-picture and Valpré's "Portrait Study," then +over their alleged original. "Lieutenant," said he grimly, "these +don't tally. This is not you." + +I protested that it was. He shook his head with great conviction, +"Never! The nose in this photograph is straight; the ears retiring; +the jaw, normal. While with you---- [Continental politeness +restrained him]. Lieutenant, you must come with me." + +He beckoned to a Napoleonic corporal, who approached, clanking his +war material. I saw myself posed for a firing squad at grey dawn and +shivered all over. I detest early rising. + +By this time the corporal had outflanked me, clanking more munitions, +and I was on the point of being marched off to the Bastille, or +whatever they call it, when Albert Edward suddenly insinuated himself +into the party and addressed himself to the officer. "Half a minute, +Mongsewer [any foreigner is Mongsewer to Albert Edward]. The +photograph is of him all right, but it was taken before his accident." + +"His accident?" queried the officer. + +"Yes," said Albert Edward; "sad affair, shell-shock. A crump burst +almost in his face, and shocked it all out of shape. Can't you see?" + +The Italian leaned forward and subjected my flushed features to a +piercing scrutiny; then his dark eyes softened almost to tears, and +he handed me back my card and saluted. + +"Sir, you have my apologies--and sympathy. Good evening." + +"Albert Edward," said I, as we trotted into the dusk, "you may be a +true friend but you are no gentleman." + + + + +XXXIII + +LIONEL TRELAWNEY + +Lionel Trelawney Molyneux-Molyneux was of the race of the Beaux. Had +he flourished in the elegant days, Nash would have taken snuff with +him, D'Orsay wine--no less. As it was, the high priests of Savile +Row made obeisance before him, the staff of the _Tailor and Cutter_ +penned leaders on his waistcoats, and the lilies of the field whined +"Kamerad" and withered away. + +When war broke out Lionel Trelawney issued from his comfortable +chambers in St. James's and took a hand in it. He had no enthusiasm +for blood-letting. War, he maintained from the first, was a vulgar +pastime, a comfortless revolting state of affairs which bored one +stiff, forced one to associate with all sorts of impossible people +and ruined one's clothes. Nevertheless the West-end had to be saved +from an invasion of elastic-sided boots, celluloid dickeys, Tyrolese +hats and musical soup-swallowing. That was _his_ war-aim. + +Through the influence of an aunt at the War Office he obtained a +commission at once, and after a month's joining-leave (spent closeted +with his tailor) he appeared, a shining figure, in the Mess of the +Loamshire Light Infantry and with them adventured to Gallipoli. It +is related that during the hell of that first landing, when boats +were capsizing, wounded men being dragged under by tentacles of +barbed wire, machine-guns whipping the sea to bloody froth, Lionel +Trelawney was observed standing on a prominent part of a barge, his +eye-glass fixed on his immaculate field boots, petulantly remarking, +"And now, damn it, I suppose I've got to get wet!" + +After the evacuation the battalion went to France, but not even the +slush of the salient or the ooze of Festubert could dim his +splendour. Whenever he got a chance he sat down, cat-like, and +licked himself. Wherever he went his batman went also, hauling a +sackful of cleaning gear and changes of raiment. On one occasion, +hastening to catch the leave train, he spurred his charger into La +Bassée Canal. He emerged, like some river deity, profusely decorated +in chick-weed, his eyeglass still in his eye ("Came up like a +blinking U-boat," said a spectator, "periscope first"), footed it +back to billets and changed, though it cost him two days of his leave. + +He was neither a good nor a keen officer. He was not frightened--he +had too great a contempt for war to admit the terror of it--but he +gloomed and brooded eternally and made no effort to throw the +faintest enthusiasm into his job. Yet for all that the Loamshires +suffered him. He had his uses--he kept the men amused. In that +tense time just before an attack, when the minute hand was jerking +nearer and nearer to zero, when nerves were strung tight and people +were sending anxious inquiries after Lewis guns, S.A.A., stretchers, +bombs, etc., Lionel Trelawney would say to his batman, "Have you got +the boot and brass polish, the Blanco, the brushes? Sure?" (a sigh +of relief). "Very well, now we'll be getting on," and so would send +his lads scrambling over the parapet grinning from east to west. + +"Where's ole Collar and Cuffs?" some muddy warrior would shout after +a shrieking tornado of shell had swept over them. "Dahn a shell-hole +cleanin' his teef," would come the answer, and the battered platoon +chuckled merrily. "'E's a card, 'e is," said his Sergeant +admiringly. "Marched four miles back to billets in 'is gas-mask, +perishin' 'ot, all because he'd lost 'is razor an' 'adn't shaved for +two days. 'E's a nut 'e is and no error." + +It happened that the Loamshires were given a job of crossing Mr. +Hindenburg's well-known ditch and taking a village on the other side. +A company of tanks, which came rolling out of the dawn-drizzle, +spitting fire from every crack, put seven sorts of wind up the +Landsturmer gentlemen in possession; and the Loamshires, getting +their first objectives with very light casualties, trotted on for +their second in high fettle, sterns up and wagging proudly. The +tanks went through the village knocking chips off the architecture +and pushing over houses that got in the way; and the Loamshires +followed after, distributing bombs among the cellars. + +The consolidation was proceeding when Lionel Trelawney sauntered on +the scene, picking his way delicately through the débris of the main +street. He lounged up to a group of Loamshire officers, yawned, told +them how tired he was, cursed the drizzle for dimming his buttons and +strolled over to a dug-out with the object of sheltering there. He +got no further than the entrance, for as he reached it a wide-eyed +German came scrambling up the steps and collided with him, bows on. +For a full second the two stood chest to chest gaping, too surprised +to move. Then the Hun turned and bolted. But this time Lionel +Trelawney was not too bored to act. He drew his revolver and rushed +after him like one possessed, firing wildly. Two shots emptied a +puddle, one burst a sandbag, one winged a weather-cock and one went +just anywhere. His empty revolver caught the flying Hun in the small +of the back as he vaulted over a wall; and Lionel Trelawney vaulted +after him. + +"Molly's gone mad," shouted his amazed brother-officers as they +scrambled up a ruin for a better view of the hunt. The chase was +proceeding full-cry among the small gardens of the main street. It +was a stirring spectacle. The Hun was sprinting for dear life, +Lionel Trelawney hard on his brush, yelping like a frenzied +fox-terrier. They plunged across tangled beds, crashed through crazy +fences, fell head over heels, picked themselves up again and raced +on, wheezing like punctured bagpipes. + +Heads of Atkinses poked up everywhere. "S'welp me if it ain't ole +Collar and Cuffs! Go it, Sir, that's the stuff to give 'em!" A +Yorkshireman opened a book and started to chant the odds, but nobody +paid any attention to him. The Hun, badly blown, dodged inside a +shattered hen-house. Lionel Trelawney tore up handfuls of a ruined +wall and bombed him out of it with showers of brickbats. Away went +the chase again, cheered by shrill yoicks and cat-calls from the +spectators. + +Suddenly there was an upheaval of planks and brick-dust, and both +runners disappeared. + +"Gone to ground, down a cellar," exclaimed the brother-officers. +"Oh, look! Fritz is crawling out." + +The white terrified face of the German appeared on the ground level, +then with a wriggle (accompanied by a loud noise of rending material) +he dragged his body up and was on his way once more. A second later +Lionel Trelawney was up as well, waving a patch of grey cloth in his +hand. "Molly's ripped the seat out of his pants," shouted the +grand-stand. "Yow, tear 'm, Pup!" "Good ole Collar and Cuffs!" +chorused the Loamshire Atkinses. + +Lionel Trelawney responded nobly; he gained one yard, two yards, +five, ten. The Hun floundered into a row of raspberry canes, tripped +and wallowed in the mould. Trelawney fell on him like a Scot on a +three-penny bit and they rolled out of sight locked in each other's +embrace. + +The Loamshires jumped down from their crazy perches and doubled to +see the finish, guided by the growlings, grunts, crashing of +raspberry canes and jets of garden mould flung sky-high. They were +too late, however. They met the victor propelling the remains of the +vanquished up a lane towards them. His fawn breeches were black with +mould, his shapely tunic shredded to ribbons; his sleek hair looked +like a bird's-nest; his nose listed to starboard; one eye bulged like +a shuttered bow-window; his eye-glass was not. But the amazing thing +about it was that he didn't seem to mind; he beamed, in fact, and +with a cheery shout to his friends--"Merry little scamper--eh, +what?"--he drop-kicked his souvenir a few yards further on, +exclaiming, "That'll teach you to slop soup over my shirt-front, you +rude fellow!" + +"Soup over your shirt-front!" babbled the Loamshires. "What are you +talking about?" + +"Talking about?" said Lionel Trelawney. "Why, this arch-ruffian used +to be a waiter at Claritz's, and he shed mulligatawny all over my +glad-rags one night three years ago--aggravated me fearfully." + + + + +XXXIV + +THE BOOBY TRAP + +A generous foe, the soul of chivalry, I am always ready to admit that +the Boche has many good points. For instance, he is--er--er--oh, +well, I can't think of any particular good point just for the moment. +On the other hand, it must be admitted that he has his bad ones also, +and one of these is that he cannot stand success; he is the world's +worst winner. + +Never does he pull off one of these "victorious retreats" of his but +he needs must spoil the effect by leaving behind all sorts of puerile +booby traps, butter-slides, etc., for the annoyance of the +on-sweeping vanquished, displaying a state of mind which is usually +slippered out of one at a dame school. + +Most of his practical jokes are of the fifth of November order and +detonate by means of a neat arrangement of springs, wire and acid +contained in a small metal cylinder. + +You open a door and the attached house blows away all round it, +leaving the door in your damaged hand. You step on a duckboard; +something goes bang! and the duckboard ups and hits you for a +boundary to leg--and so on, all kinds of diversions. + +Of course you don't really open doors and prance on duckboards; +that's only what he (Jerry) in his simple faith imagines you will do. +In reality you revive memories of the days when as a small boy you +tied trip-strings in dark passages and balanced water-jugs on +door-tops; and all the Boche's elementary parlour-tricks immediately +become revealed unto you. + +Not long ago the Hun, thirsting for yet more imperishable laurels, +made a sudden masterly manoeuvre towards the East. Our amateur Staff +instantly fell into the trap, and when battle joined again we found +we had been lured twenty miles nearer Germany. + +The Hun had not left things very comfortable for us; most of the +cover had been blown up, and there was the usual generous provision +of booby traps lying about dumbly pleading to be touched off. +However, we sheltered in odd holes and corners, scrounged about for +what we could "souvenir" and made ourselves as snug as possible. + +It was while riding out alone on one of these souveniring expeditions +that our William came upon a chaff-cutter standing in what had once +been the stable yard of what had once been a château. Now to a +mounted unit a chaff-cutter is a thing of incredible value. It is to +us what a mincing-machine is to the frugal housewife. + +Our own cutter was with the baggage, miles away in the rear, and +likely to remain there. + +William slipped off his horse and approached the thing gingerly. It +was a Boche engine, evidently quite new and in excellent trim. This +was altogether too good to be true; there must be a catch somewhere. +William withdrew twenty yards and hurled a brick at it--two, three, +four bricks. Nothing happened. He approached again and tying one +end of a wrecked telephone wire to it, retired behind a heap of +rubble and tugged. + +The chaff-cutter rocked to and fro and finally fell over on its side +without anything untoward occurring. William, wiping beads from his +brow, came out of cover. There was no catch in it after all. It was +a perfectly genuine bit of treasure-trove. The Skipper would pat his +curly head, say "Good boy," and exalt him above all the other +subalterns. _Bon_--very _bon_! + +But how to get it home? For you cannot carry full-grown +chaff-cutters about in your breeches pockets. For one thing it +spoils the set of your pants. He must get a limber. Yes, but how? + +The country was quick with other cavalrymen all in the souvenir +business. If he left the chaff-cutter in order to fetch a limber, +one of them would be sure to snap it up. On the other hand, if he +waited for a limber to come trotting up of its own sweet will he +might conceivably wait for the rest of the War. Limbers (G.S. Mule) +are not fairy coaches. + +Our William was up against it. He plunged his hands into his +tunic-pockets and commenced to stride up and down, thinking to the +best of his ability. + +In pocketing his right hand he encountered some hard object. On +drawing the object forth he discovered it to be his mother's gift. +William's mother, under the impression that her son spends most of +his time lying wounded and starving out in No-man's land, keeps him +liberally supplied with tabloid meals to sustain him on these +occasions--herds of bison corralled into one lozenge, the juice of +myriad kine concentrated in a single capsule. This particular gift +was of peppermints (warranted to assuage thirst for weeks on end). +But it was not the peppermints that engaged William's young fancy; it +was the container, small, metal, cylindrical. + +His inspiration took fire. He set the tin under the chaff-cutter, +chopped off a yard of telephone wire, buried one end in peppermints, +twisted the other about the leg of the cutter, mounted his horse and +rode for dear life. + +When he returned with the limber an hour later, he found three +cavalrymen, two horse-gunners and a transporteer grouped at a +respectful radius round the chaff-cutter, daring each other to jerk +the wire. + +When William stepped boldly forward and jerked the wire they all +flung themselves to earth and covered their heads. When nothing +happened and he coolly proceeded to load the cutter on the limber +they all sat up again and took notice. + +When he picked up the tin and offered them some peppermints they +mounted their horses and rode away. + + + + +XXXV + +THE PHANTOM ARMY + +I can readily believe that war as performed by Messieurs our +ancestors was quite good fun. You dressed up in feathers and +hardware--like something between an Indian game-cock and a tank--and +caracoled about the country on a cart-horse, kissing your hand to +balconies and making very liberal expenses out of any fat (and +unarmed) burgesses that happened along. + +With the first frost you went into winter quarters--i.e. you turned +into the most convenient castle and whiled away the dark months +roasting chestnuts at a log fire, entertaining the ladies with quips, +conundrums and selections on the harpsichord and vying with the +jester in the composition of Limericks. + +The profession of arms in those spacious days was both pleasant and +profitable. Nowadays it is neither; it is a dreary _mélange_ of mud, +blood, boredom and blue-funk (I speak for myself). + +Yet even it, miserable calamity that it is (or was), has produced its +piquant situations, its high moments; and one manages to squeeze a +sly smile out of it all, here and there, now and again. + +I have heard the skirl of the Argyll and Sutherland battle-pipes in +the Borghese Gardens and seen a Highlander dance the sword-dance +before applauding Rome. I have seen the love-locks of a matinée idol +being trimmed with horse-clippers (weep, O ye flappers of Suburbia!) +and a Royal Academician set to whitewash a pig-sty. I have seen +American aviators in spurs, Royal Marines a-horse, and a free-born +Australian eating rabbit. All these things have I seen. + +And of high moments I have experienced plenty of late, for it has +been my happy lot to be in the front of the hunt that has swept the +unspeakable Boche back off a broad strip of France and Belgium, and +the memory of the welcome accorded to us, the first British, by the +liberated inhabitants will remain with us until the last "Lights +Out." The procedure was practically the same throughout. + +There would come a crackle of wild rifle-fire from the front of a +village; then, as we worked round to the flank, a dozen or so +blue-cloaked Uhlans would scamper out of the rear and disappear at a +non-stop gallop for home. In a second the street would be full of +people, emptying out of houses and cellars, pressing about us, +shaking hands, kissing us and our horses even, smothering us with +flowers, cheering "_Vivent les Anglais!_", "_Vive la France!_" +clamouring, laughing, crying, mad with joy. + +_Grandmères_ would appear at attic windows waving calico tricolours +(hidden for four long years) while others plastered up tricolour +hand-bills--"_Hommage à nos Liberateurs_," "God's blessing unto +Tommy." + +However, touching and delightful though it all might be, it was not +getting on with the war; this _embarras des amis_ was saving the +Uhlans' hide. + +Furthermore, though I can bring myself to bear with a certain amount +of embracing from attractive young things, I do not enjoy the +salutations of unshorn old men; and when Mayors and Corporations got +busy my native modesty rebelled, and I would tear myself loose and, +with my steed decorated from ears to croup with flowers, so that I +looked more like a perambulating hot-house than a poor soldier-man, +take up the pursuit once more. + +In due course we came to the considerable town of X. All happened as +before. As we popped in at one flank the bold Uhlan popped out at +the other, and the townsfolk flooded the streets. I was dragged out +of the saddle, kissed, pump-handled and cheered while my bewildered +charger was led aside and festooned with pink roses. Tricolours +appeared at every window; handbills of welcome were distributed +broadcast. The Mayor and Corporation arrived at the double, and we +struggled together for some moments while they rasped me with their +stubbly beards. When the first ecstasies had somewhat abated I +gathered my troop and prepared to move again. + +"Whither away?" the Mayor enquired, a fine old veteran he, wearing +two 1870 medals and the ribbon of the Legion. + +"To Z.," said I. + +"_Ecoutez, donc_," he warned. "They are waiting for you there in +force, machine-guns and cannon." + +I intimated that nevertheless I must go and have a look-see, at any +rate, and so rode out of town, the vast crowd accompanying us to the +outskirts, cheering, shouting advice, warnings and blessings. In +sight of Z. we shed our floral tributes and, debouching off the +highway into the open, worked forwards on the look-out for trouble. + +It came. A dozen pip-squeaks shrilled overhead to cause considerable +casualties among some neighbouring cabbages, and shortly afterwards +rifle-fire opened from outlying cottages. I swung round and tried +for an opening to the north, but a couple of machine-guns promptly +gave tongue on that flank. Another flock of pip-squeaks kicked up +the mould in front of us and some fresh rifles and machine-guns +joined in. Too hot altogether. + +I was just deciding to give it best and cut for cover when all +hostile fire suddenly switched off, and a few minutes later I beheld +light guns on lorries, machine-guns in motor-cars and Uhlans on +horses stampeding out of the village by all roads east. + +The day was mine. Yip, Yip! Bonza! Skoo-kum! Hurroosh! +Nevertheless I was properly bewildered, for it was absurd to suppose +that an overwhelming force of heavily-armed Huns could have been +bluffed out of a strong position by the merest handful of unsupported +cavalry. Manifestly absurd! + +I turned about, and in so doing my eye lit on the poplar-lined +highway from X., and I understood. Along the road poured the hordes +of an advancing army, advancing in somewhat irregular column of +route, with banners flying. The head of the column was not a mile +distant. The Infantry must be on my heels, thought I. Stout +marching! I grabbed up my glasses, took a long look and bellowed +with laughter. It was not the Infantry at all; it was the liberated +population of X., headed by the Mayor and Corporation, come out to +see the fun, the _grandmères_ and _grandpères_, the girls and boys, +the dogs and babies, marching, hobbling, skipping, toddling down the +pave, waving their calico tricolours and singing the _Marseillaise_. +I thought of the Boche fleeing eastward with the fear of God in his +soul, and rolled about in my saddle drunk with joy. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mudlarks, by Crosbie Garstin + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59900 *** |