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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..62cc838 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63466 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63466) diff --git a/old/63466-0.txt b/old/63466-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index df14698..0000000 --- a/old/63466-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9295 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Grey Wave, by Arthur Hamilton Gibbs - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Grey Wave - -Author: Arthur Hamilton Gibbs - -Contributor: Philip Gibbs - -Release Date: October 15, 2020 [EBook #63466] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY WAVE *** - - - - -Produced by MWS, John Campbell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE - - Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. - - Some minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book. - - - - - _The Grey Wave_ - - - - - _THE GREY WAVE_ - - _By Major A. Hamilton Gibbs_ - - _With an introduction by Philip Gibbs_ - - - [Illustration: (icon)] - - - _LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO_ - _:: PATERNOSTER ROW 1920 ::_ - - - - - MY DEAR MRS. POOLE - - - I dedicate this book to you because your house has been a home to - me for so many years, and because, having opened my eyes to the - fact that it was my job to join up in 1914, your kindness and help - were unceasing during the course of the war. - - Yours affectionately, - - ARTHUR HAMILTON GIBBS - - Metz, January, 1919 - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PART I - PAGE - - THE RANKS 1 - - - PART II - - UBIQUE 73 - - - PART III - - THE WESTERN FRONT 123 - - - PART IV - - THE ARMISTICE 263 - - - - - INTRODUCTION - - -There seems no reason to me why I should write a preface to my -brother’s book except that I have been, as it were, a herald of war -proclaiming the achievements of knights and men-at-arms in this great -conflict that has passed, and so may take up my scroll again on his -behalf, because here is a good soldier who has told, in a good book, -his story of - - “most disastrous chances of moving accidents by flood and field; of - hair-breadth ’scapes i’ the imminent-deadly breach.” - -That he was a good soldier I can say not because my judgment is -swayed by brotherly partiality, but because I saw him at his job, and -heard the opinions of his fellow officers, which were immensely in -his favour. “Your brother is a born soldier,” said my own Chief who -was himself a gallant officer and had a quick eye for character. I -think that was true. The boy whom once I wheeled in a go-cart when -he was a shock-headed Peter and I the elder brother with a sense of -responsibility towards him, had grown up before the war into a strong -man whose physical prowess as an amateur pugilist, golfer, archer -(in any old sport) was quite outside my sphere of activities, which -were restricted to watching the world spin round and recording its -movements by quick penmanship. Then the war came and like all the -elder brothers of England I had a quick kind of heart-beat when I -knew that the kid brother had joined up and in due time would have -to face the music being played by the great orchestra of death across -the fields of life. - -I saw the war before he did, knew the worst before he guessed at the -lesser evils of it, heard the crash of shell fire, went into burning -and bombarded towns, helped to carry dead and wounded, while he was -training in England under foul-mouthed sergeants--training to learn -how to fight, and, if need be, how to die, like a little gentleman. -But I from the first was only the onlooker, the recorder, and he was -to be, very quickly, one of the actors in the drama, up to his neck -in the “real thing.” His point of view was to be quite different from -mine, I saw the war in the mass, in its broad aspects and movements -from the front line trenches to the Base, from one end of the front -to the other. I went into dirty places, but did not stay there. I -went from one little corner of hell to another, but did not dwell -in its narrow boundaries long enough to get its intimate details of -hellishness burnt into my body and soul. He did. He had not the same -broad vision of the business of war--appalling in its vastness of -sacrifice and suffering, wonderful in its mass-heroism--but was one -little ant in a particular muck-heap for a long period of time, until -the stench of it, the filth of it, the boredom of it, the futility -of it, entered into his very being, and was part of him as he was -part of it. His was the greater knowledge. He was the sufferer, the -victim. Our ways lay apart for a long time. He became a ghost to -me, during his long spell in Salonica, and I thought of him only -as a ghost figure belonging to that other life of mine which I had -known “before the war,” that far-off period of peace which seemed -to have gone forever. Then one day I came across him again out in -Flanders in a field near Armentières, and saw how he had hardened -and grown, not only in years, but in thoughtfulness and knowledge. -He was a commander of men, with the power of life and death over -them. He was a commander of guns with the power of death over human -creatures lurking in holes in the earth, invisible creatures beyond -a hedge of barbed wire and a line of trench. But he also was under -the discipline of other powers with higher command than his--who -called to him on the telephone and told him to do things he hated -to do, but had to do, things which he thought were wrong to do, but -had to do; and among those other powers, disciplining his body and -soul, was German gun-power from that other side of the barbed-wire -hedge, always a menace to him, always teasing him with the chance -of death,--a yard this way, a yard that, as I could see by the -shell holes round about his gun pits, following the track of his -field-path, clustering in groups outside the little white house in -which he had his mess. I studied this brother of mine curiously. How -did he face all the nerve-strain under which I had seen many men -break? He was merry and bright (except for sudden silences and a dark -look in his eyes at times). He had his old banjo with him and tinkled -out a tune on it. How did he handle his men and junior officers? -They seemed to like him “this side idolatry,” yet he had a grip on -them, and demanded obedience, which they gave with respect. Queer! -My kid-brother had learned the trick of command. He had an iron hand -under a velvet glove. The line of his jaw, his straight nose (made -straighter by that boxing in his old Oxford days) were cut out for -a job like this. He looked the part. He was born to it. All his -training had led up to this soldier’s job in the field, though I had -not guessed so when I wheeled him in that old go-cart. - -For me he had a slight contempt, which he will deny when he reads -this preface. Though a writer of books before the war, he had now -the soldier’s scorn of the chronicler. It hurt him to see my green -arm-band, my badge of shame. That I had a motor-car seemed to him, -in his stationary exile, the sign of a soft job--as, compared with -his, it was--disgraceful in its luxury. From time to time I saw him, -and, in spite of many narrow escapes under heavy shelling, he did not -change, but was splendidly cheerful. Even on the eve of the great -German offensive in March of 1918, when he took me to see his guns -dug in under the embankment south of St. Quentin, he did not seem -apprehensive of the awful ordeal ahead of him. I knew more than he -did about that. I knew the time and place of its coming, and I knew -that he was in a very perilous position. We said “so long” to each -other at parting, with a grip of hands, and I thought it might be the -last time I should see him. It was I think ten days later when I saw -him, and in that time much had happened, and all that time I gave him -up as lost. Under the overwhelming weight of numbers--114 Divisions -to 48--the British line had broken, and fighting desperately, day by -day, our men fell back mile after mile with the enemy outflanking -them, cutting off broken battalions, threatening to cut off vast -bodies of men. Every day I was in the swirl of that Retreat, pushing -up to its rearguards, seeing with increasing dismay the fearful -wreckage of our organization and machine of war which became for a -little while like the broken springs of a watch, with Army, Corps, -and Divisional staffs, entirely out of touch with the fighting units -owing to the break-down of all lines of communication. In that tide -of traffic, of men, and guns, and transport, I made a few inquiries -about that brother of mine. Nobody had seen, or heard of his battery. -I must have been close to him at times in Noyon, and Guiscard and -Ham, but one individual was like a needle in a bunch of hay, and the -enemy had rolled over in a tide, and there did not seem to me a -chance of his escape. Then, one morning, in a village near Poix, when -I asked a gunner-officer whether he had seen my brother’s battery, -he said, “Yes--two villages up that road.” “Do you happen to know -Major Gibbs?” “Yes.... I saw him walking along there a few minutes -ago.” - -It was like hearing that the dead had risen from the grave. - -Half an hour later we came face to face. - -He said: - -“Hulloa, old man!” - -And I said: - -“Hulloa, young fellow!” - -Then we shook hands on it, and he told me some of his adventures, -and I marvelled at him, because after a wash and shave he looked -as though he had just come from a holiday at Brighton instead of -from the Valley of Death. He was as bright as ever, and I honestly -believe even now that in spite of all his danger and suffering, he -had enjoyed the horrible thrills of his adventures. It was only later -when his guns were in action near Albert that I saw a change in him. -The constant shelling, and the death of some of his officers and men, -had begun to tell on him at last. I saw that his nerve was on the -edge of snapping, as other men’s nerves had snapped after less than -his experiences, and I decided to rescue him by any means I could.... -I had the luck to get him out of that hole in the earth just before -the ending of the war. - -Now I have read his book. It is a real book. Here truthfully, -nakedly, vividly, is the experience not only of one soldier in the -British Army, but of thousands, and hundreds of thousands. All our -men went through the training he describes, were shaped by its -hardness and its roughness, were trampled into obedience of soul and -body by its heavy discipline. Here is the boredom of war, as well as -its thrill of horror, that devastating long-drawn Boredom which is -the characteristic of war and the cause of much of its suffering. -Here is the sense of futility which sinks into the soldier’s mind, -tends to sap his mental strength and embitters him, so that the edge -is taken off his enthusiasm, and he abandons the fervour of the ideal -with which he volunteered. - -There is a tragic bitterness in the book, and that is not peculiar -to the temperament of the author, but a general feeling to be found -among masses of demobilized officers and men, not only of the British -Armies, but of the French, and I fancy, also, of the American forces. -What is the cause of that? Why this spirit of revolt on the part of -men who fought with invincible courage and long patience? It will -seem strange to people who have only seen war from afar that an -officer like this, decorated for valour, early in the field, one of -the old stock and tradition of English loyalty, should utter such -fierce words about the leaders of the war, such ironical words about -the purpose and sacrifice of the world conflict. He seems to accuse -other enemies than the Germans, to turn round upon Allied statesmen, -philosophers, preachers, mobs and say, “You too were guilty of this -fearful thing. Your hands are red also with the blood of youth. And -you forget already those who saved you by their sacrifice.” - -That is what he says, clearly, in many passionate paragraphs; and -I can bear witness that his point of view is shared by many other -soldiers who fought in France. These men were thinking hard when day -by day they were close to death. In their dug-outs and ditches they -asked of their own souls enormous questions. They asked whether the -war was being fought really for Liberty, really to crush Militarism, -really on behalf of Democracy, or whether to bolster up the same -system on our side of the lines which had produced the evils of the -German menace. Was it not a conflict between rival Powers imbued with -exactly the same philosophy of Imperialism and Force? Was it not the -product of commercial greed, diplomatic fears and treacheries and -intrigues (conducted secretly over the heads of the peoples) and -had not the German people been led on to their villainy by the same -spell-words and “dope” which had been put over our peoples, so that -the watch-words of “patriotism,” “defensive warfare” and “Justice” -had been used to justify this massacre in the fields of Europe by the -Old Men of all nations, who used the Boys as pawns in their Devil’s -game? The whole structure of Europe had been wrong. The ministers of -the Christian churches had failed Christ by supporting the philosophy -of Force, and diplomatic wickedness and old traditions of hatred. -All nations were involved in this hark-back to the jungle-world, and -Germany was only most guilty because first to throw off the mask, -most efficient in the mechanism of Brute-government, most logical in -the damnable laws of that philosophy which poisoned the spirit of the -modern world. - -That was the conclusion to which, rightly or wrongly--I think -rightly--many men arrived in their secret conferences with their own -souls when death stood near the door of their dug-outs. - -That sense of having fought for ideals which were not real in the -purpose of the war embittered them; and they were most bitter on -their home-coming, after Armistice, or after Peace, when in England -they found that the victory they had won was being used not to -inaugurate a new era of liberty, but to strengthen the old laws -of “Might and Right,” the old tyrannies of government without -the consent of peoples, the old Fetish worship of hatred masking -under the divine name of Patriotism. Disillusionment, despair, a -tragic rage, filled the hearts of fighting men who after all their -sacrifices found themselves unrewarded, unemployed, and unsatisfied -in their souls. Out of this psychological distress have come civil -strife and much of the unrest which is now at work. - -My brother’s book reveals something of this at work in his own mind, -and, as such, is a revelation of all his comrades. I do not think -he has yet found the key to the New Philosophy which will arise out -of all that experience, emotion, and thought; just as the mass of -fighting men are vague about the future which must replace the bad -old past. They are perplexed, illogical, passionate without a clear -purpose. But undoubtedly out of their perplexities and passion the -New Era will be born. - -So I salute my “kid-brother” as one of the makers of History greater -than that which crushed German militarism and punished German crimes -(which were great), and I wish him luck with this book, which is -honest, vital, and revealing. - - PHILIP GIBBS. - - - - - PART I - - _THE RANKS_ - - - - - THE GREY WAVE - - -1 - -In June, 1914, I came out of a hospital in Philadelphia after an -operation, faced with two facts. One was that I needed a holiday at -home in England, the second that after all hospital expenses were -paid I had five dollars in the world. But there was a half-finished -novel in my trunk and the last weeks of the theatrical tour which -had brought me to Philadelphia would tide me over. A month later the -novel was bought by a magazine and the boat that took me to England -seemed to me to be the tangible result of concentrated will power. -“Man proposes....” My own proposal was to return to America in a -month or six weeks to resume the task of carving myself a niche in -the fiction market. - -The parting advice of the surgeon had been that I was not to play -ball or ride a horse for at least six months. The green sweeping -uplands of Buckinghamshire greeted me with all their fragrance and a -trig golf course gave me back strength while I thought over ideas for -a new novel. - -Then like a thunderbolt the word “War” crashed out. Its full -significance did not break through the ego of one who so shortly -would be leaving Europe far behind and to whom a personal career -seemed of vital importance. England was at war. The Army would be -buckling on its sword, running out its guns; the Navy clearing decks -for action. It was their job, not mine. The Boer War had only touched -upon my childish consciousness as a shouting in the streets, cheering -multitudes and brass bands. War, as such, was something which I had -never considered as having any personal meaning for me. Politics and -war were the business of politicians and soldiers. My business was -writing and I went up to London to arrange accommodations on the boat -to New York. - -London was different in those hot August days. Long queues waited all -day,--not outside theatres, but outside recruiting offices,--city -men, tramps, brick-layers, men of all types and ages with a look in -their eyes that puzzled me. Every taxi hoot drew one’s attention to -the flaring poster on each car, “Young Men of England, Your King and -Country need you!” - -How many millions of young men there were who would be glad to answer -that call to adventure,--an adventure which surely could not last -more than six months? It did not call me. My adventure lay in that -wonderland of sprouting towers that glistened behind the Statue of -Liberty. - -But day by day the grey wave swept on, tearing down all veils from -before the altar of reality. Belgian women were not merely bayoneted. - -“Why don’t we stop this? What is the Army doing?” How easy to cry -that out from the leafy lanes of Buckinghamshire. A woman friend of -mine travelled up in the train with me one morning, a friend whose -philosophy and way of life had seemed to me more near the ideal than -I had dreamed of being able to reach. She spoke of war, impersonally -and without recruiting propaganda. All unconsciously she opened my -eyes to the unpleasant fact that it was _my_ war too. Suppose I had -returned to New York and the Germans had jumped the tiny Channel -and “bayoneted” her and her children? Could I ever call myself a man -again? - -I took a taxi and went round London. Every recruiting office looked -like a four-hour wait. I was in a hurry. So I went by train to -Bedford and found it crowded with Highlanders. When I asked the way -to the recruiting office they looked at me oddly. Their speech was -beyond my London ear, but a pointing series of arms showed it to me. - -By a miracle the place was empty except for the doctor and an -assistant in khaki. - -“I want to join the Cavalry,” said I. - -“Very good, sir. Will you please take off your clothes.” - -It was the last time a sergeant called me sir for many a long day. - -I stripped, was thumped and listened to and gave description of -tattoo marks which interested that doctor greatly. The appendix -scar didn’t seem to strike him. “What is it?” said he, looking at -it curiously, and when I told him merely grunted. Shades of Shaw! I -thought with a jump of that Philadelphia surgeon. “Don’t ride a horse -for six months.” Only three had elapsed. - -I was passed fit. I assured them that I was English on both sides, -unmarried, not a spy, and was finally given a bundle of papers and -told to take them along to the barracks. - -The barracks were full of roughnecks and it occurred to me for the -first time, as I listened to them being sworn in, that these were my -future brother soldiers. What price Mulvaney, Learoyd and Ortheris? -thought I. - -I repeated the oath after an hour’s waiting and swore to obey orders -and respect superior officers and in short do my damnedest to kill -the King’s enemies. I’ve done the last but when I think of the first -two that oath makes me smile. - -However, I swore, received two shillings and three-pence for my -first two days’ pay and was ordered to report at the Cavalry Depot, -Woolwich, the following day, September 3, 1914. - -The whole business had been done in a rush of exaltation that didn’t -allow me to think. But when I stepped out into the crowded streets -with that two shillings rattling in my pocket I felt a very sober -man. I knew nothing whatever of soldiering. I hardly even knew a -corporal from a private or a rifle from a ramrod, and here I was -Trooper A. H. Gibbs, 9th Lancers, with the sullen rumble of heavy -guns just across the Channel--growing louder. - - -2 - -Woolwich! - -Bad smells, bad beer, bad women, bad language!--Those early days! -None of us who went through the ranks will ever forget the tragedy, -the humour, the real democracy of that period. The hand of time has -already coloured it with the glow of romance, but in the living it -was crude and raw, like waking up to find your nightmare real. - -Oxford University doesn’t give one much of an idea of how to cope -with the class of humanity at that Depot in spite of Ruskin Hall, -the working-man’s college, of which my knowledge consisted only of -climbing over their wall and endeavouring to break up their happy -home. But the Ruskin Hall man was a prince by the side of those -recruits. They came with their shirts sticking out of trousers seats, -naked toes showing out of gaping boots, and their smell---- We lay -at night side by side on adjoining bunks, fifty of us in a room. They -had spent their two days’ pay on beer, bad beer. The weather was hot. -Most of them were stark naked. I’d had a bath that morning. They -hadn’t. - -The room was enormous. The windows had no blinds. The moon streamed -in on their distorted bodies in all the twistings of uneasy sleep. -Some of them smoked cigarettes and talked. Others blasphemed them for -talking, but the bulk snored and ground their teeth in their sleep. - -A bugle rang out. - -Aching in every limb from the unaccustomed hardness of the iron -bed it was no hardship to answer the call. There were lavatories -outside each room and amid much sleepy blasphemy we shaved, those of -us who had razors, and washed, and in the chill of dawn went down -to a misty common. It was too early for discipline. There weren’t -enough N.C.O.’s, so for the first few days we hung about waiting for -breakfast instead of doing physical jerks. - -Breakfast! One thinks of a warm room with cereals and coffee and eggs -and bacon with a morning paper and, if there’s a soot in our cup, a -sarcastic reference as to cleanliness. That was before the war. - -We lined up before the door of a gun shed, hundreds of us, shivering, -filing slowly in one by one and having a chunk of bread, a mug of tea -and a tin of sardines slammed into our hands, the sardines having to -be divided among four. - -The only man in my four who possessed a jack-knife to open the tin -had cleaned his pipe with it, scraped the mud off his boots, cleaned -out his nails and cut up plug tobacco. Handy things, jack-knives. -He proceeded to hack open the tin and scoop out sardines. It was -only my first morning and my stomach wasn’t strong in those days. I -disappeared into the mist, alone with my dry bread and tea. Hunger -has taught me much since then. - -The mist rolled up later and daylight showed us to be a pretty tough -crowd. We were presently taken in hand by a lot of sergeants who -divided us into groups, made lists of names and began to teach us how -to march in the files, and in sections,--the elements of soldiering. -Some of them didn’t seem to know their left foot from their right, -but the patience of those sergeants was only equalled by the cunning -of their blasphemy and the stolidity of their victims. - -After an hour of it we were given a rest for fifteen minutes, -this time to get a handful of tobacco. Then it went on again and -again,--and yet again. - -The whole of that first period of seven days was a long jumble of -appalling happenings; meals served by scrofulitic hands on plates -from which five other men’s leavings and grease had to be removed; -bread cut in quarter loaves; meat fat, greasy, and stewed--always -stewed, tea, stewed also, without appreciable milk, so strong that -a spoon stood up in it unaided; sleeping in one’s clothes and -inadequate washing in that atmosphere of filth indescribable; of -parades to me childish in their elementariness; of long hours in the -evening with nothing to do, no place to go, no man to talk to,--a -period of absolute isolation in the middle of those thousands broken -only by letters which assumed a paramount importance, constituting -as they did one’s only link with all that one had left behind, that -other life which now seemed like a mirage. - -Not that one regretted the step. It was a first-hand experience of -life that only Jack London or Masefield could have depicted. It was -too the means of getting out to fight the Boche. A monotonous means, -yes, but every day one learnt some new drill and every day one was -thrilled with the absolute cold-blooded reality of it all. It was -good to be alive, to be a man, to get one’s teeth right into things. -It was a bigger part to play than that of the boy in “The Blindness -of Virtue.” - - -3 - -Two incidents stand out in that chrysalis stage of becoming soldiers. - -One was a sing-song, spontaneously started among the gun sheds in the -middle of the white moonlight. One of the recruits was a man who had -earned his living--hideously sarcastic phrase!--by playing a banjo -and singing outside public houses. He brought his banjo into the army -with him. I hope he’s playing still! - -He stuck his inverted hat on the ground, lit a candle beside it in -the middle of the huge square, smacked his dry lips and drew the -banjo out of its baize cover. - -“Perishin’ thirsty weather, Bill.” - -He volunteered the remark to me as to a brother. - -“Going to play for a drink?” I asked. - -He was already tuning. He then sat down on a large stone and began to -sing. His accompaniment was generous and loud and perhaps once he had -a voice. It came now with but an echo of its probable charm, through -a coating of beer and tobacco and years of rough living. - -It was extraordinary. Just he sitting on the stone, and I standing -smoking by his side, and the candle flickering in the breeze, and -round us the hard black and white buildings and the indefinable -rumble of a great life going on somewhere in the distance. - -Presently, as though he were the Pied Piper, men came in twos and -threes and stood round us, forming a circle. - -“Give us the ‘Little Grey ’Ome in the West,’ George!” - -And “George,” spitting after the prolonged sentiment of Thora, struck -up the required song. At the end of half an hour there were several -hundred men gathered round joining in the choruses, volunteering -solos, applauding each item generously. The musician had five bottles -of beer round his inverted hat and perhaps three inside him, and a -collection of coppers was taken up from time to time. - -They chose love ballads of an ultra-sentimental nature with the soft -pedal on the sad parts,--these men who to-morrow would face certain -death. How little did that thought come to them then. But I looked -round at their faces, blandly happy, dirty faces, transformed by the -moon and by their oath of service into the faces of crusaders. - -How many of them are alive to-day, how many buried in nameless mounds -somewhere in that silent desolation? How many of them have suffered -mutilation? How many of them have come out of it untouched, to the -waiting arms of their women? Brothers, I salute you. - - * * * * * - -The other incident was the finding of a friend, a kindred spirit in -those thousands which accentuated one’s solitude. - -We had been standing in a long queue outside the Quartermaster’s -store, being issued with khaki one by one. I was within a hundred -yards of getting outfitted when the Q.M. came to the door in person -and yelled that the supply had run out. I think we all swore. The -getting of khaki meant a vital step nearer to the Great Day when -we should cross the Channel. As the crowd broke away in disorder, -I heard a voice with an ‘h’ say “How perfectly ruddy!” I could -have fallen on the man’s neck with joy. The owner of it was a comic -sight. A very battered straw hat, a dirty handkerchief doing the -duty of collar, a pair of grey flannel trousers that had been slept -in these many nights. But the face was clear and there was a twinkle -of humorous appreciation in the blue eye. I made a bee-line for that -man. I don’t remember what I said, but in a few minutes we were -swapping names, and where we lived and what we thought of it, and -laughing at our mutually draggled garments. - -We both threw reserve to the wind and were most un-English, except -perhaps that we may have looked upon each other as the only two -white men in a tribe of savages. In a sense we were. But it was like -finding a brother and made all that difference to our immediate -lives. There was so much pent-up feeling in both of us that we -hadn’t been able to put into words. Never have I realized the value -and comfort of speech so much, or the bond established by sharing -experiences and emotions. - - -4 - -My new-found “brother’s” name was Bucks. After a few more days of -drilling and marching and sergeant grilling, we both got khaki -and spurs and cap badges and bandoliers, and we both bought white -lanyards and cleaning appliances. Smart? We made a point of being the -smartest recruits of the whole bunch. We felt we were the complete -soldier at last and although there wasn’t a horse in Woolwich we -clattered about in spurs that we burnished to the glint of silver. - -And then began the second chapter of our military career. We all -paraded one morning and were told off to go to Tidworth or the -Curragh. - -Bucks and I were for Tidworth and marched side by side in the great -squad of us who tramped in step, singing “Tipperary” at the top of -our lungs, down to the railway station. - -That was the first day I saw an officer, two officers as a matter of -fact, subalterns of our own regiment. It gave one for the first time -the feeling of belonging to a regiment. In the depot at Woolwich were -9th Lancers, 5th Dragoon Guards, and 16th Lancers. Now we were going -to the 9th Lancer barracks and those two subalterns typified the -regiment to Bucks and me. How we eyed them, those two youngsters, and -were rather proud of the aloof way in which they carried themselves. -They were specialists. We were novices beginning at the bottom of the -ladder and I wouldn’t have changed places with them at that moment -had it been possible. As an officer I shouldn’t have known what to -do with the mob of which I was one. I should have been awkward, -embarrassed. - -It didn’t occur to me then that there were hundreds, thousands, who -knew as little as we did about the Army, who were learning to be -second lieutenants as we were learning to be troopers. - -We stayed all day in that train, feeding on cheese and bread which -had been given out wrapped in newspapers, and buns and biscuits -bought in a rush at railway junctions at which we stopped from time -to time. It was dark when we got to Tidworth, that end-of-the-world -siding, and were paraded on the platform and marched into barracks -whose thousand windows winked cheerily at us as we halted outside the -guardroom. - -There were many important people like sergeant-majors waiting for us, -and sergeants who called them “sir” and doubled to carry out their -orders. These latter fell upon us and in a very short time we were -divided into small groups and marched away to barrack rooms for the -night. There was smartness here, discipline. The chaos of Woolwich -was a thing of the past. - -Already I pictured myself being promoted to lance-corporal, the -proud bearer of one stripe, picking Boches on my lance like a row of -pigs,--and I hadn’t even handled a real lance as yet! - - -5 - -Tidworth, that little cluster of barrack buildings on the edge of -the sweeping downs, golden in the early autumn, full of a lonely -beauty like a green Sahara with springs and woods, but never a house -for miles, and no sound but the sighing of the wind and the mew of -the peewit! Thus I came to know it first. Later the rain turned it -into a sodden stretch of mud, blurred and terrible, like a drunken -street-woman blown by the wind, filling the soul with shudders and -despair.--The barrack buildings covered perhaps a square mile of -ground, ranged orderly in series, officers’ quarters--as far removed -from Bucks and me as the Carlton Hotel--married quarters, sergeants’ -mess, stables, canteen, riding school, barrack rooms, hospital; like -a small city, thriving and busy, dropped from the blue upon that -patch of country. - -The N.C.O.’s at Tidworth were regulars, time-serving men who had -learnt their job in India and who looked upon us as a lot of -“perishin’ amatoors.” It was a very natural point of view. We -presented an ungodly sight, a few of us in khaki, some in “blues,” -those terrible garments that make their wearers look like an -orphan’s home, but most in civilian garments of the most tattered -description. Khaki gave one standing, self-respect, cleanliness, -enabled one to face an officer feeling that one was trying at least -to be a soldier. - -The barrack rooms were long and whitewashed, a stove in the middle, -rows of iron beds down either side to take twenty men in peace times. -As it was we late comers slept on “biscuits,” square hard mattresses, -laid down between the iron bunks, and mustered nearly forty in a -room. In charge of each room was a lance-corporal or corporal whose -job it was to detail a room orderly and to see furthermore that he -did his job, _i.e._, keep the room swept and garnished, the lavatory -basins washed, the fireplace blackleaded, the windows cleaned, the -step swept and whitewashed. - -Over each bed was a locker (without a lock, of course) where each -man kept his small kit,--razor, towel, toothbrush, blacking and his -personal treasures. Those who had no bed had no locker and left -things beneath the folded blankets of the beds. - -How one missed one’s household goods! One learnt to live like a -snail, with everything in the world upon one’s person,--everything -in the world cut down to the barest necessities, pipe and baccy, -letters, a photograph, knife, fork and spoon, toothbrush, bit of -soap, tooth paste, one towel, one extra pair of socks. Have you ever -tried it for six months--a year? Then don’t. You miss your books and -pictures, the bowl of flowers on the table, the tablecloth. All the -things of everyday life that are taken for granted become a matter of -poignant loss when you’ve got to do without them. But it’s marvellous -what can be done without when it’s a matter of necessity. - -Bucks unfortunately didn’t get to the same room with me. All of -us who had come in the night before were paraded at nine o’clock -next morning before the Colonel and those who had seen service or -who could ride were considered sheep and separated from the goats -who had never seen service nor a horse. Bucks was a goat. I could -ride,--although the sergeant-major took fifteen sulphuric minutes -to tell me he didn’t think so. And so Bucks and I were separated by -the space of a barrack wall, as we thought then. It was a greater -separation really, for he was still learning to ride when I went out -to France to reinforce the fighting regiment which had covered itself -with glory in the retreat from Mons. But before that day came we -worked through to the soul of Tidworth, and of the sergeant-major, -if by any stretch of the imagination he may be said to have had a -soul. I think he had, but all the other men in the squadron dedicated -their first bullet to him if they saw him in France. What a man! He -stands out among all my memories of those marvellous days of training -when everything was different from anything I had ever done before. -He stands before me now, a long, thin figure in khaki, with a face -that had been kicked in by a horse, an eye that burnt like a branding -iron, and picked out unpolished buttons like a magnet. In the saddle -he was a centaur, part of the horse, wonderful. His long, thin thighs -gripped like tentacles of steel. He could make an animal grunt, he -gripped so hard. And his language! Never in my life had I conceived -the possibilities of blasphemy to shrivel a man’s soul until I heard -that sergeant-major. He ripped the Bible from cover to cover. He -defied thunderbolts from on high and referred to the Almighty as -though he were a scullion,--and he’s still doing it. Compared to the -wholesale murder of eight million men it was undoubtedly a pin-prick, -but it taught us how to ride! - - -6 - -Reveille was at 5.30. - -Grunts, groans, curses, a kick,--and you were sleepily struggling -with your riding breeches and puttees. - -The morning bath? Left behind with all the other things. - -There were horses to be groomed and watered and fed, stables to be -“mucked out,” much hard and muscular work to be done before that -pint of tea and slab of grease called bacon would keep body and -soul together for the morning parade. One fed first and shaved and -splashed one’s face, neck, and arms with water afterwards. Have -you ever cleaned out a stable with your bare hands and then been -compelled to eat a meal without washing? - -By nine o’clock one paraded with cleaned boots, polished buttons and -burnished spurs and was inspected by the sergeant-major. If you were -sick you went before the doctor instead. But it didn’t pay to be -sick. The sergeant-major cured you first. Then as there weren’t very -many horses in barracks as yet, we were divided half into the riding -school, half for lance and sword drill. - -Riding school was invented by the Spanish Inquisition. Generally -it lasted an hour, by which time one was broken on the rack and -emerged shaken, bruised and hot, blistered by the sergeant-major’s -tongue. There were men who’d never been on a horse more than twice -in their lives, but most of us had swung a leg over a saddle. -Many in that ride were grooms from training stables, riders of -steeple-chasers. But their methods were not at all those desired in -His Majesty’s Cavalry and they suffered like the rest of us. But the -sergeant-major’s tongue never stopped and we either learned the -essentials in double-quick time or got out to a more elementary ride. - -It was a case of the survival of the fittest. Round and round that -huge school, trotting with and without stirrups until one almost fell -off from sheer agony, with and without saddle over five-foot jumps -pursued by the hissing lash of the sergeant-major’s tongue and whip, -jumping without reins, saddle or stirrups. The agony of sitting down -for days afterwards! - -Followed a fifteen-minute break, after the horses were led back to -the stables and off-saddled, and then parade on the square with lance -and sword. A lovely weapon the lance--slender, irresistible--but -after an hour’s concentrated drill one’s right wrist became red-hot -and swollen and the extended lance points drooped in our tired grasp -like reeds in the wind. At night in the barrack room we used to have -competitions to see who could drive the point deepest into the door -panels. - -Then at eleven o’clock “stables” again: caps and tunics off, braces -down, sleeves rolled up. We had a magnificent stamp of horse, but -they came in ungroomed for days and under my inexpert methods of -grooming took several days before they looked as if they’d been -groomed at all. - -Dinner was at one o’clock and by the time that hour struck one was -ready to eat anything. Each squadron had its own dining-rooms, -concrete places with wooden tables and benches, but the eternal stew -went down like caviar. - -The afternoon parades were marching drill, physical exercises, -harness cleaning, afternoon stables and finish for the day about five -o’clock, unless one were wanted for guard or picquet. Picquet meant -the care of the horses at night, an unenviable job. But guard was a -twenty-four hours’ duty, two hours on, four hours off, much coveted -after a rough passage in the riding school. It gave one a chance to -heal. - -Hitherto everything had been a confused mass of men without -individuality but of unflagging cheerfulness. Now in the team work -of the squadron and the barrack room individuality began to play its -part and under the hard and fast routine the cheerfulness began to -yield to grousing. - -The room corporal of my room was a re-enlisted man, a schoolmaster -from Scotland, conscientious, liked by the men, extremely simple. -I’ve often wondered whether he obtained a commission. The other -troopers were ex-stable boys, labourers, one a golf caddy and one an -ex-sailor who was always singing an interminable song about a highly -immoral donkey. The caddy and the sailor slept on either side of me. -They were a mixed crowd and used filthy language as naturally as they -breathed, but as cheery and stout a lot as you’d wish to meet. Under -their grey shirts beat hearts as kindly as many a woman’s. I remember -the first time I was inoculated and felt like nothing on earth. - -“Christ!” said the sailor. “Has that perishin’ doctor been stickin’ -his perishin’ needle into you, Mr. Gibbs?”--For some reason they -always called me Mr. Gibbs.--“Come over here and get straight to bed -before the perishin’ stuff starts workin’. I’ve ’ad some of it in the -perishin’ navy.” And he and the caddy took off my boots and clothes -and put me to bed with gentle hands. - -The evening’s noisiness was given up. Everybody spoke in undertones -so that I might get to sleep. And in the morning, instead of sweeping -under my own bed as usual, they did it for me and cleaned my buttons -and boots because my arm was still sore. - -Can you imagine men like that nailing a kitten by its paws to a door -as a booby-trap to blow a building sky high, as those Boches have -done? Instead of bayoneting prisoners the sailor looked at them -and said, “Ah, you poor perishin’ tikes!” and threw them his last -cigarettes. - -They taught me a lot, those men. Their extraordinary acceptation of -unpleasant conditions, their quickness to resent injustice and speak -of it at once, their continual cheeriness, always ready to sing, gave -me something to compete with. On wet days of misery when I’d had -no letters from home there were moments when I damned the war and -thought with infinite regret of New York. But if these fellows could -stick it, well, I’d had more advantages than they’d had and, by Jove, -I was going to stick it too. It was a matter of personal pride. - -Practically they taught me many things as well. It was there that -they had the advantage of me. They knew how to wash shirts and socks -and do all the menial work which I had never done. I had to learn. -They knew how to dodge “fatigues” by removing themselves just one -half-minute before the sergeant came looking for victims. It didn’t -take me long to learn that. - -Then one saw gradually the social habit emerge, called “mucking -in.” Two men became pals and paired off, sharing tobacco and pay -and saddle soap and so on. For a time I “mucked in” with Sailor--he -was always called Sailor--and perforce learned the song about the -Rabelaisian donkey. I’ve forgotten it now. Perhaps it’s just as well. -Then when the squadron was divided up into troops Sailor and I were -not in the same troop and I had to muck in with an ex-groom. He was -the only man who did not use filthy language. - -It’s odd about that language habit. While in the ranks I never caught -it, perhaps because I considered myself a bit above that sort of -thing. It was so childish and unsatisfying. But since I have been -an officer I think I could sometimes have almost challenged the -sergeant-major! - - -7 - -As soon as one had settled into the routine the days began to roll -by with a monotony that was, had we only known it, the beginning of -knowledge. Some genius has defined war as “months of intense boredom -punctuated by moments of intense fear.” We had reached the first -stage. It was when the day’s work was done that the devil stalked -into one’s soul and began asking insidious questions. The work itself -was hard, healthy, of real enjoyment. Shall I ever forget those -golden autumn dawns when I rode out, a snorting horse under me, upon -the swelling downs, the uplands touched by the rising sun; but in the -hollows the feathery tops of trees poked up through the mist which -lay in velvety clouds and everywhere a filigree of silver cobwebs, -like strung seed pearls. It was with the spirit of crusaders that we -galloped cross-country with slung lances, or charged in line upon an -imaginary foe with yells that would demoralise him before our lance -points should sink into his fat stomach. The good smells of earth and -saddlery and horse flesh, the lance points winking in the sun, were -all the outward signs of great romance and one took a deep breath of -the keen air and thanked God to be in it. One charged dummies with -sword and lance and hacked and stabbed them to bits. One leaped from -one’s horse at the canter and lined a bank with rifles while the -numbers three in each section galloped the horses to a flank under -cover. One went over the brigade jumps in troop formation, taking -pride in riding so that all horses jumped as one, a magnificent bit -of team work that gave one a thrill. - -It was on one of those early morning rides that Sailor earned undying -fame. Remember that all of the work was done on empty stomachs before -breakfast and that if we came back late, a frequent occurrence, we -received only scraps and a curse from the cook. On the morning in -question the sergeant-major ordered the whole troop to unbuckle their -stirrup leathers and drop them on the ground. We did so. - -“Now,” said he, “we’re going to do a brisk little cross-country -follow-my-leader. I’m the leader and” (a slight pause with a flash -from the steely eye), “God help the weak-backed, herring-gutted sons -of ---- who don’t perishin’ well line up when I give the order to -halt. Half sections right! walk, march!” - -We walked out of the barracks until we reached the edge of the downs -and then followed such a ride as John Gilpin or the Baron Munchausen -would have revelled in--perhaps. The sergeant-major’s horse could -jump anything, and what it couldn’t jump it climbed over. It knew -better than to refuse. We were indifferently mounted, some well, some -badly. My own was a good speedy bay. The orders were to keep in half -sections--two and two. For a straight half-mile we thundered across -the level, drew rein slightly through a thick copse that lashed one’s -face with pine branches and then dropped over a precipice twenty -feet deep. That was where the half-section business went to pieces, -especially when the horses clambered up the other side. We had no -stirrups. It was a case of remaining in the saddle somehow. Had I -been alone I would have ridden five miles to avoid the places the -sergeant-major took us over, through, and under,--bramble hedges that -tore one’s clothes and hands, ditches that one had to ride one’s -horse at with both spurs, banks so steep that one almost expected -the horse to come over backwards, spinneys where one had to lie down -to avoid being swept off. At last, breathless, aching and exhausted, -those of us who were left were halted and dismounted, while the -sergeant-major, who hadn’t turned a hair, took note of who was -missing. - -Five unfortunates had not come in. The sergeant-major cast an eye -towards the open country and remained ominously silent. After about a -quarter of an hour the five were seen to emerge at a walk from behind -a spinney. They came trotting up, an anxious expression on their -faces, all except Sailor, who grinned from ear to ear. Instead of -being allowed to fall in with us they were made to halt and dismount -by themselves, facing us. The sergeant-major looked at them, slowly, -with an infinite contempt, as they stood stiffly to attention. Then -he began. - -“Look at them!” he said to us. “Look at those five....” and so on in -a stinging stream, beneath which their faces went white with anger. - -As the sergeant-major drew breath, Sailor stepped forward. He was no -longer grinning from ear to ear. His face might have been cut out of -stone and he looked at the sergeant-major with a steady eye. - -“That’s all right, Sergeant-Major,” he said. “We’re all that and a -perishin’ lot more perhaps, but not you nor Jesus Christ is going -to make me do a perishin’ ride like that and come back to perishin’ -barracks and get no perishin’ breakfast and go on perishin’ parade -again at nine with not a perishin’ thing in my perishin’ stomach.” - -“What do you mean?” asked the sergeant-major. - -“What I says,” said Sailor, standing to his guns while we, amazed, -expected him to be slain before our eyes. “Not a perishin’ bit of -breakfast do we get when we go back late.” - -“Is that true?” The sergeant-major turned to us. - -“Yes,” we said, “perishin’ true!” - -“Mount!” ordered the sergeant-major without another word and we -trotted straight back to barracks. By the time we’d watered, -off-saddled and fed the horses we were as usual twenty minutes late -for breakfast. But this morning the sergeant-major, with a face like -a black cloud, marched us into the dining-hall and up to the cook’s -table. - -We waited, breathless with excitement. The cook was in the kitchen, a -dirty fellow. - -The sergeant-major slammed the table with his whip. The cook came, -wiping a chewing mouth with the back of his hand. - -“Breakfast for these men, quick,” said the sergeant-major. - -“All gone, sir,” said the cook, “we can’t----” - -The sergeant-major leaned over with his face an inch from the cook’s. -“Don’t you perishin’ well answer me back,” he said, “or I’ll put you -somewhere where the Almighty couldn’t get you out until I say so. -Breakfast for these men, you fat, chewing swine, or I’ll come across -the table and cut your tripes out with my riding whip and cook _them_ -for breakfast! Jump, you foul-feeder!” and down came the whip on the -table like a pistol shot. - -The cook swallowed his mouthful whole and retired, emerging presently -with plenty of excellent breakfast and hot tea. We laughed. - -“Now,” said the sergeant-major, “if you don’t get as good a breakfast -as this to-morrow and every to-morrow, tell me, and I’ll drop this -lying bastard into his own grease trap.” - -Sailor got drunk that night. We paid. - - -8 - -The evenings were the hardest part. There was only Bucks to talk -to, and it was never more than twice a week that we managed to get -together. Generally one was more completely alone than on a desert -island, a solitude accentuated by the fact that as soon as one ceased -the communion of work which made us all brothers on the same level, -they dropped back, for me at least, into a seething mass of rather -unclean humanity whose ideas were not mine, whose language and habits -never ceased to jar upon one’s sensitiveness. There was so little -to do. The local music hall, intensely fifth rate, only changed its -programme once a week. The billiard tables in the canteen had an -hour-long waiting list always. - -The Y.M.C.A. hadn’t developed in those early days to its present -manifold excellence. There was no gymnasium. The only place one had -was one’s bed in the barrack room on which one could read or write, -not alone, because there was always a shouting incoming and outgoing -crowd and cross fire of elementary jokes and horseplay. It seemed -that there was never a chance of being alone, of escaping from this -“lewd and licentious soldiery.” There were times when the desert -island called irresistibly in this eternal isolation of mind but not -of body. All that one had left behind, even the times when one was -bored and out of temper, because perhaps one was off one’s drive at -the Royal and Ancient, or some other trivial thing like that, became -so glorious in one’s mind that the feel of the barrack blanket was -an agony. Had one _ever_ been bored in that other life? Had one been -touchy and said sarcastic things that were meant to hurt? Could it -be possible that there was anything in that other world for which -one wouldn’t barter one’s soul now? How little one had realised, -appreciated, the good things of that life! One accepted them as a -matter of course, as a matter of right. - -Now in the barrack-room introspections their real value stood out in -the limelight of contrast and one saw oneself for the first time: a -rather selfish, indifferent person, thoughtless, hurrying along the -road of life with no point of view of one’s own, doing things because -everybody else did them, accepting help carelessly, not realising -that other people might need one’s help in return, content with a -somewhat shallow secondhand philosophy because untried in the fire -of reality. This was reality, this barrack life. This was the first -time one had been up against facts, the first time it was a personal -conflict between life and oneself with no mother or family to fend -off the unpleasant; a fact that one hadn’t attempted to grasp. - -The picture of oneself was not comforting. To find out the truth -about oneself is always like taking a pill without its sugar coating; -and it was doubly bitter in those surroundings. - -Hitherto one had never been forced to do the unpleasant. One simply -avoided it. Now one had to go on doing it day after day without a -hope of escape, without any more alleviation than a very occasional -week-end leave. Those week-ends were like a mouthful of water to -Dives in the flames of hell,--but which made the flames all the -fiercer afterwards! One prayed for them and loathed them. - -The beating heart with which one leaped out of a taxi in London and -waited on the doorstep of home, heaven. The glory of a clean body and -more particularly, clean hands. It was curious how the lack of a bath -ceased after a time to be a dreadful thing, but the impossibility -of keeping one’s hands clean was always a poignant agony. They were -always dirty, with cracked nails and a cut or two, and however many -times they were scrubbed, they remained appalling. But at home on -leave, with hot water and stacks of soap and much manicuring, they -did not at least make one feel uncomfortable. - -The soft voices and laughter of one’s people, their appearance--just -to be in the same room, silent with emotion--God, will one ever -forget it? Thin china to eat off, a flower on the table, soft lights, -a napkin.--The little ones who came and fingered one’s bandolier -and cap badge and played with one’s spurs with their tiny, clean -hands--one was almost afraid to touch them, and when they puckered up -their tiny mouths to kiss one good night.--I wonder whether they ever -knew how near to tears that rough-looking soldier-man was? - -And then in what seemed ten heart-beats one was saying good-bye to -them all. Back to barracks again by way of Waterloo and the last -train at 9 p.m.--its great yellow lights and awful din, its surging -crowd of drunken soldiers and their girls who yelled and hugged and -screamed up and down the platform, and here and there an officer -diving hurriedly into a first-class compartment. Presently whistles -blew and one found oneself jammed into a carriage with about twelve -other soldiers who fought to lean out of the window and see the -last of their girls until the train had panted its way out of the -long platform. Then the foul reek of Woodbine cigarettes while they -discussed the sexual charms of those girls--and then a long snoring -chorus for hours into the night, broken only by some one being sick -from overmuch beer. - -The touch of the rosebud mouth of the baby girl who had kissed me -good-bye was still on my lips. - - -9 - -It was in the first week of November that, having been through an -exhaustive musketry course in addition to all the other cavalry work, -we were “passed out” by the Colonel. I may mention in passing that -in October, 1914, the British Cavalry were armed, for the first time -in history, with bayonets in addition to lance, sword and rifle. -There was much sarcastic reference to “towies,” “foot-sloggers,” -“P.B.I.”--all methods of the mounted man to designate infantry; and -when an infantry sergeant was lent to teach us bayonet fighting -it seemed the last insult, even to us recruits, so deeply was the -cavalry spirit already ingrained in us. - -The “passing out” by the Colonel was a day in our lives. It meant -that, if successful, we were considered good enough to go and fight -for our country: France was the Mecca of each of us. - -The day in question was bright and sunny with a touch of frost which -made the horses blow and dance when, with twinkling lance-points at -the carry, we rode out with the sergeant-major, every bright part of -our equipment polished for hours overnight in the barrack room amid -much excited speculation as to our prospects. - -The sergeant-major was going to give us a half-hour’s final rehearsal -of all our training before the Colonel arrived. Nothing went right -and he damned and cursed without avail, until at last he threatened -to ride us clean off the plain and lose us. It was very depressing. -We knew we’d done badly, in spite of all our efforts, and when we -saw, not far off, the Colonel, the Major and the Adjutant, with a -group of other people riding up to put us through our paces, there -wasn’t a heart that didn’t beat faster in hope or despair. We sat to -attention like Indians while the officers rode round us, inspecting -the turnout. - -Then the Colonel expressed the desire to see a little troop drill. - -The sergeant-major cleared his throat and like an 18-pounder shell -the order galvanised us into action. We wheeled and formed and spread -out and reformed without a hitch and came to a halt in perfect -dressing in front of the Colonel again, without a fault. Hope revived -in despairing chests. - -Then the Colonel ordered us over the jumps in half sections, and -at the order each half section started away on the half-mile -course--walk, trot, canter, jump, steady down to trot, canter, -jump--_e da capo_ right round about a dozen jumps, each one over -a different kind of obstacle, each half section watched far more -critically perhaps by the rest of the troop than by the officers. My -own mount was a bay mare which I’d ridden half a dozen times. When -she liked she could jump anything. Sometimes she didn’t like. - -This day I was taking no chances and drove home both spurs at the -first jump. My other half section was a lance-corporal. His horse was -slow, preferring to consider each jump before it took it. - -Between jumps, without moving our heads and looking straight in front -of us, we gave each other advice and encouragement. - -Said he, “Not so perishin’ fast. Keep dressed, can’t you.” - -Said I, “Wake your old blighter up! What’ve you got spurs on -for?--Hup! Over. Steady, man, steady.” - -Said he, “Nar, then, like as we are. Knee to knee. Let’s show ’em -what the perishin’ Kitchener’s mob perishin’ well _can_ do.” And -without a refusal we got round and halted in our places. - -When we’d all been round, the Colonel with a faint smile on his face, -requested the sergeant-major to take us round as a troop--sixteen -lancers knee to knee in the front rank and the same number behind. - -It happened that I was the centre of the front rank--technically -known as centre guide--whose job it was to keep four yards from the -tail of the troop leader and on whom the rest of the front rank -“dressed.” - -When we were well away from the officers and about to canter at the -first jump the sergeant-major’s head turned over his shoulder. - -“Oh, _you_’re centre guide, Gibbs, are you! Well, you keep your -distance proper, that’s all, and by Christ, if you refuse----” - -I don’t know what fate he had in store for me had I missed a jump but -there I was with a knee on either side jammed painfully hard against -mine as we came to the first jump. It was the man on either flank of -the troop who had the most difficult job. The jumps were only just -wide enough and they had to keep their horses from swinging wide of -the wings. It went magnificently. Sixteen horses as one in both ranks -rose to every jump, settled down and dressed after each and went -round the course without a hitch, refusal or fall, and at last we sat -at attention facing the Colonel, awaiting the verdict which would -either send us back for further training, or out to--what? Death, -glory, or maiming? - -The Major looked pleased and twisted his moustache with a grin. He -had handled our squadron and on the first occasion of his leading us -in a charge, he in front with drawn sword, we thundering behind with -lances menacing his back in a glittering row, we got so excited that -we broke ranks and flowed round him, yelling like cowboys. How he -damned us! - -The Colonel made a little speech and complimented us on our work -and the sergeant-major for having trained us so well,--us, the first -of Kitchener’s “mob” to be ready. Very nice things he said and our -hearts glowed with appreciation and excitement. We sat there without -a movement but our chests puffed out like a row of pouter pigeons. - -At last he saluted us--saluted _us_, he, the Colonel--and the -officers rode away,--the Major hanging behind a little to say with -a smile that was worth all the cursings the sergeant-major had ever -given us, “Damn good, you fellows! _Damn_ good!” We would have -followed him to hell and back at that moment. - -And then the sergeant-major turned his horse and faced us. “You may -_think_ you’re perishin’ good soldiers after all that, but by Christ, -I’ve never seen such a perishin’ awful exhibition of carpet-baggers.” - -But there was an unusual twinkle in his eye and for the first time in -those two months of training he let us “march at ease,” _i.e._, smoke -and talk, on the way back to stables. - - -10 - -That was the first half of the ordeal. - -The second half took place in the afternoon in the barrack square -when we went through lance drill and bayonet exercises while the -Colonel and the officers walked round and discussed us. At last we -were dismissed, trained men, recruits no longer; and didn’t we throw -our chests out in the canteen that night! It made me feel that the -Nobel prize was futile beside the satisfaction of being a fully -trained trooper in His Majesty’s Cavalry, and in a crack regiment -too, which had already shown the Boche that the “contemptible little -army” had more “guts” than the Prussian Guards regiments and -anything else they liked to chuck in. - -I foregathered with Bucks that night and told him all about it. Our -ways had seemed to lie apart during those intensive days, and it was -only on Sundays that we sometimes went for long cross-country walks -with biscuits and apples in our pockets if we were off duty. About -once a week too we made a point of going to the local music-hall -where red-nosed comedians knocked each other about and fat ladies in -tights sang slushy love songs; and with the crowd we yelled choruses -and ate vast quantities of chocolate. - -Two other things occurred during those days which had an enormous -influence on me; one indeed altered my whole career in the army. - -The first occurrence was the arrival in a car one evening of an -American girl whom I’d known in New York. It was about a week after -my arrival at Tidworth. She, it appeared, was staying with friends -about twenty miles away. - -The first thing I knew about it was when an orderly came into stables -about 4.30 p.m. on a golden afternoon and told me that I was wanted -at once at the Orderly Room. - -“What for?” said I, a little nervous. - -The Orderly Room was where all the scallawags were brought up before -the Colonel for their various crimes,--and I made a hasty examination -of conscience. - -However, I put on my braces and tunic and ran across the square. -There in a car was the American girl whom I had endeavoured to teach -golf in the days immediately previous to my enlistment. “Come on -out and have a picnic with me,” said she. “I’ve got some perfectly -luscious things in a basket.” - -The idea was heavenly but it occurred to me I ought to get -permission. So I went into the Orderly Room. - -There were two officers and a lot of sergeants. I tiptoed up to a -sergeant and explaining that a lady had come over to see me, asked -if I could get out of camp for half an hour? I was very raw in those -days,--half an hour! - -The sergeant stared at me. Presumably ladies in motor-cars didn’t -make a habit of fetching cavalry privates. It wasn’t “laid down” in -the drill book. However, he went over to one of the officers,--the -Adjutant, I discovered later. - -The Adjutant looked me up and down as I repeated my request, asked -me my name and which ride I was in and finally put it to the other -officer who said “yes” without looking up. So I thanked the Adjutant, -clicked to the salute and went out. As I walked round the front of -the car, while the chauffeur cranked up, the door of the Orderly Room -opened and the Adjutant came on to the step. He took a good look at -the American girl and said, “Oh--er--Gibbs! You can make it an hour -if you like.” - -It may amuse him to know, if the slaughter hasn’t claimed him, that I -made it exactly sixty minutes, much as I should have liked to make it -several hours, and was immensely grateful to him both for the extra -half hour and for the delightful touch of humour. - -What a picnic it was! We motored away from that place and all its -roughness and took the basket under a spinney in the afternoon sun -which touched everything in a red glow. - -It wasn’t only tea she gave me, but sixty precious minutes of great -friendship, letting fall little remarks which helped me to go back -all the more determined to stick to it. She renewed my faith in -myself and gave me renewed courage,--for which I was unable to thank -her. We British are so accursedly tongue-tied in these matters. I did -try but of course made a botch of it. - -There are some things which speech cannot deal with. Your taking -me out that day, oh, American girl, and the other days later, are -numbered among them. - - -11 - -The other occurrence was also brought about by a woman, _the_ woman -for whom I joined up. It was a Sunday morning on which fortunately -I was not detailed for any fatigues and she came to take me out to -lunch. We motored to Marlborough, lunched at the hotel and after -visiting a racing stable some distance off came back to the hotel -for tea, a happy day unflecked by any shadow. In the corner of the -dining-room were two officers with two ladies. I, in the bandolier -and spurs of a trooper, sat with my back to them and my friend told -me that they seemed to be eyeing me and making remarks. It occurred -to me that as I had no official permission to be away from Tidworth -they might possibly be going to make trouble. How little I knew what -was in their minds. When we’d finished and got up to go one of the -officers came across as we were going out of the room and said, “May -I speak to you a moment?” - -We both stopped. “I see you’re wearing the numerals of my regiment,” -said he and went on to ask why I was in the ranks, why I hadn’t asked -for a commission, and strongly advised me to do so. - -I told him that I hadn’t ever thought of it because I knew nothing -about soldiering and hadn’t the faintest idea of whether I should -ever be any good as an officer. He waved that aside and advised me -to apply. Then he added that he himself was going out to France one -day in the following week and would I like to go as his servant? -Would I? My whole idea was to get to France; and this happened before -I had been passed out by the Colonel. So he took down my name and -particulars and said he would ask for me when he came to Tidworth, -which he proposed to do in two days’ time. - -Whether he ever came or not I do not know. I never saw him again. Nor -did I take any steps with regard to a commission. My friend and I -talked it over and I remember rather laughing at the idea of it. - -Not so she, however. About a fortnight later I was suddenly sent for -by the Colonel. - -“I hear you’ve applied for a commission,” said he. - -It came like a bolt from the blue. But through my brain flashed the -meeting in the Marlborough Hotel and I saw in it the handiwork of my -friend. - -So I said, “Yes, sir.” - -He then asked me where I was educated and whether I spoke French and -what my job was in civil life and finally I was sent off to fill up a -form and then to be medically examined. - -And there the matter ended. I went on with the daily routine, was -passed out by the Colonel and a very few days after that heard the -glorious news that we were going out as a draft to France on active -service. - -We were all in bed in the barrack room one evening when the door -opened and a sergeant came in and flicked on the electric light, -which had only just been turned out. - -“Wake up, you bloodthirsty warriors,” he cried. “Wake up. You’re for -a draft to-morrow all of you on this list,” and he read out the names -of all of us in the room who had been passed out. “Parade at the -Quartermaster’s stores at nine o’clock in the morning.” And out went -the light and the door slammed and a burst of cheering went up. - -And while I lay on my “biscuits,” imagining France and hearing in my -mind the thunder of guns and wondering what our first charge would -be like, the machinery which my friend had set in motion was rolling -slowly (shades of the War Office!) but surely. My name had been -submerged in the “usual channels” but was receiving first aid, all -unknown to me, of a most vigorous description. - - -12 - -Shall I _ever_ forget that week-end, with all its strength of -emotions running the gamut from exaltation to blank despair and back -again to the wildest enthusiasm? - -We paraded at the Quartermaster’s stores and received each a kit -bag, two identity discs--the subject of many gruesome comments--a -jack-knife, mess tin, water bottle, haversack, and underclothes. Thus -were we prepared for the killing. - -Then the Major appeared and we fell in before him. - -“Now which of you men want to go to the front?” said he. “Any man who -wants to, take one pace forward.” - -As one man the whole lot of us, about thirty, took one pace forward. - -The Major smiled. “Good,” said he. “Any man _not_ want to go--prove.” - -No man proved. - -“Well, look here,” said the Major, “I hate to disappoint anybody but -only twenty-eight of you can go. You’ll have to draw lots.” - -Accordingly bits of paper were put into a hat, thirty scraps of -paper, two of them marked with crosses. Was it a sort of inverted -omen that the two who drew the crosses would never find themselves -under little mounds in France? - -We drew in turn, excitement running high as paper after paper came -out blank. My heart kicked within me. How I prayed not to draw a -cross. But I did! - -Speechless with despair the other man who drew a cross and I received -the good-natured chaff of the rest. - -I saw them going out, to leave this accursed place of boredom and -make-believe, for the real thing, the thing for which we had slaved -and sweated and suffered. We two were to be left. We weren’t to go -on sharing the luck with these excellent fellows united to us by the -bonds of fellow-striving, whom we knew in sickness and health, drunk -and sober. - -We had to remain behind, eating our hearts out to wait for the next -draft--a lot of men whom we did not know, strangers with their own -jokes and habits--possibly a fortnight of hanging about. The day was -a Friday and our pals were supposed to be going at any moment. The -other unlucky man and myself came to the conclusion that consolation -might be found in a long week-end leave and that if we struck while -the iron of sympathy was hot the Major might be inclined to lend a -friendly ear. This indeed he did and within an hour we were in the -London train on that gloomy Friday morning, free as any civilian till -midnight of the following Tuesday. Thus the Major’s generosity. The -only proviso was that we had both to leave telegraphic addresses in -case---- - -But in spite of that glorious week-end in front of us, we refused -to be consoled, yet, and insisted on telling the other occupants of -the carriage of our rotten luck. We revelled in gloom and extraneous -sympathy until Waterloo showed up in the murk ahead. Then I’m bound -to confess my own mental barometer went up with a jump and I said -good-bye to my fellow lancer, who was off to pursue the light o’ love -in Stepney, with an impromptu Te Deum in my heart. - -My brother, with whom I spent all my week-ends in those days, had a -house just off the Park. He put in his time looking like a rather -tired admiral, most of whose nights were passed looking for Zeppelins -and yearning for them to come within range of his beloved “bundooks” -which were in the neighbourhood of the Admiralty. Thither I went at -full speed in a taxi--they still existed in those days--and proceeded -to wallow in a hot bath, borrowing my brother’s bath salts (or were -they his wife’s?), clean “undies” and hair juice with a liberal -hand. It was a comic sight to see us out together in the crowded -London streets, he all over gold lace, me just a Tommy with a cheap -swagger stick under my arm. Subalterns, new to the game, saluted him -punctiliously. I saluted them. And when we met generals or a real -admiral we both saluted together. The next afternoon, Saturday, at -tea time a telegram came. We were deep in armchairs in front of a -gorgeous fire, with muffins sitting in the hearth and softly shaded -electric lights throwing a glow over pictures and backs of books and -the piano which, after the barrack room, made us as near heaven as -I’ve ever been. The telegram was for me, signed by the Adjutant. - -“Return immediately.” - -It was the echo of a far-off boot and saddle.--I took another look -round the room. Should I ever see it again? My brother’s eye met mine -and we rose together. - -“Well, I must be getting along,” said I. “Cheero, old son.” - -“I’ll come with you to the station,” said he. - -I shook my head. “No, please don’t bother.--Don’t forget to write.” - -“Rather not.--Good luck, old man.” - -“Thanks.” - -We went down to his front door. I put on my bandolier and picked up -my haversack. - -“Well--so long.” - -We shook hands. - -“God bless you.” - -I think we said it together and then the door closed softly behind me. - -_Partir, c’est mourir un peu.--Un peu._--God! - - -13 - -The next day, Sunday, we all hung about in a sort of uneasy waiting, -without any orders. - -It gave us all time to write letters home. If I rightly remember, -absolute secrecy was to be maintained so we were unable even to hint -at our departure or to say good-bye. It was probably just as well but -they were difficult letters to achieve. So we tied one identity disc -to our braces and slung the other round our necks on a string and did -rather more smoking than usual. - -Next morning, however, all was bustle. The orders had come in and we -paraded in full fighting kit in front of the guardroom. - -The Colonel came on parade and in a silence that was only broken by -the beating of our hearts told us we were going out to face the Boche -for our King and Country’s sake, to take our places in the ranks of a -very gallant regiment, and he wished us luck. - -We gave three rather emotional cheers and marched away with our chins -high, followed by the cheers of the whole barracks who had turned out -to see us off. Just as we were about to entrain the Major trotted up -on his big charger and shook us individually by the hand and said he -wished he were coming with us. His coming was a great compliment and -every man of us appreciated it to the full. - -The harbour was a wonderful sight when we got in late that afternoon. -Hundreds of arc lights lit up numbers of ships and at each ship was -a body of troops entraining,--English, Scotch and Irish, cavalry, -gunners and infantry. At first glance it appeared a hopeless tangle, -a babel of yelling men all getting into each other’s way. But -gradually the eye tuned itself up to the endless kaleidoscope and one -saw that absolute order prevailed. Every single man was doing a job -and the work never ceased. - -We were not taking horses and marched in the charge of an officer -right through the busy crowd and halted alongside a boat which -already seemed packed with troops. But after a seemingly endless wait -we were marched on board and, dodging men stripped to the waist who -were washing in buckets, we climbed down iron ladders into the bowels -of the hold, were herded into a corner and told to make ourselves -comfortable. Tea would be dished out in half an hour. - -Holds are usually iron. This was. Furthermore it had been recently -red-leaded. Throw in a strong suggestion of garlic and more than -a hint of sea-sickness and you get some idea of the perfume that -greeted us, friendly-like. - -The comments, entirely good-natured, were unprintable. There were no -bunks. We had one blanket each and a greatcoat. My thoughts turned to -the first-class stateroom of the _Caronia_ in which only four months -previously I had had no thought of war. The accepted form of romance -and the glamour of war have been altered. There are no cheering -crowds and fluttering handkerchiefs and brass bands. The new romance -is the light of the moon flickering on darkened ships that creep -one after the other through the mine barrier out into deep waters, -turning to silver the foam ripped by the bows, picking out the white -expressionless faces of silent thousands of khaki-clad men lining the -rail, following the will-o’-the-wisp which beckoned to a strange land. - -How many of them knew what they were going to fight for? How many of -them realized the unforgettable hell they were to be engulfed in, the -sacrifice which they so readily made of youth, love, ambition, life -itself--and to what end? To give the lie to one man who wished to -alter the face of the world? To take the part of the smaller country -trampled and battered by the bully? To save from destruction the -greasy skins of dirty-minded politicians, thinking financially or -even imperially, but staying at home? - -God knows why most of us went. - -But the sting of the Channel wind as we set our faces to the -enemy drove all reason from the mind and filled it with a mighty -exultation. If Death were there to meet us, well, it was all in the -game. - - -14 - -We climbed up from the hold next morning to find ourselves in -Portsmouth harbour. The word submarines ran about the decks. There -we waited all day, and again under cover of dark made our way out to -open water, reaching Havre about six o’clock next morning. - -We were marched ashore in the afternoon and transferred to another -boat. Nobody knew our destination and the wildest guesses were made. -The new boat was literally packed. There was no question of going -down into a hold. We were lucky to get sufficient deck space to lie -down on, and just before getting under way, it began to rain. There -were some London Scottish at our end of the deck who, finding that -we had exhausted our rations, shared theirs with us. There was no -question of sleeping. It was too cold and too uncomfortable. So we -sang. There must have been some two thousand of us on board and all -those above deck joined in choruses of all the popular songs as they -sat hunched up or lying like rows of sardines in the rain. Dawn found -us shivering, passing little villages on either bank of the river as -we neared Rouen. The early-rising inhabitants waved and their voices -came across the water, “_Vivent les Anglais! A bas les Boches!_” And -the sun came out as we waved out shaving brushes at them in reply. We -eventually landed in the old cathedral city and formed up and marched -away across the bridge, with everybody cheering and throwing flowers -until we came to La Bruyère camp. - -Hundreds of bell tents, thousands of horses, and mud over the ankles! -That was the first impression of the camp. It wasn’t until we were -divided off into tents and had packed our equipment tight round the -tent pole that one had time to notice details. - -We spent about nine days in La Bruyère camp and we groomed horses -from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. every day, wet or fine. The lines were endless -and the mud eternal. It became a nightmare, relieved only by the -watering of the horses. The water was about a kilometre and a half -distant. We mounted one horse and led two more each and in an -endless line splashed down belly-deep in mud past the hospital where -the slightly wounded leaned over the rail and exchanged badinage. -Sometimes the sisters gave us cigarettes for which we called down -blessings on their heads. - -It rained most of the time and we stood ankle-deep all day in the -lines, grooming and shovelling away mud. But all the time jokes -were hurled from man to man, although the rain dripped down their -faces and necks. We slept, if I remember rightly, twenty men in -a tent, head outwards, feet to the pole piled on top of each -other,--wet, hot, aching. Oh, those feet, the feet of tired heroes, -but unwashed. And it was impossible to open the tent flap because of -the rain.--Fortunately it was cold those nights and one smoked right -up to the moment of falling asleep. Only two per cent. of passes to -visit the town were allowed, but the camp was only barb-wired and -sentried on one side. The other side was open to the pine woods and -very pretty they were as we went cross-country towards the village -of St. Etienne from which a tram-car ran into Rouen in about twenty -minutes. The military police posted at the entrance to the town -either didn’t know their job or were good fellows of Nelsonian -temperament, content to turn a blind eye. From later experience I -judge that the former was probably the case. Be that as it may, -several hundreds of us went in without official permission nearly -every night and, considering all things, were most orderly. Almost -the only man I ever saw drunk was, paradoxically enough, a police -man. He tried to place my companion and myself under arrest, but was -so far gone that he couldn’t write down our names and numbers and we -got off. The hand of Fate was distinctly in it for had I been brought -up and crimed for being loose in the town without leave it might have -counted against me when my commission was being considered. - -One evening, the night before we left for the front, we went down -for a bath, the last we should get for many a day. On our way we -paid a visit to the cathedral. It was good to get out of the crowded -streets into the vast gloom punctured by pin-points of candlelight, -with only faint footfalls and the squeak of a chair to disturb the -silence. For perhaps half an hour we knelt in front of the high -altar,--quite unconsciously the modern version of that picture of a -knight in armour kneeling, holding up his sword as a cross before -the altar. It is called the Vigil, I believe. We made a little vigil -in khaki and bandoliers and left the cathedral with an extraordinary -confidence in the morrow. There was a baby being baptised at the -font. It was an odd thing seeing that baby just as we passed out. It -typified somewhat the reason of our going forth to fight. - -The bath was amusing. The doors were being closed as we arrived, -and I had just the time to stick my foot in the crack, much to the -annoyance of the attendant. I blarneyed him in French and at last -pushed into the hall only to be greeted by a cry of indignation from -the lady in charge of the ticket office. She was young, however and -pretty, and, determined to get a bath, I played upon her feelings -to the extent of my vocabulary. At first she was adamant. The baths -were closed. I pointed out that the next morning we were going to the -front to fight for France. She refused to believe it. I asked her if -she had a brother. She said she hadn’t. I congratulated her on not -being agonized by the possibilities of his death from hour to hour. -She smiled. - -My heart leaped with hope and I reminded her that as we were possibly -going to die for her the least she could do was to let us die clean. -She looked me straight in the eye. There was a twinkle in hers. “You -will not die,” she said. Somehow one doesn’t associate the selling of -bath tickets with the calling of prophet. But she combined the two. -And the bath was gloriously hot. - - -15 - -That nine days at La Bruyère did not teach us very much,--not even -the realization of the vital necessity of patience. We looked upon -each day as wasted because we weren’t up the line. Everywhere were -preparations of war but we yearned for the sound of guns. Even the -blue-clad figures who exchanged jokes with us over the hospital -railing conveyed nothing of the grim tragedy of which we were only on -the fringe. They were mostly convalescent. It is only the shattered -who are being pulled back to life by a thread who make one curse -the war. We looked about like new boys in a school, interested but -knowing nothing of the workings, reading none of the signs. This -all bored us. We wanted the line with all the persistence of the -completely ignorant. - -The morning after our bath we got it. There was much bustle and -running and cursing and finally we had our saddles packed, and a -day’s rations in our haversacks and a double feed in the nose-bags. - -The cavalry man in full marching order bears a strange resemblance to -a travelling ironmonger and rattles like the banging of old tins. The -small man has almost to climb up the near foreleg of his horse, so -impossible is it to get a leg anywhere near the stirrup iron with all -his gear on. My own method was to stick the lance in the ground by -the butt, climb with infinite labour and heavings into the saddle and -come back for the lance when arranged squarely on the horse. - -Eventually everything was accomplished and we were all in the saddle -and were inspected to see that we were complete in every detail. Then -we rode out of that muddy camp in sections--four abreast--and made -our way down towards the station. It was a real touch of old-time -romance, that ride. The children ran shouting, and people came out -of the shops to wave their hands and give us fruit and wish us luck, -and the girls blew kisses, and through the hubbub the clatter of our -horses over the cobbles and the jingle of stirrup striking stirrup -made music that stirred one’s blood. - -There was a long train of cattle trucks waiting for us at the station -and into these we put our horses, eight to each truck, fastened -by their ropes from the head collar to a ring in the roof. In the -two-foot space between the two lots of four horses facing each other -were put the eight saddles and blankets and a bale of hay. - -Two men were detailed to stay with the horses in each truck while -the rest fell in and were marched away to be distributed among the -remaining empty trucks. I didn’t altogether fancy the idea of looking -after eight frightened steeds in that two-foot alleyway, but before I -could fall in with the rest I was detailed by the sergeant. - -That journey was a nightmare. My fellow stableman was a brainless -idiot who knew even less about the handling of horses than I did. - -The train pulled out in the growing dusk of a cold November evening, -the horses snorting and starting at every jolt, at every signal and -telegraph pole that we passed. When they pawed with their front feet -we, sitting on the bale of hay, had to dodge with curses. There was -no sand or bedding and it was only the tightness with which they -were packed together that kept them on their feet. Every light that -flashed by drew frightened snorts. We spent an hour standing among -them, saying soothing things and patting their necks. We tried -closing the sliding doors but at the end of five minutes the heat -splashed in great drops of moisture from the roof and the smell was -impossible. Eventually I broke the bale of hay and threw some of -that down to give them a footing. - -There was a lamp in the corner of the truck. I told the other -fellow to light it. He said he had no matches. So I produced mine -and discovered that I had only six left. We used five to find out -that the lamp had neither oil nor wick. We had just exhausted our -vocabularies over this when the train entered a tunnel. At no time -did the train move at more than eight miles an hour and the tunnel -seemed endless. A times I still dream of that tunnel and wake up in a -cold sweat. - -As our truck entered great billows of smoke rushed into it. The eight -horses tried as one to rear up and crashed their heads against the -roof. The noise was deafening and it was pitch dark. I felt for the -door and slid it shut while the horses blew and tugged at their ropes -in a blind panic. Then there was a heavy thud, followed by a yell -from the other man and a furious squealing. - -“Are you all right?” I shouted, holding on to the head collar of the -nearest beast. - -“Christ!” came the answer. “There’s a ’orse down and I’m jammed up -against the door ’ere. Come and get me out, for Christ’s sake.” - -My heart was pumping wildly. - -The smoke made one gasp and there was a furious stamping and -squealing and a weird sort of blowing gurgle which I could not define. - -Feeling around I reached the next horse’s head collar and staggered -over the pile of saddlery. As I leaned forward to get to the third -something whistled past my face and I heard the sickening noise of -a horse’s hoof against another horse, followed by a squeal. I felt -blindly and touched a flank where a head should have been. One of -them had swung round and was standing with his fore feet on the -fallen horse and was lashing out with both hind feet, while my -companion was jammed against the wall of the truck by the fallen -animal presumably. - -And still that cursed tunnel did not come to an end. I yelled again -to see if he were all right and his fruity reply convinced me that at -least there was no damage done. So I patted the kicker and squeezed -in to his head and tried to get him round. It was impossible to get -past, over or under, and the brute wouldn’t move. There was nothing -for it but to remain as we were until out of the tunnel. And then I -located the gurgle. It was the fallen horse, tied up short by the -head collar to the roof, being steadily strangled. It was impossible -to cut the rope. A loose horse in that infernal _mêlée_ was worse -than one dead--or at least choking. But I cursed and pulled and -heaved in my efforts to get him up. - -By this time there was no air and one’s lungs seemed on the point of -bursting. The roof rained sweat upon our faces and every moment I -expected to get a horse’s hoof in my face. - -How I envied that fellow jammed against the truck. At last we came -out into the open again, and I slid back the door, and shoved my head -outside and gulped in the fresh air. Then I untied the kicker and -somehow, I don’t know how, got him round into his proper position and -tied him up, with a handful of hay all round to steady their nerves. - -The other man was cursing blue blazes all this time, but eventually I -cut the rope of the fallen horse, and after about three false starts -he got on his feet again and was retied. The man was not hurt. He -had been merely wedged. So we gave some more hay all round, cursed a -bit more to ease ourselves and then went to the open door for air. A -confused shouting from the next truck reached us. After many yells we -made out the following, “Pass the word forward that the train’s on -fire.” - -All the stories I’d ever heard of horses being burnt alive raced -through my brain in a fraction of a second. - -We leaned to the truck in front and yelled. No answer. The truck was -shut. - -“Climb on the roof,” said I, “and go forward.” The other man obeyed -and disappeared into the dark. - -Minutes passed, during which I looked back and saw a cloud of smoke -coming out of a truck far along the train. - -Then a foot dropped over from the roof and my companion climbed back. - -“Better go yourself,” he said. “I carnt mike ’im understand. He threw -lumps of coal at me from the perishin’ engine.” - -So I climbed on to the roof of the swaying coach, got my balance and -walked forward till a yard-wide jump to the next roof faced me in the -darkness. - -“Lord!” thought I, “if I didn’t know that other lad had been here, -I shouldn’t care about it. However----” I took a strong leap and -landed, slipping to my hands and knees. - -There were six trucks between me and the engine and the jumps varied -in width. I got there all right and screamed to the engine driver, -“_Incendie!--Incendie!_” - -He paused in the act of throwing coal at me and I screamed again. -Apparently he caught it, for first peering back along all the train, -he dived at a lever and the train screamed to a halt. I was mighty -thankful. I hadn’t looked forward to going back the way I came and -I climbed quickly down to the rails. A sort of guard with a lantern -and an official appearance climbed out of a box of sorts and demanded -to know what was the matter, and when I told him, called to me to -follow and began doubling back along the track. - -I followed. The train seemed about a mile long but eventually we -reached a truck, full of men and a rosy glare, from which a column of -smoke bellied out. The guard flashed his lantern in. - -The cursed thing wasn’t on fire at all. The men were burning hay in a -biscuit tin, singing merrily, just keeping themselves warm. - -I thought of the agony of those jumps in the dark from roof to roof -and laughed. But I got my own back. They couldn’t see us in the dark, -so in short snappy sentences I ordered them to put the fire out -immediately. And they thought I was an officer and did so. - - -16 - -The rest of the night passed in an endeavour to get to sleep in a -sitting position on the bale of hay. From time to time one dozed off, -but it was too cold, and the infernal horses would keep on pawing. - -Never was a night so long and it wasn’t till eight o’clock in the -morning that we ran into Hazebrouck and stopped. By this time we -were so hungry that food was imperative. On the station was a great -pile of rifles and bandoliers and equipment generally, all dirty and -rusty, and in a corner some infantry were doing something round a -fire. - -“Got any tea, chum?” said I. - -He nodded a Balaklava helmet. - -We were on him in two leaps with extended dixies. It saved our lives, -that tea. We were chilled to the bone and had only bully beef and -biscuits, of course, but I felt renewed courage surge through me -with every mouthful. - -“What’s all that stuff?” I asked, pointing to the heap of equipments. - -“Dead men’s weapons,” said he, lighting a “gasper.” Somehow it -didn’t sound real. One couldn’t picture all the men to whom that -had belonged dead. Nor did it give one anything of a shock. One -just accepted it as a fact without thinking, “I wonder whether _my_ -rifle and sword will ever join that heap?” The idea of my being -_killed_ was absurd, fantastic. Any of these others, yes, but somehow -not myself. Never at any time have I felt anything but extreme -confidence in the fact--yes, fact--that I should come through, in all -probability, unwounded. I thought about it often but always with the -certainty that nothing would happen to me. - -I decided that _if_ I were killed I should be most frightfully angry! -There were so many things to be done with life, so much beauty to be -found, so many ambitions to be realized, that it was impossible that -I should be killed. All this dirt and discomfort was just a necessary -phase to the greater appreciation of everything. - -I can’t explain it. Perhaps there isn’t any explanation. But never at -any time have I seen the shell or bullet with my name on it,--as the -saying goes. And yet somehow that pile of broken gear filled one with -a sense of the pity of it all, the utter folly of civilization which -had got itself into such an unutterable mess that blood-letting was -the only way out.--I proceeded to strip to the waist and shave out of -a horse-bucket of cold water. - -There was a cold drizzle falling when at last we had watered the -horses, fed and saddled them up, and were ready to mount. It -increased to a steady downpour as we rode away in half sections -and turned into a muddy road lined with the eternal poplar. In the -middle of the day we halted, numbed through, on the side of a road, -and watered the horses again, and snatched a mouthful of biscuit and -bully and struggled to fill a pipe with icy fingers. Then on again -into the increasing murk of a raw afternoon. - -Thousands of motor lorries passed like an endless chain. Men muffled -in greatcoats emerged from farm-houses and faintly far came the sound -of guns. - -The word went round that we were going up into the trenches that -night. Heaven knows who started it but I found it a source of -spiritual exaltation that helped to conquer the discomfort of that -ride. Every time a trickle ran down one’s neck one thought, “It -doesn’t matter. This is the real thing. We are going up to-night,” -and visualised a Hun over the sights of one’s rifle. - -Presently the flames of fires lit up the murk and shadowy forms moved -round them which took no notice of us as we rode by. - -At last in pitch darkness we halted at a road crossing and splashed -into a farmyard that was nearly belly-deep in mud. Voices came -through the gloom, and after some indecision and cursing we -off-saddled in a stable lit by a hurricane lamp, hand-rubbed the -horses, blanketed them and left them comfortable for the night. - -We were given hot tea and bread and cheese and shepherded into an -enormous barn piled high with hay. Here and there twinkled candles in -biscuit tins and everywhere were men sitting and lying on the hay, -the vague whiteness of their faces just showing. It looked extremely -comfortable. - -But when we joined them--the trench rumour was untrue--we found that -the hay was so wet that a lighted match thrown on it fizzled and -went out. The rain came through innumerable holes in the roof and the -wind made the candles burn all one-sided. However, it was soft to lie -on, and when my “chum” and I had got on two pairs of dry socks each -and had snuggled down together with two blankets over our tunics and -greatcoats, and mufflers round our necks, and Balaklava helmets over -our heads we found we could sleep warm till reveille. - -The sock question was difficult. One took off soaking boots and -puttees at night and had to put them on again still soaking in the -morning. The result was that by day our feet were always ice-cold -and never dry. We never took anything else off except to wash, or to -groom horses. - -The next morning I had my first lesson in real soldiering. The -results were curious. - -The squadron was to parade in drill order at 9 a.m. We had groomed -diligently in the chilly dawn. None of the horses had been clipped, -so it consisted in getting the mud off rather than really grooming, -and I was glad to see that my horse had stood the train journey and -the previous day’s ride without any damage save a slight rubbing -of his tail. At about twenty minutes to nine, shaved and washed, I -went to the stables to saddle up for the parade. Most of the others -in that stable were nearly ready by the time I got there and to my -dismay I found that they had used all my gear. There was nothing but -the horse and the blanket left,--no saddle, no head collar and bit, -no rifle, no sword, no lance. Everything had disappeared. I dashed -round and tried to lay hands on some one else’s property. They were -too smart and eventually they all turned out leaving me. The only -saddle in the place hadn’t been cleaned for months and I should -have been ashamed to ride it. Then the sergeant appeared, a great, -red-faced, bad-tempered-looking man. - -I decided on getting the first blow in. So I went up and told him -that all my things had been “pinched.” Could he tell me where I could -find some more? - -His reply would have blistered the paint off a door. His adjectives -concerning me made me want to hit him. But one cannot hit one’s -superior officer in the army--more’s the pity--on occasions like -that. So we had a verbal battle. I told him that if he didn’t find -me everything down to lance buckets I shouldn’t appear on parade and -that if he chose to put me under arrest, so much the better, as the -Major would then find out how damned badly the sergeant ran his troop. - -It was a good bluff. Bit by bit he hunted up a head collar, a saddle, -sword, lance, etc. Needless to say they were all filthy and I wished -all the bullets in Germany on the dirty dog who had pinched my clean -stuff. However, I was on parade just half a minute before the Major -came round to inspect us. He stopped at me, his eye taking in the -rusty bit and stirrup irons, the coagulations on the bridle, the -general damnableness of it all. It wasn’t nice. - -“Did you come in last night?” The voice was hard. - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Did you come up from the base with your appointments in that state?” - -“No, sir.” - -“What do you mean?” - -The sergeant was looking apoplectic behind him. - -“These aren’t my things, sir,” said I. - -“Whose are they?” - -“I don’t know, sir.” - -“Where are your things?” - -“They were in the stables at reveille, sir, but they’d all gone when -I went to saddle up. The horse is the only thing I brought with me, -sir.” - -The whole troop was sitting at attention, listening, and I hoped that -the man who had stolen everything heard this dialogue and was quaking -in his wet boots. - -The Major turned. “What does this mean, Sergeant?” - -There was a vindictive look in the sergeant’s eye as he spluttered -out an unconvincing reply that “these new fellows wanted nursemaids -and weren’t ’alf nippy enough in lookin’ arter ’emselves.” - -The Major considered it for a moment, told me that I must get -everything clean for the next parade and passed on. - -At least I was not under arrest, but it wasn’t good enough on the -first morning to earn the Major’s scorn through no fault of my own. I -wanted some one’s blood. - -Each troop leader, a subaltern, was given written orders by the -Major and left to carry them out. Our own troop leader didn’t seem -to understand his orders and by the time the other three troops had -ridden away he was still reading his paper. The Major returned and -explained, asked him if all was clear, and getting yes for an answer, -rode off. - -The subaltern then asked the sergeant if he had a map! - -What was even more curious, the sergeant said yes. The subaltern -said we had to get to a place called Flêtre within three quarters of -an hour and they proceeded to try and find it on the sergeant’s map -without any success for perhaps five minutes. - -During that time the troopers around me made remarks in undertones, -most ribald remarks. We had come through Flêtre the previous day and -I remembered the road. So I turned to a lance-corporal on my right -and said, “Look here, I know the way. Shall I tell him?” - -“Yes, tell him for Christ’s sake!” said the lance-corporal. “It’s too -perishin’ cold to go on sitting ’ere.” - -So I took a deep breath and all my courage in both hands and spoke. -“I beg your pardon, sir,” said I. “I know Flêtre.” - -The subaltern turned round on his horse. “Who knows the place?” he -said. - -“I do, sir,” and I told him how to get there. - -Without further comment he gave the word to advance in half sections -and we left the parade ground, but instead of turning to the left as -I had said, he led us straight on at a good sharp trot. - -More than half an hour later, when we should have been at the pin -point in Flêtre, the subaltern halted us at a crossroads in open -country and again had a map consultation with the sergeant. Again -it was apparently impossible to locate either the crossroads or the -rendezvous. - -But in the road were two peasants coming towards us. He waited till -they came up and then asked them the way in bad German. They looked -at him blankly, so he repeated his question in worse French. His -pronunciation of Flêtre puzzled them but at last one of them guessed -it and began a stream of explanations and pointings. - -“What the hell are they talking about?” said the subaltern to the -sergeant. - -The lance-corporal nudged me. “Did _you_ understand?” - -“Yes,” said I. - -“Tell him again,” he said. “Go on.” - -So again I begged his pardon and explained what the peasants had told -him. He looked at me for a moment oddly. I admit that it wasn’t -usual for a private to address his officer on parade without being -first spoken to. But this was war, the world war, and the old order -changeth. Anyhow I was told to ride in front of the troop as guide -and did and brought the troop to the rendezvous about twenty minutes -late. - -The Major was not pleased. - -Later in the day the subaltern came around the stables and, seeing -me, stopped and said, “Oh--er--you!” - -I came to attention behind the horse. - -“What’s your name?” said he. - -I told him. - -“Do you talk French?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Where were you educated?” - -“France and Oxford University, sir.” - -“Oh!” slightly surprised. “Er--all right, get on with your work”--and -whether it was he or the sergeant I don’t know, but I had four horses -to groom that morning instead of two. - -From that moment I decided to cut out being intelligent and remain -what the French call a “simple” soldier. - -By a strange coincidence there was a nephew of that subaltern in -the Brigade of Gunners to which I was posted when I received a -commission. It is curious how accurately nephews sum up uncles. - - -17 - -When we did not go out on drill orders like that we began the day -with what is called rough exercise. It was. In the foggy dawn, -swathed in scarfs and Balaklava helmets, one folded one’s blanket -on the horse, bitted him, mounted, took another horse on either -side, and in a long column followed an invisible lance-corporal -across ploughed fields, over ditches, and along roads at a good stiff -trot that jarred one’s spine. It was generally raining and always -so cold that one never had the use of either hands or feet. The -result was that if one of the unbitted led horses became frolicsome -it was even money that he would pull the rope out of one’s hands -and canter off blithely down the road,--for which one was cursed -bitterly by the sergeant on one’s return. The rest of the day was -divided between stables and fatigues in that eternal heart-breaking -mud. One laid brick paths and brushwood paths and within twenty-four -hours they had disappeared under mud. It was shovelled away in sacks -and wheelbarrows, and it oozed up again as if by magic. One made -herring-bone drains and they merged in the mud. There seemed to be no -method of competing with it. In the stables the horses stood in it -knee-deep. As soon as one had finished grooming, the brute seemed to -take a diabolical pleasure in lying down in it. It became a nightmare. - -The sergeant didn’t go out of his way to make things easier for -any of us and confided most of the dirtier, muddier jobs to me. -There seemed to be always something unpleasant that required -“intelligence,” so he said, and in the words of the army I -“clicked.” The result was that I was happiest when I was on guard, a -twenty-four-hour duty which kept me more or less out of the mud and -entirely out of his way. - -The first time I went on I was told by the N.C.O. in charge that no -one was to come through the hedge that bounded the farm and the road -after lights out, and if any one attempted to do so I was to shoot -on sight. So I marched up and down my short beat in the small hours -between two and four, listening to the far-off muttering of guns and -watching the Verey lights like a miniature firework display, praying -that some spy would try and enter the gap in the hedge. My finger was -never very far from the trigger, and my beat was never more than two -yards from the hedge. I didn’t realize then that we were so far from -the line that the chances of a strolling Hun were absurd. Looking -back on it I am inclined to wonder whether the N.C.O. didn’t tell me -to shoot on sight because he knew that the sergeant’s billet was down -that road and the hedge was a short cut. The sergeant wasn’t very -popular. - -There was an _estaminet_ across the road from the farm, and the -officers had arranged for us to have the use of the big room. It was -a godsend, that _estaminet_, with its huge stove nearly red-hot, its -bowls of coffee and the single glass of raw cognac which they were -allowed to sell us. The evenings were the only time one was ever -warm, and although there was nothing to read except some old and torn -magazines we sat there in the fetid atmosphere just to keep warm. - -The patron talked vile French but was a kindly soul, and his small -boy, Gaston, aged about seven, became a great friend of mine. He used -to bring me my coffee, his tiny, dirty hands only just big enough to -hold the bowl, and then stand and talk while I drank it, calling me -“thou.” - -“_T’es pas anglais, dis?_” - -And I laughed and said I was French. - -“_Alors comment qu’ t’es avec eux, dis?_” - -And when one evening he came across and looked over my shoulder as I -was writing a letter, he said, “_Qué que t’écris, dis?_” - -I told him I was writing in English. - -He stared at me and then called out shrilly, “_Papa. V’là l’Français -qu’écrit en anglais!_” - -He had seen the Boche, had little Gaston, and told me how one day -the Uhlans had cleaned the _estaminet_ out of everything,--wine, -cognac, bread, blankets, sheets--_les sales Boches!_ - -As the days dragged muddily through it was borne in on me that this -wasn’t fighting for King and Country. It was just Tidworth over -again with none of its advantages and with all its discomforts -increased a thousand-fold. Furthermore the post-office seemed to -have lost me utterly, and weeks went by before I had any letters at -all. It was heart-breaking to see the mail distributed daily and -go away empty-handed. It was as though no one cared, as though one -were completely forgotten, as though in stepping into this new life -one had renounced one’s identity. Indeed, every day it became more -evident that it was not I who was in that mud patch. It was some -one else on whom the real me looked down in infinite amazement. I -heard myself laugh in the farm at night and join in choruses; saw -myself dirty and unbathed, with a scarf around my stomach and another -round my feet, and a woollen helmet over my head; standing in the -mud stripped to the waist shaving without a looking-glass; drinking -coffee and cognac in that _estaminet_.--Was it I who sometimes -prayed for sleep that I might shut it all out and slip into the land -of dreams, where there is no war and no mud? Was it I who when the -first letters arrived from home went out into the rainy night with a -candle-end to be alone with those I loved? And was it only the rain -which made it so difficult to read them? - - -18 - -The culminating point was reached when I became ill. - -Feeling sick, I couldn’t eat any breakfast and dragged myself -on parade like a mangy cat. I stuck it till about three in the -afternoon, when the horse which I was grooming receded from me and -the whole world rocked. I remember hanging on to the horse till -things got a bit steadier, and then asked the sergeant if I might go -off parade. I suppose I must have looked pretty ill because he said -yes at once. - -For three days I lay wrapped up on the straw in the barn, eating -nothing; and only crawling out to see the doctor each morning at -nine o’clock. Of other symptoms I will say nothing. The whole affair -was appalling, but I recovered sufficient interest in life on the -fourth morning to parade sick, although I felt vastly more fit. -Indeed, the argument formed itself, “since I am a soldier I’ll play -the ‘old soldier’ and see how long I can be excused duty.” And I -did it so well that for three more days I was to all intents and -purposes a free man. On one of the days I fell in with a corporal of -another squadron, and he and I got a couple of horses and rode into -Bailleul, which was only about three miles south of us, and we bought -chocolates, and candles and books, and exchanged salutes with the -Prince of Wales, who was walking in the town. Then we came back with -our supplies after an excellent lunch at the hotel in the square, -the “Faucon,” and had tea with the officers’ servants in a cosy -little billet with a fire and beds. The remarks they made about their -officers were most instructive, and they referred to them either as -“my bloke” or “’is lordship.” - -And there it was I met again a man I had spoken to once at Tidworth, -who knew French and was now squadron interpreter. He was a charming -man of considerable means, with a large business, who had joined up -immediately on the outbreak of war. But being squadron interpreter -he messed with the officers, had a billet in a cottage, slept on -a bed, had a private hip bath and hot water, and was in heaven, -comparatively. He suggested to me that as my squadron lacked an -interpreter (he was doing the extra work) and I knew French it was up -to me. - -“But how the devil’s it to be done?” said I, alight with the idea. - -“Why don’t you go and see the Colonel?” he suggested. - -I gasped. The Colonel was nearly God. - -He laughed. “This is ‘Kitchener’s Army,’” he said, “not the regular -Army. Things are a bit different.” They were indeed! - -So I slept on the idea and every moment it seemed to me better and -better, until the following evening after tea, instead of going to -the _estaminet_, I went down to squadron headquarters. For about five -minutes I walked up and down in the mud, plucking up courage. I would -rather have faced a Hun any day. - -At last I went into the farmyard and knocked at the door. There were -lights in the crack of the window shutters. - -A servant answered the door. - -“Is the Colonel in?” said I boldly. - -He peered at me. “What the perishin’ ’ell do _you_ want to know for?” - -“I want to see him,” said I. - -“And what the ’ell do _you_ want to see him for?” - -I was annoyed. It seemed quite likely that this confounded servant -would do the St. Peter act and refuse me entrance into the gates. - -“Look here,” I said, “it doesn’t matter to you what for or why. -You’re here to answer questions. Is the Colonel _in_?” - -The man snorted. “Oh! I’m ’ere to answer questions, am I? Well, if -you want to know, the Colonel ain’t in.--Anything else?” - -I was stumped. It seemed as if my hopes were shattered. But luck was -mine--as ever. A voice came from the inner room. “Thomson! Who is -that man?” - -The servant made a face at me and went to the room door. - -“A trooper, sir, from one of the squadrons, askin’ to see the -Colonel.” - -“Bring him in,” said the voice. - -My heart leapt. - -The servant returned to me and showed me into the room. - -I saw three officers, one in shirt sleeves, all sitting around a -fire. Empty tea things were still on a table. There were a sofa, and -armchairs and bright pictures, a pile of books and magazines on a -table, and a smell of Egyptian cigarettes. They all looked at me as I -saluted. - -“Thomson tells me you want to see the Colonel,” said the one whose -voice I had heard, the one in shirt sleeves. “Anything I can do?” - -It was good to hear one’s own language again, and I decided to make a -clean breast of it. - -“It’s awfully kind of you, sir,” said I. “Perhaps you can. I came to -ask for the interpretership of my squadron. We haven’t got one and -I can talk French. If you could put in a word for me I should be -lastingly grateful.” - -His next words made him my brother for life. “Sit down, won’t you,” -he said, “and have a cigarette.” - -Can you realize what it meant after those weeks of misery, with no -letters and the eternal adjective of the ranks which gets on one’s -nerves till one could scream, to be asked to sit down and have a -cigarette in that officers’ mess? - -Speechless, I took one, although I dislike cigarettes and always -stick to a pipe. But that one was a link with all that I’d left -behind, and was the best I’ve ever smoked in my life. He proceeded to -ask me my name and where I was educated, and said he would see what -he could do for me, and after about ten minutes I went out again into -the mud a better soldier than I went in. That touch of fellow feeling -helped enormously. And he was as good as his word. For the following -morning the Major sent for me. - - -19 - -The rain had stopped and there had been a hard frost in the night -which turned the roads to ice. The horses were being walked round and -round in a circle, and the Major was standing watching them when I -came up and saluted. - -“Yes, what is it?” he said. - -“You sent for me, sir.” - -“Oh--you’re Gibbs, are you?--Yes, let’s go in out of this wind.” He -led the way into the mess and stood with his back to the fire. - -Every detail of that room lives with me yet. One went up two steps -into the room. The fireplace faced the door with a window to the -right of the fireplace. There was a table between us with newspapers -on it, and tobacco and pipes. And two armchairs faced the fire. - -He asked me what I wanted the interpretership for. I told him I was -sick of the ranks, that I had chucked a fascinating job to be of use -to my King and country, and that any fool trooper could shovel mud as -I did day after day. - -He nodded. “But interpreting is no damned good, you know,” he said. -“It only consists in looking after the forage and going shopping with -those officers who can’t talk French.--That isn’t what you want, is -it?” - -“No, sir,” said I. - -“Well, what other job would you like?” - -That floored me completely. I didn’t know what jobs there were in the -squadron and told him so. - -“Well, come and have dinner to-night and we’ll talk about it,” said -he. - -Have dinner! My clothes reeked of stables, and I had slept in them -ever since I arrived. - -“That doesn’t matter,” said the Major. “You come along to-night at -half-past seven. You’ve been sick all this week. How are you? Pretty -fit again?” - -He’s Brigadier-General now and has forgotten all about it years ago. -I don’t think I ever shall. - -There were the Major, the Captain and one subaltern at dinner that -night--an extraordinary dinner--the servant who a moment previously -had called me “chum” in the kitchen gradually getting used to waiting -on me at the meal, and I, in the same dress as the servant, gradually -feeling less like a fish out of water as the officers treated me as -one of themselves. It was the first time I’d eaten at a table covered -with a white tablecloth for over two months, the first time I had -used a plate or drunk out of a glass, the first time I had been with -my own kind.--It was very good. - -The outcome of the dinner was that I was to become squadron scout, -have two horses, keep them at the cottage of the interpreter, where I -was to live, and ride over the country gathering information, which -I was to bring as a written report every night at six o’clock. While -the squadron was behind the lines it was, of course, only a matter -of training myself before other men were given me to train. But -when we went into action,--vistas opened out before me of dodging -Uhlan patrols and galloping back with information through a rain of -bullets. It was a job worth while and I was speechless with gratitude. - -It was not later than seven o’clock the following morning, Christmas -Eve, 1914, that I began operations. I breakfasted at the cottage to -which I had removed my belongings overnight, and went along towards -the stables to get a horse. - -The man with whom I had been mucking in met me outside the farm. He -was in the know and grinned, cheerily. - -“The sergeant’s lookin’ for you,” he said. “He’s over in the stables.” - -I went across. He was prowling about near the forage. - -“Good morning, Sergeant,” said I. - -He looked at me and stopped prowling. “Where the----” and he asked -me in trooperese where I had been and why I wasn’t at early morning -stables. I told him I was on a special job for the Major. - -He gasped and requested an explanation. - -“I’m knocked off all rolls, and parades and fatigues,” I said. -“You’ve got to find me a second horse. They are both going to be kept -down the road, and I shall come and see you from time to time when I -require forage.” - -He was speechless for the first and only time. It passed his -comprehension. - -At that moment the sergeant-major came in and proceeded to tell him -almost word for word what I had told him. It was a great morning, a -poetic revenge, and eventually I rode away leading the other horse, -the sergeant’s pop eyes following me as I gave him final instructions -as to where to send the forage. - -Later, as I started out on my first expedition as squadron scout, he -waved an arm at me and came running. His whole manner had changed, -and he said in a voice of honey, “If you _should_ ’appen to pass -through Ballool would you mind gettin’ me a new pipe?--’Ere’s five -francs.” - -I got him a pipe, and in Bailleul sought out every likely looking -English signaller or French officer, and dropped questions, and -eventually at 6 p.m., having been the round of Dramoutre, Westoutre, -and Locre, took in a rather meagre first report to the Major. How I -regretted that I had never been a newspaper reporter! However, it was -a beginning. - -The following morning was Christmas Day, cold and foggy, and before -starting out I went about a mile down the road to another farm and -heard Mass in a barn. An odd little service for Christmas morning. -The altar was made of a couple of biscuit boxes in an open barn. The -priest wore his vestments, and his boots and spurs showed underneath. -About half a dozen troopers with rifles were all the congregation, -and we kneeled on the damp ground. - -The first Christmas at Bethlehem came to mind most forcibly. The -setting was the same. An icy wind blew the wisps of straw and the -lowing of a cow could be heard in the byre. Where the Magi brought -frankincense and myrrh we brought our hopes and ambitions and laid -them at the Child’s feet, asking Him to take care of them for us -while we went out to meet the great adventure. What a contrast to -the previous Christmas, in the gold and sunshine of Miami, Florida, -splashed with the scarlet flowers of the bougainvillea, and at night -the soft, feathery palms leaning at a curious angle in the hard -moonlight as though a tornado had once swept over the land. - -The farm people sold me a bowl of coffee and a slice of bread, and -I mounted and rode away into the fog with an apple and a piece of -chocolate in my pocket, the horse slipping and sliding on the icy -road. Not a sound broke the dead silence except the blowing of my -horse and his hoofs on the road. Every gun was silent during the -whole day, as though the Child had really brought peace and good will. - -I got to within a couple of miles of Ypres by the map, and saw -nothing save a few peasants who emerged out of the blanket of fog on -their way to Mass. A magpie or two flashed across my way, and there -was only an occasional infantryman muffled to the eyes when I passed -through the scattered villages. - -About midday I nibbled some chocolate, and watered my horse and gave -him a feed, feeling more and more miserable because there was no -means of getting any information. My imagination drew pictures of -the Major, on my return with a blank confession of failure, telling -me that I was no good and had better return to duty. As the short -afternoon drew in, my spirits sank lower and lower. They were below -zero when at last I knocked reluctantly at the door of the mess and -stood to attention inside. To make things worse all the officers were -there. - -“Well, Gibbs?” said the Major. - -“It isn’t well, sir,” said I. “I’m afraid I’m no damn good. I haven’t -got a thing to report,” and I told him of my ride. - -There was silence for a moment. The Major flicked off the ash of his -cigarette. “My dear fellow,” he said quietly, “you can’t expect to -get the hang of the job in five minutes. Don’t be impatient with it. -Give it a chance.” - -It was like a reprieve to a man awaiting the hangman. - - -20 - -The squadron, having been on duty that day, had not celebrated -Christmas, but the _estaminet_ was a mass of holly and mistletoe in -preparation for to-morrow, and talk ran high on the question of the -dinner and concert that were to take place. There were no letters for -me, but in spite of it I felt most unaccountably and absurdly happy -as I left the _estaminet_ and went back to my billet and got to bed. - -The interpreter came in presently. He had been dining well and -Christmas exuded from him as he smoked a cigar on the side of his bed. - -“Oh, by the way,” he said, “your commission has come through. They -were talking about it in mess to-night. Congratulations.” - -Commission! My heart jumped back to the Marlborough Hotel. - -“I expect you’ll be going home to-morrow,” he went on; “lucky devil.” - -Home! Could it be? Was it possible that I was going to escape from -all this mud and filth? Home. What a Christmas present! No more -waiting for letters that never came. No more of the utter loneliness -and indifference that seemed to fill one’s days and nights. - -The dingy farm room and the rough army blanket faded and in their -place came a woman’s face in a setting of tall red pines and gleaming -patches of moss and high bracken and a green lawn running up to a -little house of gables, with chintz-curtained windows, warm tiles -and red chimneys, and a shining river twisting in stately loops. And -instead of the guns which were thundering the more fiercely after -their lull, there came the mewing of sandpipers, and the gurgle of -children’s laughter, and the voice of that one woman who had given me -the vision.-- - - -21 - -The journey home was a foretaste of the return to civilisation, -of stepping not only out of one’s trooper’s khaki but of resuming -one’s identity, of counting in the scheme of things. In the ranks -one was a number, like a convict,--a cipher indeed, and as such it -was a struggle to keep one’s soul alive. One had given one’s body. -They wanted one’s soul as well. By “they” I mean the system, that -extraordinary self-contained world which is the Army, where the -private is marched to church whether he have a religion or not, where -he is forced to think as the sergeant thinks and so on, right up to -the General commanding. How few officers realise that it is in their -power to make the lives of their juniors and men a hell or a heaven. - -It was a merciful thing for me that I was able to escape so soon, to -climb out of that mental and physical morass and get back to myself. - -From the squadron I went by motor lorry to Hazebrouck and thence in -a first-class carriage to Boulogne, and although the carriage was -crowded I thought of the horse truck in which I’d come up from Rouen, -and chuckled. At Boulogne I was able to help the Major, who was going -on leave. He had left a shirt case in the French luggage office weeks -before and by tackling the porter in his own tongue, I succeeded in -digging it out in five minutes. It was the only thing I’ve ever been -able to do to express the least gratitude,--and how ridiculously -inadequate. - -We spent the night in a hotel and caught the early boat, horribly -early. But it was worth it. We reached London about two in the -afternoon, a rainy, foggy, depressing afternoon, but if it had snowed -ink I shouldn’t have minded. I was above mere weather, sailing in -the blue ether of radiant happiness. In this case the realisation -came up to and even exceeded the expectation. Miserable-looking -policemen in black waterproof capes were things of beauty. The noise -of the traffic was sweetest music. The sight of dreary streets with -soaked pedestrians made one’s eyes brim with joy. The swish of the -taxi round abrupt corners made me burst with song. I was glad of -the rain and the sort of half-fog. It was so typically London and -when the taxi driver stopped at my brother’s house and said to me -as I got out, “Just back from the front, chum?” I laughed madly and -scandalously overtipped him. No one else would ever call me chum. -That was done with. I was no longer 7205 Trooper A. H. Gibbs, 9th -Lancers. I was Second Lieutenant A. Hamilton Gibbs, R.F.A. and could -feel the stars sprouting. - -My brother wasn’t at home. He was looking like an admiral still -and working like the devil. But his wife was and she most wisely -lent me distant finger tips and hurried me to a bath, what time she -telephoned to my brother. - -That bath! I hadn’t had all my clothes off more than once in six -weeks and had slept in them every night. Ever tried it? Well, if you -really want to know just how I felt about that first bath, you try it. - -I stayed in it so long that my sister-in-law became anxious and -tapped at the door to know if I were all right. All right! Before I -was properly dressed--but running about the house most shamelessly -for all that--my brother arrived. - -It was good to see him again,--very good. We “foregathered,”--what? - -And the next morning scandalously early, the breakfast things still -on the table, found me face to face once more with the woman who had -brought me back to life. All that nightmare was immediately washed -away for ever. It was past. The future was too vague for imaginings -but the present was the most golden thing I had ever known. - - - - - PART II - - _UBIQUE_ - - -1 - -The Division of Field Artillery to which I was posted by the War -Office was training at Bulford up to its neck in mud, but the brigade -had moved to Fleet two days before I joined. By that time--it was a -good fifteen days since I had come home--I had grown accustomed to -the feel and splendour of a Sam Browne belt and field boots and the -recurring joy of being saluted not merely by Tommies but by exalted -beings like sergeants and sergeant-majors; and I felt mentally as -well as physically clean. - -At the same time I arrived at the Fleet Golf Club, where most of -the officers were billeted, feeling vastly diffident. I’d never -seen a gun, never given a command in my life and hadn’t the first -or foggiest idea of the sort of things gunners did, and my only -experience of an officers’ mess was my dinner with the Major in -France. Vaguely I knew that there was a certain etiquette demanded. -It was rather like a boy going to a new school. - -It was tea time and dark when the cab dropped me at the door and -the place was practically empty. However, an officer emerged, asked -me if I’d come to join, and led me in to tea. Presently, however, a -crowd swarmed in, flung wet mackintoshes and caps about the hall and -began devouring bread and jam in a way that more and more resembled -school. They looked me over with the unintentional insolence of all -Englishmen and one or two spoke. They were a likely-looking lot, -mostly amazingly young and full of a vitality that was like an -electric current. One, a fair willowy lad with one or two golden -fluffs that presumably did duty as a moustache, took me in hand. He -was somewhat fancifully called Pot-face but he had undoubtedly bought -the earth and all things in it. Having asked and received my name he -informed me that I was posted to his battery and introduced me to the -other subaltern, also of his battery. This was a pale, blue-eyed, -head-on-one-side, sensitive youth who was always just a moment too -late with his repartee. Pot-face, who possessed a nimble, sarcastic -tongue, took an infinite delight in baiting him to the verge of -tears. His nickname, to which incidentally he refused to answer, was -the Fluttering Palm. - -The others did not assume individualities till later. It was an -amusing tea and afterwards we adjourned to the big club room with -two fireplaces and straw armchairs and golfing pictures. The -senior officers were there and before I could breathe Pot-face -had introduced me to the Colonel, the Adjutant, and the Captain -commanding our battery, a long, thin, dark man with India stamped all -over him and a sudden infectious laugh that crinkled all his face. He -turned out to be the owner of a vitriolic tongue. - -A lecture followed, one of a series which took place two or three -evenings a week attended by all the officers in the brigade, a good -two thirds of whom were billeted in the village and round about. Of -technical benefit I don’t think I derived any, because I knew no -gunnery, but it helped me to get to know everybody. A further help -in that respect was afforded by my Captain who on that first evening -proposed getting up a concert. Having had two years on the stage in -America I volunteered to help and was at once made O. C. Concert. -This gave me a sort of standing, took away the awful newness and -entirely filled my spare time for two weeks. The concert was a big -success and from that night I felt at home. - -To me, after my experience in the ranks, everything was new and -delightful. We were all learning, subalterns as well as men. Only the -Colonel and the Battery Commanders were regulars and every single -officer and man was keen. The work therefore went with a will that -surprised me. The men were a different class altogether to those with -whom I had been associated. There were miners, skilled men, clerks, -people of some education and distinct intelligence. Then too the -officers came into much closer contact with them than in the Cavalry. -Our training had been done solely under the sergeant-major. Here -in the Gunners the officers not only took every parade and lecture -and stable hour and knew every man and horse by name, but played in -all the inter-battery football matches. It was a different world, -much more intimate and much better organised. We worked hard and -played hard. Riding was of course most popular because each of us -had a horse. But several had motor-bicycles and went for joy-rides -half over the south of England between tattoo and reveille. Then the -Golf Club made us honorary members, and the Colonel and I had many a -match, and he almost invariably beat me by one hole. - -My ignorance of gunnery was monumental and it was a long time before -I grasped even the first principles. The driving drill part of it -didn’t worry me. The Cavalry had taught me to feel at home in the -saddle and the drawing of intricate patterns on the open country with -a battery of four guns was a delightful game soon learnt. But once -they were in action I was lost. It annoyed me to listen helplessly -while children of nineteen with squeaky voices fired imaginary salvos -on imaginary targets and got those gunners jumping. So I besought -the Colonel to send me on a course to Shoebury and he did. - -Work? I’d never known what it meant till I went to Shoebury and put -on a canvas duck suit. We paraded at ungodly hours in the morning, -wet or fine, took guns to bits and with the instructor’s help put -them together again; did gun drill by the hour and learnt it by heart -from the handbook and shouted it at each other from a distance; -spent hours in the country doing map-reading and re-section; sat -through hours of gunnery lectures where the mysteries of a magic -triangle called T.O.B. became more and more unfathomable; knocked -out countless churches on a miniature range with a precision that -was quite Boche-like; waded through a ghastly tabloid book called -F.A.T. and flung the thing in despair at the wall half a dozen times -a day; played billiards at night when one had been clever enough to -arrive first at the table by means of infinite manœuvring; ate like -a Trojan, got dog-tired by 9 p.m., slept like a child; dashed up to -London every week-end and went to the theatre, and became in fact the -complete Shoeburyite. - -Finally I returned to the brigade extraordinarily fit, very keen -and with perhaps the first glimmerings of what a gun was. A scourge -of a mysterious skin disease ran through the horses at that time. -It looked like ringworm and wasn’t,--according to the Vet. But we -subalterns vied with each other in curing our sections and worked day -and night on those unfortunate animals with tobacco juice, sulphur -and every unpleasant means available until they looked the most -wretched brutes in the world. - -Little by little the training built itself up. From standing gun -drill we crept to battery gun drill and then took the battery out for -the day and lost it round Aldershot in that glorious pine country, -coming into action over and over again. - -The Colonel watched it all from a distance with a knowledgeable eye -and at last took a hand. Brigade shows then took place, batteries -working in conjunction with each other and covering zones. - -Those were good days in the early spring with all the birds in full -chorus, clouds scudding across a blue sky, and the young green -feathering all the trees, days of hard physical work with one’s blood -running free and the companionship of one’s own kind; inspired by a -friendly rivalry in doing a thing just a little bit better than the -other fellow--or trying to: with an occasional week-end flung in like -a sparkling jewel. - -And France? Did we think about it? Yes, when the lights were turned -out at night and only the point of the final cigarette like a -glowworm marked the passage of hand to mouth. Then the talk ran on -brothers “out there” and the chances of our going soon. None of them -had been except me, but I could only give them pictures of star-shell -at night and the heart-breaking mud, and they wanted gunner talk. - -It was extraordinary what a bond grew up between us all in those -days, shared, I think, by the senior officers. We declared ourselves -the first brigade in the Division, and each battery was of course -hotly the finest in the brigade; our Colonel was miles above any -other Colonel in the Army and our Battery Commanders the best fellows -that ever stepped. By God, we’d show Fritz!---- - - -2 - -We had left Fleet and the golf club and moved into hutments at -Deepcut about the time I returned from the gunnery course. Now the -talk centred round the firing practice when every man and officer -would be put to the test and one fine morning the order came to -proceed to Trawsfynydd, Wales. - -We “proceeded” by train, taking only guns, firing battery wagons and -teams and after long, long hours found ourselves tucked away in a -camp in the mountains with great blankets of mist rolling down and -blotting everything out, the ground a squelching bog of tussocks -with outcrops of rock sprouting up everywhere. A strange, hard, cold -country, with unhappy houses, grey tiled and lonely, and peasants -whose faces seemed marked by the desolation of it all. - -The range was a rolling stretch of country falling away from a -plateau high above us, reached by a corkscrew path that tore the -horses to pieces, and cut up by stone walls and nullahs which after -an hour’s rain foamed with brown water. Through glasses we made out -the targets--four black dots representing a battery, a row of tiny -figures for infantry, and a series of lines indicating trenches. For -three days the weather prevented us from shooting but at last came a -morning when the fog blanket rolled back and the guns were run up, -and little puffs of cotton wool appeared over the targets, the hills -ringing with countless echoes as though they would never tire of the -firing. - -Each subaltern was called up in turn and given a target by the -Colonel who, lying silently on his stomach, watched results through -his glasses and doubtless in his mind summed each of us up from the -methods of our orders to the battery, the nimbleness and otherwise -with which we gauged and corrected them. A trying ordeal which -was, however, all too short. Sixteen rounds apiece were all that -we were allowed. We would have liked six hundred, so fascinating -and bewildering was the new game. It seemed as if the guns took a -malignant pleasure in disobeying our orders, each gun having its own -particular devil to compete with. - -In the light of to-day the explanation is simple. There was no such -thing as calibration then, that exorciser of the evil spirit in all -guns. - -And so, having seen at last a practical demonstration of what I had -long considered a fact--that the Gunners’ Bible F.A.T. (the handbook -of Field Artillery Training) was a complete waste of time, we all -went back to Deepcut even more than ever convinced that we were the -finest brigade in England. And all on the strength of sixteen rounds -apiece! - -Almost at once I was removed from the scientific activities -necessitated by being a battery subaltern. An apparently new -establishment was made, a being called an Orderly Officer, whose -job was to keep the Colonel in order and remind the Adjutant of all -the things he forgot. In addition to those two matters of supreme -moment there were one or two minor duties like training the brigade -signallers to lay out cables and buzz messages, listen to the -domestic troubles of the regimental sergeant-major, whose importance -is second only to that of the Colonel, look after some thirty men and -horses and a cable wagon and endeavour to keep in the good books of -the Battery Commanders. - -I got the job--and kept it for over a year. - -Colonel, didn’t I keep you in order? - -Adj, did I _ever_ do any work for you? - -Battery Commanders, didn’t I come and cadge drinks daily--and -incidentally wasn’t that cable which I laid from Valandovo to Kajali -the last in use before the Bulgar pushed us off the earth? - - -3 - -So I forgot the little I ever knew about gunnery and laid spiders’ -webs from my cable wagon all over Deepcut, and galloped for the -Colonel on Divisional training stunts with a bottle of beer and -sandwiches in each wallet against the hour when the General, feeling -hungry, should declare an armistice with the opposing force and -Colonels and their Orderly Officers might replenish their inner men. -Brave days of great lightheartedness, untouched by the shadow of what -was to come after. - -May had put leaves on all the trees and called forth flowers in every -garden. Then came June to perfect her handiwork and with it the call -to lay aside our golf clubs and motor-cycles, to say good-bye to -England in all her beauty and go out once more to do our bit. - -There was much bustle and packing of kits and writing of letters and -heartburnings over last week-end leaves refused and through it all a -thirst for knowledge of where we were going. Everything was secret, -letters severely censored. Rumour and counter-rumour chased each -other through the camp until, an hour before starting, the Captain in -whose battery I had begun appeared with a motor car full of topees. - -Then all faces like true believers were turned towards the East and -on every tongue was the word Gallipoli. - -Avonmouth was the port of embarkation and there we filled a mass of -waiting boats, big and little. - -The Colonel, the Adjutant and I were on one of the biggest. My horses -had been handed over to a battery for the voyage and I had only the -signallers to look after. Everything was complete by ten o’clock in -the morning. The convoy would not sail till midnight, so some of us -got leave to explore and took train to Bristol, lunching royally for -the last time in a restaurant, buying innumerable novels to read on -board, sending final telegrams home. - -How very different it was to the first going out! No red lead. No -mud. The reality had departed. It seemed like going on a picnic, a -merry outing with cheery souls, a hot sun trickling down one’s back; -and not one of us but heard the East a-calling. - -A curious voyage that was when we had sorted ourselves out. The -mornings were taken up with a few duties,--physical jerks, chin -inspection and Grand Rounds when we stood stiffly to attention, -rocking with the sway of the boat while the two commanders of the -sister services inspected the ship; life-boat drill, a little -signalling; and then long hours in scorching sunshine, to lie in a -deck chair gazing out from the saloon deck upon the infinite blue, -trying to find the answer to the why of it all, arguing the alpha and -omega with one’s pals, reading the novels we had bought in Bristol, -writing home, sleeping. Torpedoes and mines? We never thought about -them. - -Boxing competitions and sports were organized for the men and they -hammered each other’s faces to pulp with the utmost good fellowship. - -Then we passed The Rock and with our first glimpse of the African -coast--a low brown smudge--we began to stir restlessly and think -of terra firma. It broke the spell of dreams which had filled the -long days. Maps were produced and conferences held, and we studied -eagerly the contours of Gallipoli, discussed the detail of landings -and battery positions, wagon lines and signalling arrangements, -even going so far as to work off our bearing of the line of fire. -Fragments of war news were received by wireless and a _communiqué_ -was posted daily, but it all seemed extraordinarily unreal, as -though it were taking place in another world. - -One night we saw a fairyland of piled-up lights which grew swiftly as -we drew nearer and took shape in filigreed terraces and arcades when -our anchor at last dropped with a mighty roar in Valetta harbour. -Tiny boats like gondolas were moored at the water’s edge in tight -rows, making in the moonlight a curious scalloped fringe. People in -odd garments passed in noiseless swarms up and down the streets, cabs -went by, shop doors opened and shut, and behind all those lights -loomed the impenetrable blackness of the land towering up like a -mountain. From the distance at which we were anchored no sound could -be heard save that of shipping, and those ant-sized people going -about their affairs, regardless of the thousands of eyes watching -them, gave one the effect of looking at a stage from the gallery -through the wrong end of an opera glass. - -Coaling began within an hour, and all that night bronze figures naked -to the waist and with bare feet slithered up and down the swaying -planks, tireless, unceasing, glistening in the arc light which -spluttered from the mast of the coaling vessel; the grit of coal dust -made one’s shoes crunch as one walked the decks in pyjamas, filled -one’s hair and neck, and on that stifling night became as one of the -plagues of Pharaoh. - -A strange discordant chattering waked one next morning as though -a tribe of monkeys had besieged the ship. Then one leaped to the -port-hole to get a glimpse of Malta, to us the first hint of the -mysterious East. There it was, glistening white against the turquoise -blue, built up in fascinating tiers with splashes of dark green trees -clinging here and there as though afraid of losing their hold and -toppling into the sea. All round the ship the sea was dotted with -boats and dark people yelling and shouting, all reds and blues and -bright yellows; piles of golden fruit and coloured shawls; big boats -with high snub noses, the oarsmen standing, showing rows of gleaming -teeth; baby boats the size of walnut shells with naked brown babies -uttering shrill cries and diving like frogs for silver coins. - -Was it possible that just a little farther on we should meet one end -of the line of death that made a red gash right across Europe? - -We laughed a little self-consciously under the unusual feel of our -topees and went ashore to try and get some drill khaki. Finding none -we drank cool drinks and bought cigars and smiled at the milk sellers -with their flocks of goats and the _café au lait_ coloured girls, -some of whom moved with extraordinary grace and looked very pretty -under their black mantillas. The banks distrusted us and would give -us no money, and the Base cashier refused to undo his purse strings. -We cursed him and tried unsuccessfully to borrow from each other, -having only a few pounds in our pockets. Down a back street we found -a Japanese tattooist and in spite of the others’ ridicule I added a -highly coloured but pensive parrot to my collection. But the heat was -overwhelming and our puttees and tunics became streaked with sweat. -We were glad to get back to the boat and lie in a cold bath and climb -languidly into the comparative coolness of slacks. The men had not -been allowed ashore but hundreds of them dived overboard and swam -round the boat, and the native fruit sellers did a thriving trade. - -After dinner we went ashore again. It was not much cooler. We -wandered into various places of amusement. They were all the same, -large dirty halls with a small stage and a piano and hundreds of -marble-topped tables where one sat and drank. Atrociously fat women -appeared on the stage and sang four songs apiece in bad French. It -didn’t matter whether the first song was greeted with stony silence -or the damning praise of one sarcastic laugh. Back came each one -until she’d finished her repertoire. Getting bored with that I -collected a fellow sufferer and together we went out and made our way -to the top of the ramparts. The sky looked as if a giant had spilt -all the diamonds in the world. They glittered and changed colour. The -sea was also powdered as if little bits of diamond dust had dropped -from the sky. The air smelled sweet and a little strange, and in that -velvety darkness which one could almost touch one’s imagination went -rioting. - -As if that were not enough a guitar somewhere down below was suddenly -touched with magic fingers and a little love song floated up in a -soft lilting tenor.--We were very silent on the old wall. - - -4 - -The next morning on waking up, that song still echoing in our ears, -we were hull down. Only a vague disturbance in the blue showed where -Malta had been, and but for the tattoo which irritated slightly, it -might have been one of the Thousand and One Nights. We arrived at -last at Alexandria instead of Gallipoli. The shore authorities lived -up to the best standards of the Staff. - -They said, “Who the devil are you?” - -And we replied, “The ---- Division.” - -And they said, “We’ve never heard of you, don’t know where you come -from, have no instructions about you, and you’d better buzz off -again.” - -But we beamed at them and said, “To hell with you. We’re going to -land,”--and landed. - -There were no arrangements for horses or men; and M.L.O.’s in all the -glory of staff hats and armlets chattered like impotent monkeys. We -were busy, however, improvising picketing-ropes from ships’ cables -borrowed from the amused ship’s commander and we smiled politely and -said, “Yes, it _is_ hot,” and went on with the work. Never heard of -the ---- Division? Well, well! - -Hot? We had never known what heat was before. We thought we did lying -about on deck, but when it came to working for hours on end,--tunics -disappeared and collars and ties followed them. The horses looked -as if they had been out in the rain and left a watery trail as we -formed up and marched out of the harbour and through the town. We -bivouacked for the night in a rest camp called Karaissi where there -wasn’t enough room and tempers ran high until a couple of horses -broke loose in the dark and charged the tent in which there were two -Colonels. The tent ropes went with a ping and camp beds and clothing -and Colonels were mixed up in the sand. No one was hurt, so we -emptied the Colonels’ pyjamas, called their servants and went away -and laughed. - -Then we hooked in and marched again, and in the middle of the -afternoon found Mamoura--a village of odd smells, naked children, -filthy women and pariah dogs--and pitched camp on the choking sand -half a mile from the seashore. - -By this time the horses were nearly dead and the only water was -a mile and a half away and full of sand. But they drank it, poor -brutes, by the gallon,--and two days after we had our first case of -sand colic. - -The Staff were in marquees on the seashore. Presumably being bored, -having nothing earthly to do, they began to exhibit a taste for -design and each day the camp was moved, twenty yards this way, -fifteen that, twelve and a half the other, until, thank God, the sun -became too much for them and they retired to suck cool drinks through -straws and think up a new game. - -By this time the Colonel had refused to play and removed himself, -lock, stock and barrel, to the hotel in the village. The Adjutant -was praying aloud for the mud of Flanders. The Orderly Officer made -himself scarce and the Battery Commanders were telling Indian snake -stories at breakfast. The sergeants and the men, half naked and with -tongues hanging out, were searching for beer. - -The days passed relentlessly, scorching hot, the only work, watering -the horses four times a day, leaving everybody weak and exhausted. -At night a damp breeze sighed across the sand from the sea, soaking -everything as though it had rained. The busiest men in the camp were -the Vet. and the doctor. - -Sand colic ran through the Division like a scourge, and dysentery -began to reduce the personnel from day to day. The flies bred in -their billions, in spite of all the doctor’s efforts, loyally backed -up by us. The subalterns’ method of checking flies was to catch -salamanders and walk about, holding them within range of guy ropes -and tent roofs where flies swarmed, and watch their coiled tongues -uncurl like a flash of lightning and then trace the passage of -the disgruntled fly down into the salamander’s interior. Battery -Commanders waking from a fly-pestered siesta would lay their piastres -eagerly on “Archibald” versus “Yussuf.” Even Wendy would have -admitted that it was “frightfully fascinating.” - -Every morning there was a pyjama parade at six o’clock when we all -trooped across to the sea and went in as nature made us. Or else we -rode the horses with snorts and splashings. The old hairy enjoyed -it as much as we did and, once in, it was difficult to get him out -again, even with bare heels drumming on his ribs. - -The infantry, instead of landing at Alexandria, had gone straight -to the Dardanelles, and after we had been in camp about a fortnight -the two senior brigades of Gunners packed up and disappeared in the -night, leaving us grinding our teeth with envy and hoping that they -wouldn’t have licked the Turk until we got there too. - -Five full months and a half we stayed in that camp! One went through -two distinct phases. - -The first was good, when everything was new, different, romantic, -delightful, from the main streets of Alexandria with European shops -and Oriental people, the club with its white-burnoused waiters with -red sash and red fez, down to the unutterable filth and foul smells -of the back streets where every disease lurked in the doorways. -There were early morning rides to sleepy villages across the desert, -pigeons fluttering round the delicate minarets, one’s horse making -scarcely any sound in the deep sand until startled into a snort -by a scuttling salamander or iguana as long as one’s arm. Now and -then one watched breathless a string of camels on a distant skyline -disappearing into the vast silence. Then those dawns, with opal -colours like a rainbow that had broken open and splashed itself -across the world! What infinite joy in all that riot of colour. -The sunsets were too rapid: one great splurge of blood and then -darkness, followed by a moonlight that was as hard as steel mirrors. -Buildings and trees were picked out in ghostly white but the shadows -by contrast were darker than the pit, made gruesome by the howling of -pariah dogs which flitted silently like damned souls. - -The eternal mystery of the yashmak caught us all,--two deep eyes -behind that little veil, the lilting, sensuous walk, the perfect -balance and rhythm of those women who worshipped other gods. - -Then there was the joy of mail day. Letters and papers arrived -regularly, thirteen days old but more precious because of it. How -one sprang to the mess-table in the big marquee, open to whatever -winds that blew, when the letters were dumped on it, and danced with -impatience while they were being sorted, and retired in triumph to -one’s reed hut like a dog with a bone to revel in all the little -happenings at home that interested us so vitally, to marvel at the -amazingly different points of view and to thank God that although -thousands of miles away one “belonged.” - -Then came the time when we had explored everything, knew it all -backwards, and the colours didn’t seem so bright. The sun seemed -hotter, the flies thicker and the days longer. Restlessness attacked -everybody and the question “What the devil are we doing here?” began -to be asked, only to draw bitter answers. Humour began to have a -tinge of sarcasm, remarks tended to become personal and people -disappeared precipitately after mess instead of playing the usual -rubbers. The unfortunate subaltern who was the butt of the mess--a -really excellent and clever fellow--relapsed into a morose silence, -and every one who had the least tendency to dysentery went gladly -to hospital. Even the brigade laughter-maker lost his touch. It -had its echo in the ranks. Sergeants made more frequent arrests, -courts-martial cropped up and it was more difficult to get the work -done in spite of concerts, sports and boxing contests. Interest -flagged utterly. Mercifully the Staff held aloof. - -The courts-martial seemed to me most Hogarthian versions of justice, -satirical and damnable. One in particular was held on a poor little -rat of an infantryman who had missed the boat for Gallipoli and -was being tried for desertion. The reason of his missing the boat -was that she sailed before her time and he, having had a glass or -two--and why not?--found that she had already gone when he arrived -back in the harbour five minutes before the official time for her -departure. He immediately reported to the police. - -I am convinced that she was the only boat who ever sailed before her -time during the course of the war! - -However, I was under instruction--and learnt a great deal. The heat -was appalling. The poor little prisoner, frightened out of his -life, utterly lost his head, and the Court, after hours of formal -scribbling on blue paper, brought him in guilty. Having obtained -permission to ask a question I requested to know whether the Court -was convinced that he had the intention of deserting. - -The Court was quite satisfied on that point and, besides, there had -been so many cases of desertion lately from the drafts for Gallipoli -that really it was time an example was made of some one. He got three -years! - -Supposing I’d hit that bullying sergeant in the eye in Flanders? - - -5 - -Two incidents occurred during that lugubrious period that helped to -break the dead monotony. - -The first was the sight of a real live eunuch according to all the -specifications of the Arabian Nights. We were to give a horse show -and as the flag of residence was flying from the Sultan’s palace I -asked the Colonel if I might invite the Sultan. The Colonel was quite -in favour of it. So with an extra polish on my buttons and saddlery -I collected a pal and together we rode through the great gateway -into the grounds of the palace, ablaze with tropical vegetation -and blood-red flowers. Camped among the trees on the right of the -drive was a native guard of about thirty men. They rose as one man, -jabbered at the sight of us but remained stationary. We rode on at -a walk with all the dignity of the British Empire behind us. Then -we saw a big Arab come running towards us from the palace, uttering -shrill cries and waving his arms. We met him and would have passed -but he made as though to lay hands upon our bits. So we halted and -listened to a stream of Arabic and gesticulation. - -Then the eunuch appeared, a little man of immense shoulders and -immense stomach, dressed in a black frock coat and stiff white -collar, yellow leather slippers and red fez and sash. He was about -five feet tall and addressed us in a high squeaky voice like a fiddle -string out of tune. His dignity was surprising and he would have done -justice to the Court of Haroun al Raschid. We were delighted with him -and called him Morgiana. - -He didn’t understand that so I tried him in French, whereupon -he clapped his hands twice, and from an engine room among the -outbuildings came running an Arab mechanic in blue jeans. He spoke a -sort of hybrid Levantine French and conveyed our invitation of the -Sultan to the eunuch who bowed and spoke again. The desire to laugh -was appalling. - -It appeared that the Sultan was absent in Alexandria and only the -Sultana and the ladies were here and it was quite forbidden that we -should approach nearer the palace. - -Reluctantly, therefore, we saluted, which drew many salaams and -bowings in reply, and rode away, followed by that unforgettable -little man’s squeaks. - -The other incident covered a period of a week or so. It was a -question of spies. - -The village of Mamoura consisted of a railway terminus and hotel -round which sprawled a dark and smelly conglomeration of hovels out -of which sprouted the inevitable minaret. The hotel was run by people -who purported to be French but who were of doubtful origin, ranging -from half-caste Arab to Turk by way of Greek and Armenian Jew. But -they provided dinner and cooling drinks and it was pleasant to sit -under the awninged verandah and listen to the frogs and the sea or to -play their ramshackle piano and dance with the French residents of -Alexandria who came out for week-ends to bathe. - -At night we used to mount donkeys about as big as large beetles and -have races across the sands back to camp, from which one could see -the lights of the hotel. Indeed we thought we saw what they didn’t -intend us to see, for there were unmistakable Morse flashings out at -sea from that cool verandah. We took it with grim seriousness and -lay for hours on our stomachs with field glasses glued to our eyes. -I posted my signalling corporal in a drinking house next door to the -hotel, gave him late leave and paid his beer so that he might watch -with pencil and notebook. But always he reported in the morning that -he’d seen nothing. - -The climax came when one night an orderly burst into the hut which -the Vet. and I shared and said, “Mr. ---- wants you to come over at -once, sir. He’s taken down half a message from the signalling at the -hotel.” - -I leapt into gum boots, snatched my glasses and ran across to the -sand mound from where we had watched. - -The other subaltern was there in a great state of excitement. - -“Look at it,” he said. “Morsing like mad.” - -I looked,--and looked again. - -There was a good breeze blowing and the flag on the verandah was -exactly like the shutter of a signalling lamp! - - -6 - -Having sat there all those months, the order to move, when it did -finally come, was of the most urgent nature. It was received one -afternoon at tea time and the next morning before dawn we were -marching down the canal road. - -Just before the end we had done a little training, more to get the -horses in draught than anything else. With that and the horse shows -it wasn’t at all a bad turnout. - -Once more we didn’t know for certain where we were bound for, but -the betting was about five to four on Greece. How these things leak -out is always a puzzle, but leak out they do. Sure enough we made -another little sea voyage and in about three days steamed up the -Ægean, passing many boats loaded with odd looking soldiers in khaki -who turned out to be Greek, and at last anchored outside Salonica in -a mass of shipping, French and English troopships, destroyers and -torpedo boats and an American battleship with Eiffel-tower masts. - -From the sea Salonica was a flashing jewel in a perfect setting. -Minarets and mosques, white and red, sprouted everywhere from the -white, brown and green buildings. Trees and gardens nestled within -the crumbling old city wall. Behind it ran a line of jagged peaks, -merging with the clouds, and here and there ran a little winding -ribbon of road, climbing up and up only to lose itself suddenly by -falling over a precipice. - -Here again the M.L.O. had not quite the Public School and Varsity -manner and we suffered accordingly. However, they are a necessary -evil presumably, these quayside warriors. The proof undoubtedly lies -in the number of D.S.O.’s they muster,----but I don’t remember to -have seen any of them with wound stripes. Curious, that. - -We marched through mean streets, that smelled worse than Egypt, and a -dirty populace, poverty-stricken and covered with sores; the soldiers -in khaki that looked like brown paper and leather equipments that -were a good imitation of cardboard. Most of the officers wore spurs -like the Three Musketeers and their little tin swords looked as if -they had come out of toy shops. None of them were shaved. If first -impressions count for anything then God help the Greeks. - -Our camp was a large open field some miles to the north-west of the -town on the lower slopes of a jagged peak. The tinkle of cow bells -made soft music everywhere. Of accommodation there was none of any -sort, no tents, nothing but what we could improvise. The Colonel -slept under the lee of the cook’s cart. The Adjutant and the doctor -shared the Maltese cart and the Vet. and I crept under the forage -tarpaulin, from which we were awakened in the dark by an unrestrained -cursing and the noise of a violent rainfall. - -Needless to say everybody was soaked, fires wouldn’t light, breakfast -didn’t come, tempers as well as appetites became extremely sharp and -things were most unpleasant,--the more so since it went on raining -for three weeks almost without stopping. Although we hadn’t seen rain -for half a year it didn’t take us five minutes to wish we were back -in Egypt. Fortunately we drew bell tents within forty-eight hours and -life became more bearable. But once more we had to go through a sort -of camp drill by numbers,--odd numbers too, for the order came round -that tents would be moved first, then vehicles, and lastly the horses. - -Presumably we had to move the guns and wagons with drag-ropes while -the horses watched us, grinning into their nose bags. - -Anyhow, there we were, half the artillery in Greece, all -eighteen-pounders, the other half and the infantry somewhere in the -Dardanelles. It appeared, however, that the ---- Division had quite a -lot of perfectly good infantry just up the road but their artillery -hadn’t got enough horses to go round. So we made a sort of Jack Sprat -and his wife arrangement and declared ourselves mobile. - -About four days after we’d come into camp the _Marquette_ was wrecked -some thirty miles off Salonica. It had the ---- Divisional Ammunition -Column on board and some nurses. They had an appalling time in the -water and many were lost. The surviving officers, who came dressed -in the most motley garments, poor devils, were split up amongst the -brigade. - -On the Headquarters Staff we took to our bosoms a charming fellow -who was almost immediately given the name of Woodbine,--jolly old -Woodbine, one of the very best, whom we left behind with infinite -regret while we went up country. I’d like to know what his golf -handicap is these days. - -The political situation was apparently delicate. Greece was still -sitting on the fence, waiting to see which way the cat would jump, -and here were we and our Allies, the French, marching through their -neutral country. - -Slight evidences of the “delicacy” of the times were afforded by -the stabbing of some half dozen Tommies in the dark streets of the -town and by the fact that it was only the goodly array of guns -which prevented them from interning us. I don’t think we had any -ammunition as yet, so we couldn’t have done very much. However that -may be and whatever the political reasons, we sat on the roadside day -after day, watching the French streaming up country,--infantry, field -guns, mountain artillery and pack transport,--heedless of Tino and -his protests. Six months in Egypt, and now this! We _were_ annoyed. - -However, on about the twentieth day things really happened. -“Don” battery went off by train, their destination being some -unpronounceable village near the firing line. We, the Headquarters -Staff, and “AC” battery followed the next day. The railway followed -the meanderings of the Vardar through fertile land of amazing -greenness and passed mountains of stark rock where not even live oak -grew. The weather was warm for November, but that ceaseless rain put -a damper on everything, and when we finally arrived we found “Don” -battery sitting gloomily in a swamp on the side of the road. We -joined them. - - -7 - -The weather changed in the night and we were greeted with a glorious -sunshine in the morning that not only dried our clothes but filled us -with optimism. - -Just as we were about to start the pole of my G.S. wagon broke. -Everybody went on, leaving me in the middle of nowhere with a broken -wagon, no map, and instructions to follow on to the “i” of Causli in -a country whose language I couldn’t speak and with no idea of the -distance. Fortunately I kept the brigade artificer with me and a -day’s bully beef and biscuits, for it was not till two o’clock in the -afternoon that we at last got that wagon mended, having had to cut -down a tree and make a new pole and drive rivets. Then we set off -into the unknown through the most glorious countryside imaginable. -The autumn had stained all the trees red and the fallen leaves made -a royal carpet. Vaguely I knew the direction was north by east and -once having struck the road out of the village which led in that -direction I found that it went straight on through beds of streams, -between fields of maize and plantations of mulberries and tumbled -villages tenanted only by starving dogs. The doors of nearly every -house were splashed with a blue cross,--reminiscences of a plague of -typhus. From time to time we met refugees trudging behind ox-drawn -wagons laden with everything they possessed in the world, including -their babies,--sad-faced, wild-looking peasants, clad in picturesque -rags of all colours with eyes that had looked upon fear. I confess to -having kept my revolver handy. For all I knew they might be Turks, -Bulgars or at least brigands. - -The sense of solitude was extraordinary. There was no sign of an army -on the march, not even a bully beef tin to mark the route, nothing -but the purple hills remaining always far away and sending out a -faint muttering like the beating of drums heard in a dream. The road -ahead was always empty when I scanned it through my glasses at hour -intervals, the sun lower and lower each time. Darkness came upon us -as it did in Egypt, as though some one had flicked off the switch. -There was no sign of the village which might be Causli and in the -dark the thought which had been uneasily twisting in my brain for -several hours suddenly found utterance in the mouth of the artificer -sergeant. - -“D’you think we’re on the right road, sir?” - -The only other road we could have taken was at the very start. Ought -I to have taken it? In any case there was nothing to be done but go -on until we met some one, French or English, but the feeling of -uncertainty was distinctly unpleasant. I sent the corporal on ahead -scouting and we followed silently, very stiff in the saddle. - -At last I heard a shout, “Brigade ’Eadquarters?” I think both the -team drivers and myself answered “Yes” together. - -The corporal had found a guide sent out by the Adjutant, who turned -us off across fields and led us on to another road, and round a bend -we saw lights twinkling and heard the stamp and movement of picketed -horses and answered the challenge of sentries. Dinner was over, but -the cook had kept some hot for me, and my servant had rigged up my -bivvy, a tiny canvas tent just big enough to take a camp bed. As -there was a touch of frost I went to the bivvy to get a woollen -scarf, heard a scuffle, and saw two green eyes glaring at me. - -I whipped out my revolver and flicked on an electric torch. Crouched -down on the bed was a little tortoise-shell kitten so thin that -every rib stood out and even more frightened than I was. I caught -it after a minute. It was ice cold so I tucked it against my chest -under the British warm and went to dinner. After about five minutes -it began to purr and I fed it with some bits of meat which it -bolted ravenously. It followed that up by standing in a saucer of -milk, growling furiously and lapping for dear life. Friendship was -established. It slept in the British warm, purring savagely when I -stroked it, as though starved of affection as well as food; followed -close to my heels when I went out in the morning but fled wildly back -to the bivvy if any one came up to me, emerging arched like a little -caterpillar from under the bed, uttering cries of joy when I lifted -the bivvy flap. - -It was almost like finding a refugee child who had got frightened and -lost and trusted only the hand that had done it a kindness. - - -8 - -The “i” of Causli showed itself in the morning to be a stretch of -turf in a broad green trough between two rows of steep hills. Causli -was somewhere tucked behind the crest in our rear and the road on -which I had travelled ran back a couple of miles, doubled in a -hairpin twist and curved away on the other side of the valley until -it lost itself behind a belt of trees that leaped out of the far -hill. Forward the view was shut in by the spur which sheltered us, -but our horses were being saddled and after breakfast the Colonel -took me with him to reconnoitre. Very soon the valley ceased and the -road became a mountain path with many stone bridges taking it over -precipitous drops. Looking over, one saw little streams bubbling -in the sunlight. After about three miles of climbing we came upon -a signal station on the roadside with linesmen at work. It was the -first sign of any troops in all that country, but miles behind us, -right back to Salonica, the road was a long chain of troops and -transport. Our brigade was as yet the only one up in action. - -The signal station proved to be infantry headquarters. It was the -summit of the pass, the mountains opening like a great V in front -through which further mountains appeared, with that one endless road -curling up like a white snake. There was a considerable noise of -firing going on and we were just in time to see the French take a -steep crest,--an unbelievable sight. We lay on our stomachs miles -behind them and through glasses watched puffs of cotton wool, black -and white, sprout out of a far-away hill, followed by a wavering line -of blue dots. Presently the cotton wool sprouted closer to the crest -and the blue dots climbed steadily. Then the cotton wool disappeared -over the top and the blue dots gave chase. Now and then one stumbled -and fell. Breathless one watched to see if he would get up again. -Generally he didn’t, but the line didn’t stop and presently the last -of it had disappeared over the crest. The invisible firing went on -and the only proof that it wasn’t a dream was the motionless bundles -of blue that lay out there in the sun.-- - -It was the first time I’d seen men killed and it left me silent, -angry. Why “go out” like that on some damned Serbian hill? What was -it all about that everybody was trying to kill everybody else? Wasn’t -the sun shining and the world beautiful? What was this disease that -had broken out like a scab over the face of the world?--why did those -particular dots have to fall? Why not the ones a yard away? What was -the law of selection? Was there a law? _Did_ every bullet have its -billet? Was there a bullet for the Colonel?--For _me_?--No. It was -impossible! But then, why those others and which of us?-- - -I think I’ve found the answer to some of those questions now. But on -that bright November day, 1915, I was too young. It was all in the -game although from that moment there was a shadow on it. - - -9 - -“Don” battery went into action first. - -The Headquarters moved up close to the signalling station--and I -lost my kitten--but “Don” went down the pass to the very bottom and -cross-country to the east, and dug themselves in near a deserted -farmhouse on the outskirts of Valandovo. “Beer” and “C” batteries -came up a day or two later and sat down with “AC.” There seemed to -be no hurry. Our own infantry were not in the line. They were in -support of the French and with supine ignorance or amazing pluck, but -anyhow a total disregard of the laws of warfare, proceeded to dig -trenches of sorts in full daylight and in full view of the Bulgar. We -shouldn’t have minded so much but our O.P. happened to be on the hill -where most of these heroes came to dig. - -The troops themselves were remarkably ill-chosen. Most of those who -were not Irish were flat-footed “brickees” from Middlesex, Essex -and the dead-level east coast counties, so their own officers told -me, where they never raise one ankle above the other. Now they were -chosen to give imitations of chamois in these endless hills. Why not -send an aviator to command a tank? Furthermore, the only guns were -French 75’s and our eighteen-pounders and, I think, a French brigade -of mountain artillery, when obviously howitzers were indicated. And -there were no recuperators in those days. Put a quadrant angle of -28° and some minutes on an old pattern eighteen-pounder and see how -long you stay in action,--with spare springs at a premium and the -nearest workshops sixty miles away. My own belief is that a couple -of handfuls of Gurkhas and French Tirailleurs would have cleaned up -Serbia in a couple of months. As it was...-- - -The French gave us the right of the line from north-west of Valandovo -to somewhere east of Kajali in the blue hills, over which, said the -Staff, neither man nor beast could pass. We needn’t worry about -our right, they said. Nature was doing that for us. But apparently -Nature had allowed not less than eight Greek divisions to march -comfortably over that impassable right flank of ours in the previous -Græco-Bulgarian dust-up. Of course the Staff didn’t find it out till -afterwards. It only cost us a few thousand dead and the Staff were -all right in Salonica, so there was no great harm done! Till then the -thing was a picnic. On fine mornings the Colonel and I rode down the -pass to see Don battery, climbed the mountain to the stone sangar -which was their O.P. and watched them shoot--they were a joyous -unshaven crowd--went on down the other side to the French front line -and reconnoitred the country for advanced positions and generally got -the hang of things. - -As I knew French there were occasions when I was really useful, -otherwise it was simply a joy-ride for me until the rest of the -batteries came into action. One morning the Colonel and I were right -forward watching a heavy barrage on a village occupied by the Bulgar. -The place selected by the Colonel from which to enjoy a really fine -view was only ten yards from a dead Bulgar who was in a kneeling -position in a shallow trench with his hands in his pockets, keeled -over at an angle. He’d been there many days and the wind blew our -way. But the Colonel had a cold. I fled to a flank. While we watched, -two enemy batteries opened. For a long time we tried to locate their -flash. Then we gave it up and returned up the pass to where a French -battery was tucked miraculously among holly bushes just under the -crest. One of their officers was standing on the sky line, also -endeavouring to locate those new batteries. So we said we’d have -another try, climbed up off the road, lay upon our stomachs and drew -out our glasses. Immediately a pip-squeak burst in the air about -twenty yards away. Another bracketed us and the empty shell went -whining down behind us. I thought it was rather a joke and but for -the Colonel would have stayed there. - -He, however, was a regular Gunner, thank God, and slithered off the -mound like an eel. I followed him like his shadow and we tucked -ourselves half crouching, half sitting, under the ledge, with our -feet on the road. For four hours the Bulgar tried to get that -French battery. If he’d given five minutes more right he’d have -done it,--and left us alone. As it was he plastered the place with -battery fire every two seconds.--Shrapnel made pockmarks in the road, -percussion bursts filled our necks with dirt from the ledge and ever -the cases whined angrily into the ravine. We smoked many pipes. - -It was my first experience under shell fire. I found it rather like -what turning on the quarter current in the electric chair must -be,--most invigorating, but a little jumpy. One never knew. Thank -heaven they were only pip-squeaks. During those crouching hours two -French poilus walked up the pass--it was impossible to go quickly -because it was so steep--and without turning a hair or attempting to -quicken or duck walked through that barrage with a _sangfroid_ that -left me gasping. Although in a way I was enjoying it, I was mighty -glad to be under that ledge, and my heart thumped when the Colonel -decided to make a run for it and went on thumping till we were a good -thousand yards to a flank. - -The worst of it was, it was the only morning that I hadn’t brought -sandwiches. - - -10 - -When the other three batteries went into action and the ammunition -column tucked itself into dry nullahs along the road we moved up -into Valandovo and established Brigade Headquarters in a farmhouse -and for many days the signallers and I toiled up and down mountains, -laying air lines. It was an elementary sort of war. There were -not balloons, no aeroplanes and camouflage didn’t seem to matter. -Infantry pack transport went up and down all day long. It was only -in the valley that the infantry were able to dig shallow trenches. -On the hills they built sangars, stone breastwork affairs. Barbed -wire I don’t remember to have seen. There were no gas shells, no -5.9’s, nothing bigger than pip-squeaks. The biggest artillery the -Allies possessed were two 120-centimetre guns called respectively -Crache Mort and Chasse Boche. One morning two Heavy Gunners blew in -and introduced themselves as being on the hunt for sixty-pounder -positions. They were burning to lob some over into Strumnitza. We -assisted them eagerly in their reconnaissance and they went away -delighted, promising to return within three days. They were still -cursing on the quayside when we came limping back to Salonica. -Apparently there was no one qualified to give them the order to come -up and help. In those days Strumnitza was the Bulgar rail-head, and -they could have pounded it to bits. - -As it was, our brigade was the only English Gunner unit in action, -and the Battery Commanders proved conclusively to the French (and the -Bulgar) that the eighteen-pounder was a handy little gun. The French -General ordered one of the 75 batteries to advance to Kajali. They -reconnoitred the hills and reported that it was impossible without -going ten miles round. The General came along to see for himself and -agreed. The Captain of “C” battery, however, took a little walk up -there and offered to get up if the Colonel would lend him a couple -of hundred infantry. At the same time he pointed out that coming -down in a hurry was another story, absolutely impossible. However, -it was discussed by the powers that were and the long and short of -it was that two of our batteries were ordered forward. “C” was the -pioneer; and with the two hundred infantry,--horses were out of the -question--and all the gunners they laboured from 4.30 p.m. to 6 a.m. -the next morning, at which hour they reported themselves in action -again. It was a remarkable feat, brought about by sheer muscle and -will power, every inch of the way a battle, up slopes that were -almost vertical, over small boulders, round big ones with straining -drag ropes for about two miles and a half. The 75’s refused to -believe it until they had visited the advanced positions. They bowed -and said “Touché!” - - -11 - -Then the snow came in blinding blizzards that blotted out the whole -world and everybody went underground and lived in overcoats and -stoked huge fires,--everybody except the infantry whose rifle bolts -froze stiff, whose rations didn’t arrive and who could only crouch -behind their stone sangars. The cold was intense and they suffered -terribly. When the blizzard ceased after about forty-eight hours the -tracks had a foot of snow over them and the drifts were over one’s -head. - -Even in our little farmhouse where the Colonel and I played chess -in front of a roaring fire, drinks froze solid on the mantelpiece -and we remained muffled to the eyes. Thousands of rock pigeons -appeared round the horse lines, fighting for the dropped grain, and -the starving dogs became so fierce and bold that it was only wise -to carry a revolver in the deserted villages. Huge brutes some of -them, the size of Arab donkeys, a cross between a mastiff and a great -Dane. Under that clean garment of snow which didn’t begin to melt -for a fortnight, the country was of an indescribable beauty. Every -leaf on the trees bore its little white burden, firm and crisp, and -a cold sun appeared and threw most wonderful lights and shadows. The -mountains took on a virgin purity. - -But to the unfortunate infantry it was one long stretch of suffering. -Hundreds a day came down on led mules in an agonised string, their -feet bound in straw, their faces and hands blue like frozen meat. -The hospitals were full of frost-bite cases, and dysentery was not -unknown in the brigade. Pot-face in particular behaved like a hero. -He had dysentery very badly but absolutely refused to let the doctor -send him down. - -Our rations were none too good, and there were interminable spells -of bully beef, fried, hashed, boiled, rissoled, _au naturel_ with -pickles, and bread became a luxury. We reinforced this with young -maize which grew everywhere in the valley and had wonderful soup -and corn on the cob, boiled in tinned milk and then fried. Then too -the Vet. and I had a wonderful afternoon’s wild bull hunting with -revolvers. We filled the wretched animal with lead before getting -near enough to give the _coup de grâce_ beside a little stream. The -Vet. whipped off his tunic, turned up his sleeves and with a long -trench knife conducted a masterly post mortem which resulted in -about forty pounds of filet mignon. The next morning before dawn the -carcase was brought in in the cook’s cart and the Headquarters Staff -lived on the fat of the land and invited all the battery commanders -to the discussion of that excellent bull. - -From our point of view it wasn’t at all a bad sort of war. We hadn’t -had a single casualty. The few rounds which ever came anywhere near -the batteries were greeted with ironic cheers and the only troubles -with telephone lines were brought about by our own infantry who -removed lengths of five hundred yards or so presumably to mend their -bivvies with. - -But about the second week of December indications were not wanting -of hostile activity. Visibility was very bad owing to early morning -fogs, but odd rounds began to fall in the valley behind us in the -neighbourhood of the advancing wagon lines, and we fired on infantry -concentrations and once even an S.O.S. Rifle fire began to increase -and stray bullets hummed like bees on the mountain paths. - -In the middle of this I became ill with a temperature which remained -for four days in the neighbourhood of 104°. The doctor talked of -hospital but I’d never seen the inside of one and didn’t want to. - -However, on the fourth day it was the Colonel’s order that I should -go. It transpired afterwards that the doctor diagnosed enteric. So -away I went labelled and wrapped up in a four-mule ambulance wagon. -The cold was intense, the road appalling, the pip-squeaks not too far -away until we got out of the valley, and the agony unprintable. That -night was spent in a Casualty Clearing Station in the company of half -a dozen infantry subalterns all splashed with blood. - -At dawn next morning when we were in a hospital train on our way to -Salonica, the attack began. The unconsidered right flank was the -trouble. Afterwards I heard about a dozen versions of the show, -all much the same in substance. The Bulgars poured over the right -in thousands, threatening to surround us. Some of the infantry put -up a wonderful fight. Others--didn’t. Our two advanced batteries -fired over open sights into the brown until they had exhausted their -ammunition, then removed breech blocks and dial sights, destroyed -the pieces and got out, arming themselves with rifles and ammunition -picked up ad lib. on the way down. “Don” and “AC” went out of one -end of the village of Valandovo while the enemy were held up at the -other by the Gunners of the other two batteries. Then two armies, -the French and English, got tangled up in the only road of retreat, -engineers hastening the stragglers and then blowing up bridges. “Don” -and “AC” filled up with ammunition and came into action in support -of the other brigades at Causli which now opened fire while “Beer” -and “C” got mounted and chased those of our infantry who “didn’t,” -rounded them up, and marched them back to face the enemy. Meanwhile -I was tucked away in a hospital bed in a huge marquee, trying to -get news from every wounded officer who was brought in. The wildest -rumours were going about but no one knew anything officially. I heard -that the infantry were wiped out, that the gunners had all been -killed or captured to a man, that the remnants of the French were -fighting desperately and that the whole thing was a _débâcle_. - -There we all were helpless in bed, with nurses looking after us, -splendid English girls, and all the time those infernal guns coming -nearer and nearer.--At night, sleepless and in a fever, one could -almost hear the rumble of their wheels, and from the next tent where -the wounded Tommies lay in rows, one or two would suddenly scream in -their agony and try and stifle their sobs, calling on Jesus Christ to -kill them and put them out of their pain.-- - -The brigade, when I rejoined, was in camp east of Salonica, under the -lee of Hortiac, knee-deep in mud and somewhat short of kit. It was -mighty good to get back and see them in the flesh again, after all -those rumours which had made one sick with apprehension. - -Having pushed us out of Serbia into Greece the Bulgar contented -himself with sitting on the frontier and making rude remarks. The -Allies, however, silently dug themselves in and prepared for the -defence of Salonica in case he should decide to attack again. -The Serbs retired to Corfu to reform, and although Tino did a -considerable amount of spluttering at this time, the only sign of -interest the Greeks showed was to be more insolent in the streets. - -We drew tents and moved up into the hills and Woodbine joined us -again, no longer a shipwrecked mariner in clothes off the peg, but in -all the glory of new uniform and breeches out from home, a most awful -duke. Pot-face and the commander of “C” battery went to hospital -shortly afterwards and were sent home. Some of the Brass Hats also -changed rounds. One, riding forth from a headquarters with cherry -brandy and a fire in each room, looked upon our harness immediately -on our return from the retreat and said genially that he’d heard that -we were a “rabble.” When, however, the commander of “Don” battery -asked him for the name and regiment of his informant, the Brass Hat -rode away muttering uncomfortably. Things were a little strained! - - -12 - -However, Christmas was upon us so we descended upon the town with -cook’s carts and visited the Base cashier. Salonica was a modern -Babel. The cobbles of the Rue Venizelos rang with every tongue in -the world,--Turkish, Russian, Yiddish, Serbian, Spanish, Levantine, -Arabic, English, French, Italian, Greek and even German. Little tin -swords clattered everywhere and the place was a riot of colour, the -Jew women with green pearl-sewn headdresses, the Greek peasants in -their floppy-seated trousers elbowing enormous Russian soldiers in -loose blouses and jack boots who in turn elbowed small-waisted Greek -highlanders in kilts with puffballs on their curly-toed shoes. There -were black-robed priests with long beards and high hats, young men in -red fezzes, civilians in bowlers, old hags who gobbled like turkeys -and snatched cigarette ends, all mixed up in a kaleidoscopic jumble -with officers of every country and exuding a smell of garlic, fried -fish, decaying vegetable matter, and those aromatic eastern dishes -which fall into no known category of perfume. Fling into this chaos -numbers of street urchins of untold dirt chasing turkeys and chickens -between one’s legs and you get a slight idea of what sort of place we -came to to do our Christmas shopping. - -The best known language among the shopkeepers was Spanish, but French -was useful and after hours of struggling one forced a passage out -of the crowd with barrels of beer, turkey, geese, pigs, fruit and -cigarettes for the men, and cigars and chocolates, whisky, Grand -Marnier and Cointreau for the mess. Some fund or other had decided -that every man was to have a plum pudding, and these we had drawn -from the A.S.C. on Christmas Eve. - -In Egypt letters had taken thirteen days to arrive. Here they took -from fifteen to seventeen, sometimes twenty-one. Christmas Day, -however, was one of the occasions when nothing came at all and we -cursed the unfortunate post office in chorus. I suppose it’s the -streak of childhood in every man of us that makes us want our letters -_on_ the day. So the morning was a little chilly and lonely until we -went round to see that the men’s dinner was all right. It was, with -lashings of beer. - -This second Christmas on active service was a tremendous contrast to -the first. Then there was the service in the barn followed by that -depressing lonely day in the fog and flat filth of Flanders. Now -there was a clear sunny air and a gorgeous view of purple mountains -with a glimpse of sea far off below. - -In place of Mass in the barn Woodbine and I went for a walk and -climbed up to the white Greek church above the village, surrounded -by cloisters in which shot up cypress trees, the whole picked out -in relief against the brown hill. We went in. The church was empty -but for three priests, one on the altar behind the screen, one in a -pulpit on each side in the body of the church. For a long time we -stood there listening as they flung prayers and responses from one to -another in a high, shrill, nasal minor key that had the wail of lost -souls in it. It was most un-Christmassy and we came out with a shiver -into the sun. - -Our guest at dinner that night was a Serbian liaison officer from -Divisional Headquarters. We stuffed him with the usual British food -and regaled him with many songs to the accompaniment of the banjo and -broke up still singing in the small hours but not having quite cured -the ache in our hearts caused by “absent friends.” - - -13 - -The second phase of the campaign was one of endless boredom, filthy -weather and the nuisance of changing camp every other month. The -boredom was only slightly relieved by a few promotions, two or three -full lieutenants becoming captains and taking command of the newly -arranged sections of D.A.C., and a few second lieutenants getting -their second pip. I was one. The weather was characteristic of the -country, unexpected, violent. About once a week the heavens opened -themselves. Thunder crashed round in circles in a black sky at -midday, great tongues of lightning lit the whole world in shuddering -flashes. The rain made every nullah a roaring waterfall with three or -four feet of muddy water racing down it and washing away everything -in its path. The trenches round our bell tents were of little avail -against such violence. The trench sides dissolved and the water -poured in. These storms lasted an hour or two and then the sky -cleared almost as quickly as it had darkened and the mountain peaks -gradually appeared again, clean and fresh. On one such occasion, -but much later in the year, the Adjutant was caught riding up from -Salonica on his horse and a thunderbolt crashed to earth about thirty -yards away from him. The horse stood trembling for full two minutes -and then galloped home in a panic. - -The changing of camps seemed to spring from only one reason,--the -desire for “spit and polish” which covers a multitude of sins. It -doesn’t matter if your gunners are not smart at gun drill or your -subalterns in utter ignorance of how to lay out lines of fire and -make a fighting map. So long as your gun park is aligned to the -centimetre, your horse lines supplied conspicuously with the type -of incinerator fancied by your Brigadier-General and the whole camp -liberally and tastefully decorated with white stones,--then you are -a crack brigade, and Brass Hats ride round you with oily smiles and -pleasant remarks and recommend each other for decorations. - -But adopt your own incinerator (infinitely more practical as a rule -than the Brigadier-General’s) and let yourself be caught with an -untidy gun park and your life becomes a hell on earth. We learnt it -bitterly, until at last the Adjutant used to ride ahead with the -R.S.M., a large fatigue party and several miles of string and mark -the position of every gun muzzle and wagon wheel in the brigade. And -when the storms broke and washed away the white stones the Adjutant -would dash out of his tent immediately the rain ceased, calling upon -God piteously, the R.S.M. irritably, and every man in the brigade -would collect other stones for dear life. - -Time hung very heavy. The monotony of week after week of brigade -fatigues, standing gun drill, exercising and walking horses, -inspecting the men’s dinners, with nothing to do afterwards except -play cards, read, write letters and curse the weather, and the war -and all Brass Hats. Hot baths in camp were, as usual, as diamonds -in oysters. Salonica was about twelve miles away for a bath, a long -weary ride mostly at a walk on account of the going. But it was good -to ride in past the village we used to call Peacockville, for obvious -reasons, put the horses up in a Turkish stable in a back street in -Salonica, and bathe and feed at the “Tour Blanche,” and watch the -crowd. It was a change, at least, from the eternal sameness of camp -and the cramped discomfort of bell tents, and there was always a -touch of mystery and charm in the ride back in the moonlight. - -The whole thing seemed so useless, such an utter waste of life. There -one sat in the mud doing nothing. The war went on and we weren’t -helping. All our civil ambitions and hopes were withering under our -very eyes. One hopeless dawn succeeded another. I tried to write, but -my brain was like a sponge dipped into khaki dye. One yearned for -France, where at least there was fighting and leave, or if not leave -then the hourly chance of a “blighty” wound. - -About April there came a welcome interlude. The infantry had also -chopped and changed, and been moved about and in the intervals had -been kept warm and busy in digging a chain of defences in a giant -hundred-mile half-circle around Salonica, the hub of our existence. -The weather still didn’t seem to know quite what it wanted to -do. There was a hint of spring but it varied between blinding -snow-storms, bursts of warm sun and torrents of rain. - -“Don” battery had been moved to Stavros in the defensive chain, and -the Colonel was to go down and do Group Commander. The Adjutant -was left to look after the rest of the brigade. I went with the -Colonel to do Adjutant in the new group. So we collected a handful -of signallers, a cart with our kits and servants, and set out on a -two-day trek due east along the line of lakes to the other coast. - -The journey started badly in a howling snow-storm. To reach the lake -level there was a one-way pass that took an hour to go down, and an -hour and a half to climb on the return trip. The Colonel went on -ahead to see the General. I stayed with the cart and fought my way -through the blizzard. At the top of the pass was a mass of Indian -transport. We all waited for two hours, standing still in the storm, -the mud belly-deep because some unfortunate wagon had got stuck in -the ascent. I remember having words with a Captain who sat hunched -on his horse like a sack the whole two hours and refused to give an -order or lend a hand when every one of his teams jibbed, when at last -the pass was declared open. God knows how he ever got promoted. - -However, we got down at last and the sun came out and dried us. I -reported to the Colonel, and we went on in a warm golden afternoon -along the lake shore with ducks getting up out of the rushes in -hundreds, and, later, woodcock flashing over our heads on their way -to water. As far as I remember the western lake is some eight miles -long and about three wide at its widest part, with fairy villages -nestling against the purple mountain background, the sun glistening -on the minarets and the faint sound of bells coming across the -water. We spent the night as guests of a battery which we found -encamped on the shore, and on the following morning trekked along the -second lake, which is about ten miles in length, ending at a jagged -mass of rock and thick undergrowth which had split open into a wild, -wooded ravine with a river winding its way through the narrow neck to -the sea, about five miles farther on. - -We camped in the narrow neck on a sandy bay by the river, rock -shooting up sheer from the back of the tents, the horses hidden under -the trees. The Colonel’s command consisted of one 60-pounder--brought -round by sea and thrown into the shallows by the Navy, who said to -us, “Here you are, George. She’s on terra firma. It’s up to you -now”--two naval 6-inch, one eighteen-pounder battery, “Don,” one 4.5 -howitzer battery, and a mountain battery, whose commander rode about -on a beautiful white mule with a tail trimmed like an hotel bell -pull. “AC” battery of ours came along a day or two later to join the -merry party, because, to use the vulgar but expressive phrase, the -Staff “got the wind up,” and saw Bulgars behind every tree. - - -14 - -In truth it was a comedy,--though there were elements of tragedy in -the utter inefficiency displayed. We rode round to see the line of -our zone. It took two days, because, of course, the General had to -get back to lunch. Wherever it was possible to cut tracks, tracks -had been cut, beautiful wide ones, making an enemy advance easy. -They were guarded by isolated machine-gun posts at certain strategic -points, and in the nullahs was a little barbed wire driven in on -wooden stakes. Against the barbed wire, however, were piled masses -of dried thorn,--utterly impassable but about as inflammable as -gun-powder. This was all up and down the wildest country. If a -massacre had gone on fifty yards to our right or left at any time, we -shouldn’t have been able to see it. And the line of infantry was so -placed that it was impossible to put guns anywhere to assist them. - -It is to be remembered that although I have two eyes, two ears, and a -habit of looking and listening, I was only a lieutenant with two pips -in those days, and therefore my opinion is not, of course, worth the -paper it is written on. Ask any Brass Hat! - -An incident comes back to me of the action before the retreat. -I had only one pip then. Two General Staffs wished to make a -reconnaissance. I went off at 3 a.m. to explore a short way, got -back at eight o’clock, after five hours on a cold and empty stomach, -met the Staffs glittering in the winter sun, and led them up a goat -track, ridable, of course. They left the horses eventually, and I -brought them to the foot of the crest, from which the reconnaissance -was desired. The party was some twenty strong, and walked up on to -the summit and produced many white maps. I was glad to sit down, -and did so under the crest against a rock. Searching the opposite -sky line with my glasses, I saw several parties of Bulgars watching -us,--only recognisable as Bulgars because the little of them that -I could see moved from time to time. The Colonel was near me and I -told him. He took a look and went up the crest and told the Staffs. -The Senior Brass Hat said, “Good God! What are you all doing up here -on the crest? Get under cover at once,”--and he and they all hurried -down. The reconnaissance was over! - -On leading them a short way back to the horses (it saved quite twenty -minutes’ walk) it became necessary to pass through a wet, boggy patch -about four yards across. The same Senior Brass Hat stopped at the -edge of it, and said to me, “What the devil did you bring us this way -for? You don’t expect me to get my boots dirty, do you?--Good God!” - -I murmured something about active service,--but, as I say, I had only -one pip then.-- - -It isn’t that one objects to being cursed. The thing that rankles -is to have to bend the knee to a system whose slogan is efficiency, -but which retains the doddering and the effete in high commands -simply because they have a quarter of a century of service to their -records. The misguided efforts of these dodderers are counteracted -to a certain extent by the young, keen men under them. But it is the -dodderers who get the credit, while the real men lick their boots -and have to kowtow in the most servile manner. Furthermore, it is no -secret. We know it and yet we let it go on: and if to-day there are -twenty thousand unnecessary corpses among our million dead, after -all, what are they among so many? The dodderers have still got enough -life to parade at Buckingham Palace and receive another decoration, -and we stand in the crowd and clap our hands, and say, “Look at old -so-and-so! Isn’t he a grand old man? Must be seventy-six if he’s a -day!” - -So went the comedy at Stavros. One Brass Hat dug a defence line -at infinite expense and labour. Along came another, just a pip -senior, looked round and said, “Good God! You’ve dug in the wrong -place.--Must be scrapped.” And at more expense and more labour a new -line was dug. And then a third Brass Hat came along and it was all to -do over again. Men filled the base hospitals and died of dysentery; -the national debt added a few more insignificant millions,--and the -Brass Hats went on leave to Alexandria for a well-earned rest. - -Not only at Stavros did this happen, but all round the half circle in -the increasingly hot weather, as the year became older and disease -more rampant. - -After we’d been down there a week and just got the hang of the -country another Colonel came and took over the command of the group, -so we packed up our traps and having bagged many woodcock and duck, -went away, followed after a few days by “AC” and “Don.” - -About that time, to our lasting grief, we lost our Colonel, who went -home. It was a black day for the brigade. His thoughtfulness for -every officer under him, his loyalty and unfailing cheeriness had -made him much loved. I, who had ridden with him daily, trekked the -snowy hills in his excellent company, played chess with him, strummed -the banjo while he chanted half-remembered songs, shared the same -tent with him on occasions and appreciated to the full his unfailing -kindness, mourned him as my greatest friend. The day he went I took -my last ride with him down to the rest camp just outside Salonica, a -wild, threatening afternoon, with a storm which burst on me in all -its fury as I rode back miserably, alone. - -In due course his successor came and we moved to Yailajik--well -called by the men, Yellow-Jack--and the hot weather was occupied with -training schemes at dawn, officers’ rides and drills, examinations -A and B (unofficial, of course), horse shows and an eternity of -unnecessary work, while one gasped in shirt sleeves and stupid felt -hats after the Anzac pattern; long, long weeks of appalling heat -and petty worries, until it became a toss-up between suicide or -murder. The whole spirit of the brigade changed. From having been -a happy family working together like a perfect team, the spirit of -discontent spread like a canker. The men looked sullen and did their -work grudgingly, going gladly to hospital at the first signs of -dysentery. Subalterns put in applications for the Flying Corps,--I -was one of their number,--and ceased to take an interest in their -sections. Battery Commanders raised sarcasm to a fine art, and cursed -the day that ever sent them to this ghastly back-water. - -I left the headquarters and sought relief in “C” battery, where, -encouraged by the sympathetic commanding officer, I got nearer to the -solution of the mysterious triangle T.O.B. than I’d ever been before. -He had a way of talking about it that the least intelligent couldn’t -fail to grasp. - -At last I fell ill and with an extraordinary gladness went down to -the 5th Canadian hospital, on the eastern outskirts of Salonica, -on the seashore. The trouble was an ear. Even the intensest pain, -dulled by frequent injections of morphia, did not affect my relief -in getting away from that brigade, where, up to the departure of -the Colonel, I had spent such a happy time. The pity of it was that -everybody envied me. - -They talked of an operation. Nothing would have induced me to let -them operate in that country where the least scratch turned septic. -After several weeks I was sent to Malta, where I was treated for -twenty-one days. At the end of that time the specialist asked -me if my career would be interfered with if he sent me home for -consultation as to an operation. One reason he could not do it was -that it was a long business, six weeks in bed, at least, and they -were already overfull. The prison door was about to open! I assured -him that on the contrary my career would benefit largely by a sight -of home, and to my eternal joy he then and there, in rubber gloves, -wrote a recommendation to send me to England. His name stands out in -my memory in golden letters. - -Within twenty-four hours I was on board. - -The fact that all my kit was still with the battery was a matter of -complete indifference. I would have left a thousand kits. At home all -the leaves were turning, blue smoke was filtering out of red chimneys -against the copper background of the beech woods--and they would be -waiting for me in the drive. - - - - - PART III - - _THE WESTERN FRONT_ - - -1 - -England had changed in the eighteen months since we put out so -joyously from Avonmouth. Munition factories were in full blast, -food restrictions in force, women in all kinds of uniforms, London -in utter darkness at night, the country dotted with hutted training -camps. Everything was quiet. We had taken a nasty knock or two and -washed some of our dirty linen in public, not too clean at that. My -own lucky star was in the ascendant. The voyage completely cured me, -and within a week I was given a month’s sick leave by the Medical -Board,--a month of heaven more nearly describes it, for I passed my -days in a state of bliss which nothing could mar, except perhaps the -realisation, towards the end, of the fact that I had to go back and -settle into the collar again. - -My mental attitude towards the war had changed. Whatever romance -and glamour there may have been had worn off. It was just one long -bitter waste of time,--our youth killed like flies by “dug-outs,” -at the front, so that old men and sick might carry on the race, -while profiteers drew bloated profits and politicians exuded noxious -gas in the House. Not a comforting point of view to take back into -harness. I was told on good authority that to go out to France in a -field battery was a certain way of finding death. They were being -flung away in the open to take another thousand yards of trench, -so as to make a headline in the daily papers which would stir the -drooping spirits of the old, the sick, and the profiteer over their -breakfast egg. The _embusqué_ was enjoying those headlines too. The -combing-out process had not yet begun. The young men who had never -been out of England were Majors and Colonels in training camps. It -was the officers who returned to duty from hospital, more or less -cured of wounds or sickness, who were the first to be sent out again. -The others knew a thing or two. - -That was how it struck me when I was posted to a reserve brigade just -outside London. - -Not having the least desire to be “flung away in the open,” I did -my best to get transferred to a 6-inch battery. The Colonel of the -reserve brigade did his best, but it was queered at once, without -argument or appeal, by the nearest Brass Hat, in the following -manner. The Colonel having signed and recommended the formal -application, spoke to the General personally on my behalf. - -“What sort of a fellow is he?” asked the General. - -“Seems a pretty useful man,” said the Colonel. - -“Then we’ll keep him,” said the General. - -“The pity of it is,” said the Colonel to me later, “that if I’d said -you were a hopeless damned fool, he would have signed it.” - -On many subsequent occasions the Colonel flung precisely that -expression at me so he might just as well have said it then. - -However, as it seemed that I was destined for a short life, I -determined to make it as merry as possible, and in the company of a -kindred spirit, who was posted from hospital a couple of days after -I was, and who is now a Bimbashi in the Soudan, I went up to town -about three nights a week, danced and did a course of theatres. -By day there was no work to do as the brigade already had far too -many officers, none of whom had been out. The battery to which we -were both posted was composed of category C1 men,--flat-footed -unfortunates, unfit to fight on medical grounds, not even strong -enough to groom horses properly. - -A futile existence in paths of unintelligence and unendeavour -worshipping perforce at the altar of destruction, creating nothing, -a slave to dishonesty and jobbery,--a waste of life that made one -mad with rage in that everything beautiful in the world was snapped -in half and flung away because the social fabric which we ourselves -had made through the centuries, had at last become rotten to the core -and broken into flaming slaughter, and was being fanned by yellow -press hypocrisy. Every ideal cried out against it. The sins of the -fathers upon the wilfully blind children. The Kaiser was only the -most pitch-covered torch chosen by Nemesis to set the bonfire of -civilisation ablaze. But for one branch in the family tree he would -have been England’s monarch, and then----? - -There have been moments when I have regretted not having sailed to -New York in August, 1914,--bitter moments when all the dishonesty has -beaten upon one’s brain, and one has envied the pluck of the honest -conscientious objector who has stood out against the ridicule of the -civilised world. - -The only thought that kept me going was “suppose the Huns had landed -in England and I had not been fighting?” It was unanswerable,--as I -thought then. - -Now I wish that the Hun had landed in England in force and laid waste -the East coast, as he has devastated Belgium and the north of France. -There would have been English refugees with perambulators and babies, -profiteers crying “Kamerad!” politicians fleeing the House. There -would have been some hope of England’s understanding. But she doesn’t -even now. There were in 1918, before the armistice, men--MEN!--who, -because their valets failed to put their cuff links in their shirts -one morning, were sarcastic to their war-working wives, and talked of -the sacrifices they had made for their country. - -How _dared_ they have valets, while we were lousy and unshaved, with -rotting corpses round our gun wheels? How _dared_ they have wives, -while we “unmarried and without ties” were either driven in our -weakness to licensed women, or clung to our chastity because of the -one woman with us every hour in our hearts, whom we meant to marry if -ever we came whole out of that hell? - - -2 - -Christmas came. They would not let me go down to that little -house among the pines and beeches, which has ever been “home” to -me. But the day was spent quietly in London with my best pal. -Seven days later I was on my way to Ireland as one of the advance -representatives of the Division. The destination of my brigade was -Limerick, that place of pigs, and smells, and pretty girls and -schoolboy rebels, who chalked on every barrack wall, “Long live the -Kaiser! Down with the King!” Have you ever been driven to the depths -of despair, seen your work go to pieces before your eyes, and spent -the dreadful days in dishonest idleness on the barrack square, hating -it all the while, but unable to move hand or foot to get out of the -mental morass? That is what grew up in Limerick. Even now my mind -shivers in agony at the thought of it. - -Reinforcements had poured into the battery of cripples, and the order -came that from it a fighting battery should be formed. As senior -subaltern, who had been promised a captaincy, I was given charge of -them. The only other officer with me was the loyalest pal a man ever -had. He had been promoted on the field for gallantry, having served -ten years in the ranks as trumpeter, gunner, corporal and sergeant. -Needless to say, he knew the game backwards, and was the possessor -of amazing energy and efficiency. He really ought to have had the -command, for my gunnery was almost nil, but I had one pip more than -he, and so the system put him under my orders. So we paraded the -first men, and told them off into sections and were given a horse or -two, gradually building up a battery as more reinforcements arrived. - -How we worked! The enthusiasm of a first command! For a fortnight we -never left the barracks,--drilling, marching, clothing and feeding -the fighting unit of which we hoped such great things. All our hearts -and souls were in it, and the men themselves were keen and worked -cheerily and well. One shook off depressing philosophies and got -down to the solid reality of two hundred men. The early enthusiasm -returned, and Pip Don--as my pal was called--and I were out for glory -and killing Huns. - -The Colonel looked us over and was pleased. Life wasn’t too bad, -after all. - -And then the blight set in. An officer was posted to the command of -the little fighting unit. - -In a week all the fight had gone out of it. In another week Pip Don -and I declared ourselves beaten. All our interest was killed. The -sergeant-major, for whom I have a lasting respect, was like Bruce’s -spider. Every time he fell, he at once started reclimbing. He alone -was responsible for whatever discipline remained. The captaincy which -I had been promised on certain conditions was filled by some one -else the very day I carried out the conditions. It didn’t matter. -Everything was so hopeless that the only thing left was to get -out,--and that was the one thing we couldn’t do, because we were more -or less under orders for France. It reached such a pitch that even -the thought of being flung away in the open was welcome. At least -it would end it all. There was no secret about it. The Colonel knew. -Didn’t he come to my room one night, and say, “Look here, Gibbs, what -is the matter with your battery?” And didn’t we have another try, and -another? - -So for a time Pip Don and I smoked cigarettes on the barrack square, -strolling listlessly from parade to parade, cursing the fate that -should have brought us to such dishonour. We went to every dance in -Limerick, organised concerts, patronised the theatre and filled our -lives as much as we could with outside interests until such time as -we should go to France. And then.--It would be different when shells -began to burst! - - -3 - -In the ranks I first discovered that it was a struggle to keep one’s -soul alive. That struggle had proved far more difficult as an officer -in the later days of Salonica. The bitterness of Limerick, together -with the reason, as I saw it, of the wholesale slaughter, made one’s -whole firmament tremble. Rough hands seemed to tear down one’s ideals -and fling then in the mud. One’s picture of God and religion faded -under the red light of war. One’s brain flickered in the turmoil, -seeking something to cling to. What was there? Truth? There was none. -Duty? It was a farce. Honour? It was dead. There was only one thing -left, one thing which might give them all back again,--Love. - -If there was not that in one’s heart to keep fragrant, to cherish, -to run to for help, to look forward to as the sunshine at the end of -a long and awful tunnel, then one’s soul would have perished and a -bullet been a merciful thing. - -I was all unconscious that it had been my salvation in the ranks, -in Salonica. Now, on the eve of going out to the Western Front I -recognized it for the first time to the full. The effect of it was -odd,--a passionate longing to tear off one’s khaki and leave all this -uncleanness, and at the same time the certain knowledge that one must -go on to the very end, otherwise one would lose it. If I had been -offered a war job in New York, how could I have taken it, unwounded, -the game unfinished, much as New York called me? So its third effect -was a fierce impatience to get to France, making at least one more -battery to help to end the war. - -The days dragged by, the longer from the new knowledge within me. -From time to time the Sinn Fein gave signs of renewed activity, and -either we were all confined to barracks in consequence, presumably to -avoid street fighting, or else we hooked into the guns and did route -marches through and round about the town. From time to time arrests -were made, but no open conflict recurred. Apart from our own presence -there was no sign of war in Ireland. Food of all kinds was plentiful -and cheap, restrictions nil. The streets were well lit at night. -Gaiety was the keynote. No aeroplanes dropped bombs on that brilliant -target. The Hun and pro-Hun had spent too much money there. - -Finally our training was considered complete. The Colonel had -laboured personally with all the subalterns, and we had benefited by -his caustic method of imparting knowledge. And so once more we sat -stiffly to attention while Generals rode round us, metaphorically -poking our ribs to see if we were fat enough for the slaughter. -Apparently we were, for the fighting units said good-bye to their -parent batteries--how gladly!--and shipped across to England to do -our firing practice. - -The camp was at Heytesbury, on the other side of the vast plain which -I had learnt so well as a trooper. We were a curious medley, several -brigades being represented, each battery a little distrustful of the -next, a little inclined to turn up its nose. Instead of being “AC,” -“Beer,” “C” and “Don,” as before, we were given consecutive numbers, -well into the hundreds, and after a week or so of dislocation were -formed into brigades, and each put under the command of a Colonel. -Then the stiffness wore off in friendly competition of trying to pick -the best horses from the remounts. Our men challenged each other to -football, sergeant-majors exchanged notes. Subalterns swapped lies -about the war and Battery Commanders stood each other drinks in -the mess. Within a fortnight we were all certain we’d got the best -Colonel in England, and congratulated ourselves accordingly. - -Meanwhile Pip Don and I were still outcasts in our own battery, up -against a policy of continual distrust, suspicion, and scarcely -veiled antagonism. It was at the beginning of April, 1917, that we -first got to Heytesbury, and snow was thick upon the ground. Every -day we had the guns out behind the stables and jumped the men about -at quick, short series, getting them smart and handy, keeping their -interest and keeping them warm. When the snow disappeared we took -the battery out mounted, taking turns in bringing it into action, -shooting over the sights on moving targets--other batteries at work -in the distance--or laying out lines for indirect targets. We took -the staff out on cross-country rides, scouring the country for miles, -and chasing hares--it shook them down into the saddle--carrying out -little signalling schemes. In short, we had a final polish up of all -the knowledge we had so eagerly begun to teach them when he and I had -been in sole command. I don’t think either of us can remember any -single occasion on which the commanding officer took a parade. - -Embarkation leave was in full swing, four days for all ranks, and -the brigade next to us was ordered to shoot. Two range officers were -appointed from our brigade. I was one. It was good fun and extremely -useful. We took a party of signallers and all the rations we could -lay hands on, and occupied an old red farmhouse tucked away in a fold -of the plain, in the middle of all the targets. An old man and his -wife lived there, a quaint old couple, toothless and irritable, well -versed in the ways of the army and expert in putting in claims for -fictitious damages. Our job was to observe and register each round -from splinter proofs, send in a signed report of each series, stop -the firing by signalling if any stray shepherd or wanderer were seen -on the range, and to see that the targets for the following day’s -shoot had not been blown down or in any other way rendered useless. -It was a four-day affair, firing ending daily between three and four -p.m. This left us ample time to canter to all the battery positions -and work out ranges, angle of sight and compass bearings for every -target,--information which would have been invaluable when our turn -to fire arrived. Unfortunately, however, several slight alterations -were intentionally made, and all our labour was wasted. Still, it -was a good four days of bracing weather, with little clouds scudding -across a blue sky, never quite certain whether in ten minutes’ time -the whole world would be blotted out in a blizzard. The turf was -springy, miles upon endless miles, and we had some most wonderful -gallops and practised revolver shooting on hares and rooks, going -back to a huge tea and a blazing wood fire in the old, draughty -farmhouse. - -The practice over, we packed up and marched back to our respective -batteries. Events of a most cataclysmic nature piled themselves -one upon the other,--friction between the commanding officer and -myself, orders to fire on a certain day, orders to proceed overseas -on a certain later day, and my dismissal from the battery, owing to -the aforesaid friction, on the opening day of the firing. Pip Don -was furious, the commanding officer wasn’t, and I “pursued a policy -of masterly inactivity.” The outcome of the firing was not without -humour, and certainly altered the whole future career of at least -two of us. The Captain and the third subaltern left the battery and -became “details.” The commanding officer became second in command -under a new Major, who dropped out of the blue, and I was posted back -to the battery, together with a new third subaltern, who had just -recovered from wounds. - -The business of getting ready was speeded up. The Ordnance -Department, hitherto of miserly reluctance, gave us lavishly of their -best. Gas masks were dished out, and every man marched into a gas -chamber,--there either to get gassed or come out with the assurance -that the mask had no defects! Final issues of clothing and equipment -kept the Q.M.S. sweating from dawn to dusk, and the Major signed -countless pay books, indents and documents generally. - -Thus we were ready and eager to go and strafe the Hun in the merry -month of May, 1917. - - -4 - -The personnel of the battery was odd but extremely interesting. Pip -Don and myself knew every man, bombardier, corporal and sergeant, -what he had done, tried to do, or could do. In a word we knew the -battery inside out and exactly what it was worth. Not a man of them -had ever been on active service, but we felt quite confident that the -test of shell fire would not find them wanting. The great majority of -them were Scots, and they were all as hard as nails. - -The third subaltern was an unknown quantity, but all of us had been -out. The Captain hadn’t. - -The Major had been in every battle in France since 1914, but he -didn’t know us or the battery, and if we felt supremely confident in -him, it was, to say the least of it, impossible for him to return -the compliment. He himself will tell you that he didn’t win the -confidence of the battery until after a bold and rapidly-decided -move in full light of day, which put us on the flank of a perfectly -hellish bombardment. That may be true of some of the men, but as far -as Pip Don and myself went, we had adopted him after the first five -minutes, and never swerved,--having, incidentally, some wonderful -arguments about him in the sleeping quarters at Heytesbury with the -subalterns of other batteries. - -It is extraordinary how the man at the head of a little show like -that remains steadily in the lime-light. Everything he does, says or -looks is noted, commented on and placed to either his credit or debit -until the men have finally decided that he’s all right or--not. If -they come to the first decision, then the Major’s life is not more -of a burden to him than Divisional and Corps Staffs and the Hun can -make it. The battery will do anything he asks of it, at any hour of -day or night, and will go on shooting till the last man is knocked -out. If, on the other hand, they decide that he is not all right, -God help him. He gives orders. They are not carried out. Why? An -infinite variety of super-excellent excuses. It is a sort of passive -resistance, and he has got to be a mighty clever man to unearth the -root of it and kill it before it kills him. - -We went from Southampton to Havre--it looked exactly the same as when -I’d landed there three years previously--and from Havre by train to -Merville. There a guide met us in the chilly dawn and we marched up -to Estaires, the guide halting us at a mud patch looking like the -abomination of desolation, which he said was our wagon line. It was -only about seven miles from the place where I’d been in the cavalry, -and just as muddy, but somehow I was glad to be back. None of those -side shows at the other end of the map had meant anything. France was -obviously where the issue would ultimately be decided, and, apart -from the Dardanelles, where the only real fighting was, or ever had -been. Let us, therefore, get on with the war with all speed. Every -year had brought talk of peace before Christmas, soon dwindling into -columns about preparations for another winter campaign. Even our own -men just landed discussed the chances of being back in Scotland for -the New Year! - -We were an Army brigade,--one of a series of illegitimate children -working under Corps orders and lent to Divisions who didn’t evince -any friendliness when it came to leave allotments, or withdrawn from -our Divisional area to be hurried to some other part of the line and -flung in in heaps to stiffen the barrage in some big show. Nobody -loved us. Divisions saved their own people at our expense,--it was -always an Army brigade which hooked in at zero hour and advanced at -zero + 15, until after the Cambrai show. Ordnance wanted to know -who the hell we were and why our indents had a Divisional signature -and not a Corps one, or why they hadn’t both, or neither; A.S.C. -explained with a straight face how we _always_ got the best fresh -meat ration; Corps couldn’t be bothered with us, until there was a -show brewing; Army were polite but incredulous. - -The immortal Pyecroft recommends the purchase of a ham as a sure -means of seeing life. As an alternative I suggest joining an Army -brigade. - - -5 - -In the old days of trench warfare the Armentières front was known as -the peace sector. The town itself, not more than three thousand yards -from the Hun, was full of happy money-grubbing civilians who served -you an excellent dinner and an equally excellent bottle of wine, or, -if it was clothes you sought, directed you to Burberry’s, almost as -well installed as in the Haymarket. Divisional infantry used it as a -rest billet. Many cook’s carts ambled peacefully along the cobbled -streets laden with eggs, vegetables and drinks for officers’ messes. -Now and then a rifle was fired in the front line resulting, almost, -in a Court of Enquiry. Three shells in three days was considered a -good average, a trench mortar a gross impertinence. - -Such was the delightful picture drawn for us by veterans who heard we -were going there. - -The first step was the attaching of so many officers and N.C.O.’s to -a Divisional battery in the line for “instruction.” The Captain and -Pip Don went up first and had a merry week. The Major and I went up -next and heard the tale of their exploits. The battery to which we -were attached, in command of a shell-shocked Major, was in a row of -houses, in front of a smashed church on the fringe of the town, and I -learnt to take cover or stand still at the blast of a whistle which -meant aeroplanes; saw a fighting map for the first time; an S.O.S. -board in a gun pit and the explanation of retaliation targets; read -the Divisional Defence Scheme through all its countless pages and -remained in _statu quo_; went round the front-line trench and learned -that a liaison officer didn’t take his pyjamas on raid nights; -learned also that a trench mortar bombardment was a messy, unpleasant -business; climbed rung by rung up a dark and sooty chimney, or was -hauled up in a coffin-like box, to a wooden deck fitted with seats -and director heads and telescopes and gazed down for the first time -on No Man’s Land and the Hun trench system and as far as the eye -could reach in his back areas, learning somewhat of the difficulties -of flank observation. Every day of that week added depths to the -conviction of my exceeding ignorance. Serbia had been nothing like -this. It was elementary, child’s play. The Major too uttered strange -words like calibration, meteor corrections, charge corrections. A -memory of Salonica came back to me of a huge marquee in which we had -all sat and listened to a gilded staff officer who had drawn diagrams -on a blackboard and juggled with just such expressions while we tried -hard not to go to sleep in the heat; and afterwards the Battery -Commanders had argued it and decided almost unanimously that it was -“all right for schools of gunnery but not a damn bit o’ use in the -field.” To the Major, however, these things seemed as ordinary as -whisky and pickles. - -I came to the conclusion that the sooner I began to learn something -the better. It wasn’t easy because young Pip Don had the hang of it -all, so he and the Major checked each other’s figures while I looked -on, vainly endeavouring to follow. There was never any question -as to which of us ought to have had the second pip. However it -worked itself out all right because, owing to the Major, he got his -captaincy before I did, which was the best possible thing that could -have happened, for I then became the Major’s right-hand man and felt -the responsibility of it. - -At the end of our week of instruction the brigade went into action, -two batteries going to the right group, two to the left. The group -consisted of the Divisional batteries, trench mortar batteries, the -60-pounders and heavy guns attached like ourselves. We were on the -left, the position being just in front of a 4.5 howitzer battery and -near the Lunatic Asylum. - -It was an old one, four gun pits built up under a row of huge elms, -two being in a row of houses. The men slept in bunks in the pits -and houses; for a mess we cleaned out a room in the château at the -corner which had been sadly knocked about, and slept in the houses -near the guns. The château garden was full of lilac and roses, the -beds all overgrown with weeds and the grass a jungle, but still very -beautiful. Our zone had been allotted and our own private chimney -O.P.--the name of which I have forgotten--and we had a copy of that -marvellous defence scheme. - -Then for a little we found ourselves in the routine of trench -warfare,--tours of duty at the O.P. on alternate days and keeping -a detailed log book in its swaying deck, taking our turn weekly to -supply a liaison officer with the infantry who went up at dark, dined -in their excellent mess, slept all night in the signalling officer’s -bunk, and returned for a shave and a wash after breakfast next -morning; firing retaliation salvos at the call of either the O.P. -or the infantry; getting up rations and ammunition and letters at a -regular hour every night; sending off the countless “returns” which -are the curse of soldiering; and quietly feeling our feet. - -The O.P. was in an eastern suburb called Houplines, some twenty -minutes’ walk along the tram lines. At dawn one had reached it with -two signallers and was looking out from the upper deck upon an -apparently peaceful countryside of green fields splashed yellow with -mustard patches, dotted with sleepy cottages, from whose chimneys -smoke never issued, woods and spinneys in all the glory of their -spring budding running up on to the ridge, the Aubers ridge. The -trenches were an intricate series of gashes hidden by Nature with -poppies and weeds. Then came a grim brown space unmarked by any -trench, tangled with barbed wire, and then began the repetition of it -all except for the ridge at our own trenches. The early hours were -chilly and misty and one entered in the log book, “6 a.m. Visibility -nil.” - -But with the sun the mist rolled up like a blind at one’s window and -the larks rocketed into the clear blue as though those trenches were -indeed deserted. Away on the left was a town, rising from the curling -river in terraces of battered ruins, an inexpressible desolation, -silent, empty, dead. Terrible to see that gaping skeleton of a town -in the flowering countryside. Far in the distance, peeping above the -ridge and visible only through glasses, was a faint pencil against -the sky--the great factory chimney outside Lille. - -Peace seemed the keynote of it all in the soft perfumed heat of that -early summer. Yet eyes looked steadily out from every chimney and -other eyes from the opposite ridge; and with just a word down the -wire trenches went in smoking heaps, houses fell like packs of cards -touched by a child’s finger, noise beat upon the brain and Death -was the master whom we worshipped, upon whose altar we made bloody -sacrifice. - -We hadn’t been there much more than a week when we had our first -hint of the hourly reality of it. The third subaltern, who hadn’t -properly recovered from the effect of his wound, was on his way up to -the O.P. one morning and had a misadventure with a shell. He heard it -coming, a big one, and sought refuge in the nearest house. The shell -unfortunately selected the same house. - -When the dust had subsided and the ruins had assumed their final -shape the subaltern emerged, unwounded, but unlike his former -self.--The doctor diagnosed shell shock and the work went on without -him. - -It seemed as though that were the turning point in the career of the -peace sector. - -The Hun began a leisurely but persistent destruction of chimneys with -five-nines. One heard the gun in the distance, not much more than the -popping of a champagne cork at the other end of the Carlton Grill. -Some seconds later you thought you heard the inner circle train -come in at Baker Street. Dust choked you, the chimney rocked in the -frightful rush of wind, followed by a soul-shaking explosion,--and -you looked through the black aperture of the chimney to see a pillar -of smoke and falling earth spattering down in the sunshine. And -from the lower deck immediately beneath you came the voice of the -signaller, “They ought to give us sailor suits up ’ere, sir!” - -And passing a finger round the inside of your sticky collar which -seemed suddenly a little tight, you sat down firmly again and said, -“Yes.--Is the steward about?” - -Within sixty seconds another champagne cork popped. Curse the Carlton -Grill! - -In addition to the delights of the O.P. the Hun “found” the battery. -It happened during the week that the Captain came up to have a look -round and in the middle of the night. I was sleeping blissfully at -liaison and returned next morning to find a most unpleasant smell -of cordite hanging about, several houses lying on the pavement, -including the one Pip Don and I shared, great branches all over the -road and one gun pit looking somewhat bent. It appeared that Pip -Don had spent the remainder of the night rounding up gunners in his -pyjamas. No one was hurt. The Captain returned to the wagon line -during the course of the morning. - -Having found us, the Hun put in a few hundred rounds whenever he -felt bored,--during the 9 a.m. parade, at lunch time, before tea and -at the crack of dawn. The old red garden wall began to look like a -Gruyère cheese, the road was all pockmarked, the gun pits caught fire -and had to be put out, the houses began to fall even when there was -no shelling and it became a very unhealthy corner. Through it all the -Major was a tower of strength. So long as he was there the shelling -didn’t seem to matter, but if he were absent one didn’t _quite_ -know whether to give the order to clear for the time being or stick -it out. The Hun’s attentions were not by any means confined to our -position. The systematic bombardment of the town had begun and it -became the usual thing to hear a horrible crackling at night and see -the whole sky red. The Major of one of our batteries was killed, the -senior subaltern badly wounded and several of their guns knocked out -by direct hits. We were lucky. - - -6 - -Meanwhile the Right Group, who had been watching this without envy -from the undisturbed calm of the countryside, decided to make a -daylight raid by way of counter-attraction and borrowed us for the -occasion. The Major and I went down to reconnoitre a battery position -and found a delightful spot behind a hedge under a row of spreading -elms. Between the two, camouflage was unnecessary and, as a cobbled -road ran immediately in front of the hedge, there was no danger of -making any tracks. It was a delightful position with a farmhouse -two hundred yards along the road. The relief of getting out of the -burning city, of not having to dodge shells at unexpected moments, of -knowing that the rations and ammunition could come up without taking -a twenty to one chance of being scuppered! - -The raid was just like any other raid, except that it happened to -be the first barrage we fired, the first barrage table we worked -out, the first time we used the 106 fuse, and the first time that at -the eleventh hour we were given the task, in which someone else had -failed, of cutting the wire. I had been down with the Major when he -shot the battery in,--and hadn’t liked it. In places there was no -communication trench at all and we had to crawl on our bellies over a -chaos of tumbled earth and revetments in full view of any sniper, and -having to make frequent stops because the infernal signaller would -lag behind and turn off. And a few hours before the show the Major -was called upon to go down there and cut the wire at all costs. Pip -Don was signalling officer. He and every available signaller, stacks -of wire and lamps, spread themselves in a living chain between the -Major and the front-line trench and me at the battery. Before going -the Major asked me if I had the barrage at my finger tips. I had. -Then if he didn’t get back in time, he said, I could carry out the -show all right? I could,--and watched him go with a mouth full of -bitter curses against the Battery Commander who had failed to cut -that wire. My brain drew lurid pictures of stick-bombs, minnies, -pineapples, pip-squeaks and five-nines being the reason why the Major -wouldn’t get back “in time.” And I sat down by the telephonist, -praying for the call that would indicate at least his safe arrival in -the front-line trench. - -Beside every gun lay a pile of 106 fuses ready. Orders were to -go on firing if every German plane in the entire Vaterland came -over.--Still they weren’t through on the ’phone! - -I went along from gun to gun, making sure that everything was all -right and insisting on the necessity of the most careful laying, -stopping from time to time to yell to the telephonist “Through yet?” -and getting a “No, sir” every time that almost made me hear those -cursed minnies dropping on the Major. At last he called up. The -tension was over. We had to add a little for the 106 fuse but each -gun was registered on the wire within four rounds. The Major was a -marvel at that. Then the shoot began. - -Aeroplanes came winging over, regardless of our Archies. But we, -regardless of the aeroplanes, were doing “battery fire 3 secs.” as -steadily as if we were on Salisbury Plain, getting from time to time -the order, “Five minutes more right.” We had three hundred rounds to -do the job with and only about three per gun were left when the order -“Stop” arrived. I stopped and hung on to the ’phone. The Major’s -voice, coming as though from a million miles away, said, “Napoo wire. -How many more rounds?” - -“Three per gun, sir.” - -“Right.--All guns five degrees more right for the onlooker, add two -hundred, three rounds gun fire.” - -I made it so, received the order to stand down, put the fitter and -the limber gunners on to sponging out,--and tried to convince myself -that all the noise down in front was miles away from the Major and -Pip Don.--It seemed years before they strolled in, a little muddy but -as happy as lambs. - -It occurred to me then that I knew something at least of what our -women endured at home every day and all day,--just one long suspense, -without even the compensation of _doing_ anything. - -The raid came off an hour or so later like clockwork, without -incident. Not a round came back at us and we stood down eventually -with the feeling of having put in a good day’s work. - -We were a very happy family in those days. The awful discouragement -of Limerick had lifted. Bombardments and discomforts were subjects -for humour, work became a joy, “crime” in the gun line disappeared -and when the time arrived for sending the gunners down to the wagon -line for a spell there wasn’t one who didn’t ask if he might be -allowed to stay on. It was due entirely to the Major. For myself I -can never be thankful enough for having served under him. He came at -a time when one didn’t care a damn whether one were court-martialled -and publicly disgraced. One was “through” with the Army and cared -not a curse for discipline or appearances. With his arrival all -that was swept away without a word being said. Unconsciously he -set a standard to which one did one’s utmost to live, and that -from the very moment of his arrival. One found that there was -honour in the world and loyalty, that duty was not a farce. In some -extraordinary way he embodied them all, forcing upon one the desire -for greater self-respect; and the only method of acquiring it was -effort, physical and mental, in order to get somewhere near his -high standard. I gave him the best that was in me. When he left the -brigade, broken in health by the ceaseless call upon his own effort, -he wrote me a letter. Of all that I shall take back with me to civil -life from the Army that letter is what I value most. - - -7 - -We had all cherished the hope that we had seen the last of the town; -that Right Group, commanded by our own colonel, would keep us in our -present position. - -There was a distinct drop in the mental temperature when, the raid -over, we received the order to report back to Left Group. But -we still clung to the hope that we might be allowed to choose a -different gun position. That avenue of trees was far too accurately -pin-pointed by the Hun. Given, indeed, that there were many other -places from which one could bring just as accurate and concentrated -fire to bear on our part of the zone, it was criminal folly to order -us back to the avenue. That, however, was the order. It needed a big -effort to find any humour in it. - -We hooked in and pulled out of that peaceful raid position with a -sigh of regret and bumped our way back over the cobbles through the -burning town, keeping a discreet distance between vehicles. The two -houses which had been the emplacements of the left section were -unrecognizable as gun pits, so we used the other four pits and put -the left section forward in front of the Asylum under camouflage. Not -less than ten balloons looked straight down on the gun muzzles. The -detachment lived in a cellar under the Asylum baths. - -Then Pip Don got his captaincy and went to another battery, to the -safety and delights of the wagon line. One missed him horribly. We -got a new subaltern who had never been out before but who was as -stout as a lion. Within a few days our Captain was sent back ill and -I followed Pip Don to the wagon lines as Captain in my own battery, -a most amazing stroke of luck. We foregathered in a restaurant -at Estaires and held a celebration dinner together, swearing that -between us we would show the finest teams and the best harness in -France, discussing the roads we meant to build through the mud, the -improvements we were instantly going to start in the horse standings. - -Great dreams that lasted just three days! Then his Major went on -leave and he returned to command the battery, within five hundred -yards of ours. The following day I was hurriedly sent for to find the -whole world reeking with gas, mustard gas. Everybody had streaming -eyes and noses. Within three minutes I was as bad as the rest. - -How anybody got through the next days I don’t know. Four days and -nights it lasted, one curious hissing rain of shells which didn’t -burst with a crash but just uttered a little pop, upon which the -ground became spattered with yellow liquid and a greyish fog -spread round about. Five-nines, seventeen-inch, high explosive and -incendiary shells were mixed in with the gas. Communications went -wholesale. Fires roared in every quarter of the town. Hell was let -loose and always the gas choked and blinded. Hundreds of civilians -died of it although they had previously been warned repeatedly to -clear out. The conviction was so strong that Armentières was the -peace sector that the warnings were disregarded. - -The howitzer battery behind us had been reinforced with ninety -men and two officers the day before the show started. After that -first night one officer was left. He had been up a chimney O.P. -all night. The rest went away again in ambulance wagons. It was a -holocaust, a shambles. A colossal attack was anticipated, and as all -communications had gone the signallers were out in gas masks all over -the town, endeavouring to repair lines broken in a hundred places, -and a constant look-out was kept for S.O.S. signals from the infantry. - -Except when shooting all our men were kept underground in gas masks, -beating the gas away with “flappers.” The shelling was so ceaseless -and violent round about the position that when men were sent from -one section to another with messages they went in couples, their -departure being telephoned to the section. If their arrival was not -reported within ten minutes a search party was sent to find them. To -put one’s head above ground at any moment of day or night was to take -one’s life in one’s hands. Ammunition went up, and gun pits caught -fire and the rain of shells never ceased. To get to the O.P. one had -to fling oneself flat in a ditch countless times, always with an ear -stretched for the next shell. From minute to minute it was a toss-up, -and blackened corpses and screaming, mangled wounded left a bloody -trail in the stinking, cobbled streets. The peace sector! - -Was it just a Boche measure to prevent us from using the town as -billets any more? Or was it a retaliation for the taking of the -Messines Ridge which we had watched from our chimney not many weeks -before, watched in awe and wonder, thanking God we were not taking -part in that carnage? The unhealthy life and the unceasing strain -told even on the Major. We were forced to live by the light of -candles in a filthy cellar beneath the château, snatching uneasy -periods of rest when one lay on a bunk with goggles on one’s smarting -eyes, breathing with labour, listening to the heavy thud of shells up -above and the wheezing and sneezing of the unfortunate signallers, -getting up and going about one’s work in a sort of stupor, dodging -shells rather by instinct than reason and tying up wounded with a -dull sickness at the pit of one’s stomach. - -But through it all one’s thoughts of home intertwined with the reek -of death like honeysuckle with deadly nightshade, as though one’s -body were imprisoned in that foul underground hole while one’s mind -soared away and refused to come back. It was all a strange dream, -a clammy nightmare. Letters came, filled with all the delicious -everyday doings of another world, filling one’s brain with a scent of -verbena and briar rose, like the cool touch of a woman’s hands on the -forehead of a man in delirium. - - -8 - -On the morning of the fifth day the gas shelling ceased and the big -stuff became spasmodic,--concentrations of twenty minutes’ duration. - -One emerged into the sun, sniffing carefully. The place was even -more unrecognizable than one had imagined possible. The château -still stood but many direct hits had filled the garden with blocks -of stone. The Asylum was a mass of ruins, the grounds pitted with -shell holes. The town itself was no longer a place to dine and shop. -A few draggled inhabitants slunk timidly about like rats, probing the -debris of what had once been their homes. The cobbled streets were -great pits where seventeen-inch shells had landed, half filled again -with the houses which had toppled over on either side. The hotels, -church and shops in the big square were gutted by fire, great beams -and house fronts blocking the roadway. Cellars were blown in and -every house yawned open to the sky. In place of the infantry units -and transports clattering about the streets was a desolate silent -emptiness punctuated by further bombardments and the echoing crash of -falling walls. And, over all, that sickly smell of mustard. - -It was then that the Left Group Commander had a brain wave and -ordered a trial barrage on the river Lys in front of Frelinghein. -It was about as mad a thing as making rude noises at a wounded -rhinoceros, given that every time a battery fired the Boche opened a -concentration. - -Pip Don had had three seventeen-inch in the middle of his position. -Nothing much was found of one gun and its detachment except a head -and a boot containing a human foot. - -The Group Commander had given the order, however, and there was -nothing to do but to get on with it.-- - -The barrage was duly worked out. It was to last eighteen minutes with -a certain number of lifts and switches. The Group Commander was going -to observe it from one of the chimneys. - -My job was to look after the left section in the open in front of the -Asylum. Ten minutes before zero I dived into the cellar under the -baths breathless, having dodged three five-nines. There I collected -the men and gathered them under cover of the doorway. There we waited -for a minute to see where the next would burst. It hit a building -twenty-five yards away. - -“Now!” said I, “double!” and we ran, jumping shell holes and flinging -ourselves flat for one more five-nine. The guns were reached all -right, the camouflage pulled back and everything made ready for -action. Five Hun balloons gazed down at us straight in front, and -three of his aeroplanes came and circled low over our heads, and -about every minute the deafening crash of that most demoralizing -five-nine burst just behind us. I lay down on the grass between the -two guns and gazed steadfastly at my wrist watch. - -“Stand by!” - -The hands of the Numbers 3 stole out to the handles of the firing -lever. - -“Fire!” - -The whole of Armentières seemed to fire at once. The Group Commander -up in his chimney ought to have been rather pleased. Four rounds -per gun per minute was the rate. Then at zero plus one I heard that -distant pop of Hun artillery and with the usual noise the ground -heaved skyward between the two guns just in front. It wasn’t more -than twelve and a half yards away. The temptation to run made me itch -all over. - -Pop! it went again. My forehead sank on to my wrist watch. - -A good bracket, twelve and a half yards behind, and again lumps of -earth spattered on to my back. The itch became a disease. The next -round, according to all the laws of gunnery, ought to fall between my -collar and my waist.-- - -I gave the order to lift, straining my ears. - -There came no pop. I held my breath so that I might hear better,--and -only heard the thumping of my heart. We lifted again and again.-- - -I kept them firing for three full seconds after the allotted -time before I gave the order to cease fire. The eighteen -minutes--lifetimes--were over and that third pop didn’t come till -we had stopped. Then having covered the guns we ran helter-skelter, -each man finding his own way to the cellar through the most juicy -bombardment we’d heard for quite twenty-four hours. - -Every man answered to his name in the cellar darkness and there was -much laughter and tobacco smoke while we got back our breath. - -Half an hour later their bombardment ceased. The sergeant and I went -back to have a look at the guns. Number 5 was all right. Number 6, -however, had had a direct hit, one wheel had burnt away and she lay -on her side, looking very tired. - -I don’t know how many other guns had been knocked out in the -batteries taking part, but, over and above the value of the -ammunition, that trial barrage cost at least one eighteen-pounder! -And but for a bit of luck would have cost the lives of the detachment. - - -9 - -The Major decided to move the battery and gained the reluctant -consent of the Group Commander who refused to believe that there -had been any shelling there till he saw the gun lying burnt and -smashed and the pits burnt and battered. The Hun seemed to take a -permanent dislike to the Asylum and its neighbourhood. It may have -been coincidence but any time a man showed there a rain of shells -chivvied him away. It took the fitter and the detachment about seven -trips before they got a new wheel on, and at any hour of day or -night you could bet on at least a handful of four-twos. The gas was -intermittent. - -At four o’clock in the morning after a worrying night when I had -gone out twice to extinguish gun pits reported on fire, the Major -announced that he was going to get the gun out and disappeared out of -the cellar into the shell-lit darkness. - -Two hours later he called up from Group Headquarters and told me -to get the other out and take her to Archie Square, a square near -the station, so-called because a couple of anti-aircraft guns had -used it as an emplacement in the peace days. With one detachment on -each drag rope we ran the gauntlet in full daylight of a four-two -bombardment, rushing shell holes and what had once been flower beds, -keeping at a steady trot, the sweat pouring off us. - -The Major met us in Archie Square and we went back to our cellar for -breakfast together. - -Of the alternative positions one section was in Chapelle -d’Armentières. We hoped great things of it. It looked all right, pits -being built in the back yards of a row of small houses, with plenty -of trees for cover and lots of fruit for the men,--raspberries, -plums, and red currants. Furthermore the shell holes were all old. -The only crab about it was getting there. Between us and it were two -much-shelled spots called Sandbag Corner and Snow Corner. Transports -used to canter past them at night and the Hun had an offensive habit -of dropping barrages on both of them any time after dark. But there -was a place called Crown Prince House at Sandbag Corner and I fancy -he used this as a datum point. While the left section went straight -on to the Chapelle the other two turned to the right at Snow Corner -and were to occupy some houses just along the road and a garden next -to them under camouflage. - -I shall not forget the night of that move in a hurry. In the -afternoon the Major returned to the battery at tea time. There was no -shelling save our own anti-aircraft, and perfect sunshine. - -“The teams are due at ten o’clock,” said he. “The Hun will start -shelling precisely at that time. We will therefore move _now_. Let us -function.” We functioned! - -The battery was called together and the nature of the business -explained. Each detachment pulled down the parados in the rear of -the gun pits and such part of the pit itself as was necessary to -allow the gun to come out,--no light task because the pits had been -built to admit the gun from the front. As soon as each reported ready -double detachments were told off to the drag ropes and the gun, -camouflaged with branches, was run out and along the lane and round -the corner of the château. There they were all parked, one by one. -Then the ammunition was brought, piles of it. Then all the gun stores -and kits. - -At ten o’clock the teams were heard at the other end of the cobbled -street. A moment later shells began to burst on the position, gun -fire. From the cover afforded by the château and the wall we loaded -up without casualty and hooked in, bits of shell and wall flying over -our heads viciously. - -I took charge of the left section in Archie Square. The vehicles were -packed, dixies tied on underneath. The Major was to follow with the -four guns and the other subaltern at ten minutes’ interval. - -Keeping fifty yards between vehicles I set off, walking in front -of the leading gun team. We clattered along the cobbled streets, -rattling and banging. The station was being bombarded. We had to go -over the level crossing a hundred yards or so in rear of it. I gave -the order to trot. A piece of shell sent up a shower of sparks in -front of the rear gun team. The horses bucked violently and various -dixies fell off, but I kept on until some distance to a flank under -the houses. The dixies were rescued and re-tied. There was Sandbag -Corner to navigate yet, _and_ Snow Corner. It was horribly dark, -impossible to see shell holes until you were into them, and all the -time shells were bursting in every direction. The road up to the two -Corners ran straight towards the Hun, directly enfiladed by him. -We turned into it at a walk and were half-way along when a salvo -fell round Crown Prince House just ahead. I halted immediately, -wondering where in heaven’s name the next would fall, the horses -snorting and prancing at my back. For a couple of minutes there was -a ragged burst of gun fire while we stood with the bits missing us. -Then I gave the order to trot. The horses needed no encouragement. -I could only just keep in front, carrying maps and a torch and with -most of my equipment on. We carried on past Crown Prince House, past -Sandbag Corner and walked again, blown and tottering, towards Snow -Corner, and only just got past it when a barrage dropped right on the -cross-roads. It was there that the Major would have to turn to the -right with his four guns presently. Please God it would stop before -he came along. - -We weren’t very far behind the support lines now and the pop-pop-pop, -pop-pop-pop of machine guns was followed by the whistling patter of -bullets. I kept the teams as close under the houses as I dared. There -was every kind of devilment to bring a horse down, open drains, coils -of tangled wire, loose debris. Eventually we reached the Chapelle and -the teams went off at the trot as soon as the ammunition was dumped -and the kits were off. - -Then in the black night we heaved and hauled the guns into their -respective pits and got them on to their aiming posts and S.O.S. -lines. - -It was 3 a.m. before I got back to the new headquarters, a house in -an orchard, and found the Major safe and sound. - -A couple of days later the Major was ordered to a rest camp and at -a moment’s notice I found myself in command of the battery. It was -one of the biggest moments of my life. Although I had gone down to -take the Captain’s place my promotion hadn’t actually gone through -and I was still a subaltern, faced with the handling of six guns at -an extremely difficult moment and with the lives of some fifty men -in my hands, to say nothing of the perpetual responsibility to the -infantry in the front line. - -It was only when the Major had said good-bye and I was left that -I began to realize just how greatly one had depended on him. All -the internal arrangements which he had handled so easily that they -seemed no trouble loomed up as insurmountable difficulties--returns, -ammunition, rations, relieving the personnel--all over and above the -constant worry of gun detachments being shelled out, lines being -cut, casualties being got away. It was only then that I realized -what a frightful strain he must have endured during those days of -continual gas and bombardment, the feeling of personal responsibility -towards every single man, the vital necessity through it all of -absolute accuracy of every angle and range, lest by being flustered -or careless one should shoot one’s own infantry, the nights spent -with one ear eternally on the telephone and the added strain of -sleeplessness.--A lonely job, Battery Commander. - -I realized, too, what little use I had been to him. Carrying out -orders, yes, but not really taking any of the weight off his -shoulders. - -The insignificance of self was never so evident as that first night -with my ear to the ’phone, all the night noises accentuated in the -darkness, the increasing machine-gun fire which might mean an attack, -the crashing of shells which might get my supply wagons on their way -back, the jump when the ’phone buzzed suddenly, making my heart leap -against my ribs, only to put me through to Group for an order to send -over thirty rounds on a minnie firing in C 16 d o 4.--It was good to -see the blackness turn to grey and recognize objects once more in -the room, to know that at last the infantry were standing down and -to sink at last into deep sleep as the grey became rose and the sun -awoke. - -Do the men ever realize, I wonder, that the Major who snaps out -orders, who curses so freely, who gives them extra guards and docks -their pay, can be a human being like themselves whose one idea is -_their_ comfort and safety, that they may strafe the Hun and not get -strafed? - -It was my first experience in handling subalterns, too, and I came -to see them from a new point of view. Hitherto one’s estimation -of them had been limited by their being good fellows or not. The -question of their knowledge or ignorance hadn’t mattered. One could -always give them a hand or do the thing oneself. Now it was reversed. -Their knowledge, working capabilities and stout-heartedness came -first. Their being good fellows was secondary, but helpful. The most -ignorant will learn more in a week in the line than in ten weeks in a -gunnery school. - - -10 - -The first few days in the new position were calm. It gave one time to -settle down. We did a lot of shooting and apart from a spare round or -two in our direction nothing came back in return. The Hun was still -plastering the Asylum and the avenue at all times of day, to our -intense joy. The more he shelled it the more we chuckled. One felt -that the Major had done Fritz in the eye. So we gathered plums and -raspberries in the warm sun, rejoicing that the horrible smell of -mustard gas was no more. There was a fly in the ointment, of course. -It consisted of several thousand rounds of ammunition in the Asylum -which we were ordered to salvage. The battery clerk, a corporal of -astounding stout-heartedness who had had countless escapes by an -inch already in the handling of it, and who subsequently became -one of the best sergeants in the battery, undertook to go and see -what could be done. He took with him the fitter, a lean Scot, who -was broken-hearted because he had left a file there and who wanted -to go and scratch about the ruins to try and recover it. These two -disappeared into the Asylum during a momentary lull. Before they -returned the Hun must have sent in about another fifteen hundred -rounds, all big stuff. They came in hot and covered with brick dust. -The fitter had got his file and showed it with joy and affection. The -corporal had made a rough count of the rounds and estimated that at -least a couple of hundred had “gone up” or were otherwise rendered -useless. - -To my way of thinking it would have been manslaughter to have sent -teams to get the stuff away, so I decided to let time solve the -problem and leave well alone. Eventually it did solve itself. Many -weeks later another battery occupied the position (Poor devils. It -still reeked of gas) and I had the pleasure of showing the Battery -Commander where the ammunition was and handing it over. - -Meanwhile the Boche had “found” the left and centre sections. -In addition to that the Group Commander conceived a passion to -experiment with guns in the front-line trenches, to enfilade the -enemy over open sights at night and generally to put the fear of God -into him. Who more suitable than the Army brigade battery commanded -by that subaltern? - -I was sent for and told all about it, and sent to reconnoitre -suitable positions. Seeing that the enemy had all the observation and -a vast preponderance of artillery I did all in my power to dissuade -the Commander. He had been on active service, however, before I was -born--he told me so--and had forgotten more things than I should ever -know. He had, indeed, forgotten them. - -The long and short of it was that I took a subaltern with me, and -armed with compasses and trench maps, we studied the whole zone -at distances varying from three to five hundred yards from the -enemy front-line trench. The best place of all happened to be near -Battalion Headquarters. Needless to say, the Colonel ordered me off. - -“You keep your damn things away. There’s quite enough shelling here -without your planting a gun. Come and have a drink.” - -Eventually, however, we got two guns “planted” with cover for the -detachments. It was an absolute waste of guns. The orders were only -to fire if the enemy came over the top by day and on special targets -by night. The difficulty of rationing them was extreme, it made -control impossible from battery headquarters, because the lines went -half a dozen times a day and left me only two sections to do all the -work with. - -The only thing they ever fired at was a very near balloon one -afternoon. Who gave the order to fire remains a mystery. The sergeant -swore the infantry Colonel gave it. - -My own belief is that it was a joy shoot on the sergeant’s part. He -was heartily cursed for his pains, didn’t hit the balloon, and within -twenty-four hours the gun was knocked out. The area was liberally -shelled, to the discomfort of the infantry, so if the Colonel did -give the order, he had only himself to thank for the result. - -The headquarters during this time was an odd round brick building, -like a pagoda in the middle of a narrow orchard. A high red brick -wall surrounded the orchard which ran down to the road. At the road -edge were two houses completely annihilated. Plums, greengages, -raspberries and red currants were in abundance. The signallers and -servants were in dug-outs outside the wall. Curiously enough, this -place was not marked on the map. Nor did the Hun seem to have it on -his aeroplane photographs. In any case, although he shelled round -about, I can only remember one which actually burst inside the walls. - -Up at Chapelle d’Armentières the left section was almost -unrecognizable. Five-nines had thumped it out of all shape, smashed -down the trees, ploughed up the garden and scattered the houses into -the street. The detachment spent its time day and night in clearing -out into neighbouring ditches and dug-outs, and coming back again. -They shot between whiles, neither of the guns having been touched, -and I don’t think they slept at all. None of them had shaved for days. - -As regards casualties we were extraordinarily lucky. Since leaving -the town not a man had been hit or gassed. For the transport at night -I had reconnoitred a road which avoided the town entirely and those -dangerous cross-roads, and took them right through the support line, -within a quarter of a mile of the Boche. The road was unshelled, and -only a few machine-gun bullets spat on it from time to time. So they -used it nightly, and not a horse or driver was touched. - -Then the Right Group had another raid and borrowed us again. The -white house and the orchard which we had used before were unoccupied. -I decided to squeeze up a bit and get all six guns in. The night of -the move was a colossal undertaking. The teams were late, and the -Hun chose to drop a gas barrage round us. More than that, in the -afternoon I had judged my time and dodged in between two bombardments -to visit the left section. They were absolutely done in, so tired -that they could hardly keep their eyes open. The others were little -better, having been doing all the shooting for days. However, I -ordered them to vacate the left section and come along to me at -Battery Headquarters for a rest before the night’s work. They dragged -themselves there, and fell asleep in heaps in the orchard in the -wet. The subaltern and the sergeant came into the building, drank a -cup of tea each and filled the place with their snores. So I sent -for another sergeant and suggested that he and his men, who had had -a brief rest that day, should go and get the left section guns out -while these people handled his as best they could. He jumped at it -and swore he’d get the guns out, begging me to keep my teams well to -the side of the road. If he had to canter they were coming out, and -he was going to ride the lead horse himself,--splendid fellow. - -Then I collected the subalterns and detailed them for the plan of -campaign. The left section man said he was going with his guns. So I -detailed the junior to see the guns into the new positions, and send -me back the ammunition wagons as he emptied them. The third I kept -with the centre section. The corporal clerk was to look after the -headquarters. I was to function between the lot. - -The teams should have been up at 9 p.m. They didn’t arrive till ten, -by which time the gas hung about thick, and people were sneezing -right and left. Then they hung up again because of a heavy shelling -at the corner on the way to the left section. However, they got -through at last, and after an endless wait, that excellent sergeant -came trotting back with both guns intact. We had, meanwhile yanked -out the centre section and sent them back. The forward guns came -back all right from the trenches, but no ammunition wagons or G.S. -returned from the position, although filled by us ages before and -sent off. - -So I got on a bicycle and rode along to see what the trouble was. It -was a poisonous road, pitch dark, very wet and full of shell holes. -I got there to find a column of vehicles standing waiting all mixed -up, jerked the bicycle into a hedge and went downstairs to find the -subaltern. - -There was the Major! Was I pleased?--I felt years younger. However, -this was his night off. I was running the show. “Carry on, Old -Thing,” said he. - -So I went out into the chaotic darkness and began sorting things out. -Putting the subaltern in charge of the ammunition I took the guns. It -was a herculean task to get those six bundooks through the wet and -spongy orchard with men who were fresh. With these men it was asking -the impossible. But they did it, at the trot. - -You know the sort of thing--“Take the strain--together--heave! -Together--heave! Now keep her going! Once more--heave! -Together--heave! and again--heave! Easy all! Have a blow--Now -look here, you fellows, you _must_ wait for the word and put your -weight on _together_. Heels into the mud and lean on it, but lean -together, all at the same moment, and she’ll go like a baby’s pram. -Now then, come on and I’ll bet you a bottle of Bass all round that -you get her going at a canter if only you’ll heave together--Take -the strain--_together_--heave! Ter-rot! Canter! Come on now, like -that--splendid,--and you owe me a bottle of Bass all round.” - -Sounds easy, doesn’t it? but oh, my God, to see those poor devils, -dropping with fatigue, putting their last grunting ounce on to it, -with always just one more heave left! Magnificent fellows, who worked -till they dropped, and then staggered up again, in the face of gas -and five-nines, and went on shooting till they were dead,--_they’ve_ -won this war for us if anybody has, these Tommies who don’t know -when they’re beaten, these “simple soldiers,” as the French call -them, who grouse like hell but go on working whether the rations come -up or whether they don’t, until they’re senseless from gas or stop -a shell and get dropped into a hole in an army blanket. These are -the men who have saved England and the world, these,--and not the -gentlemen at home who make fortunes out of munitions and “war work,” -and strike for more pay, not the _embusqué_ who cannot leave England -because he’s “indispensable” to his job, not the politicians and -vote-seekers, who bolster up their parties with comfortable lies more -dangerous than mustard gas, not the M.L.O.’s and R.T.O.’s and the -rest of the alphabetic fraternity and Brass Hats, who live in comfort -in back areas, doing a lot of brain work and filling the Staff leave -boat,--not any of these, but the cursing, spitting, lousy Tommy, God -save him! - - -11 - -The last of the guns was in by three o’clock in the morning, but -there wasn’t a stitch of camouflage in the battery. However, I -sent every last man to bed, having my own ideas on the question -of camouflage. The subaltern and I went back to the house. The -ammunition was also unloaded and the last wagon just about to depart. -The servants had tea and sandwiches waiting, a perfect godsend. - -“What about tracks?” The Major cocked an eye in my direction. He was -fully dressed, lying on his valise. I stifled a million yawns, and -spoke round a sandwich. “Old Thing and I are looking after that when -it gets light.” - -“Old Thing” was the centre section commander, blinking like a tired -owl, a far-away expression on his face. - -“And camouflage?” said the Major. - -“Ditto,” said I. - -The servants were told to call us in an hour’s time. I was asleep -before I’d put my empty tea-cup on the ground. A thin grey light was -creeping up when I was roughly shaken. I put out a boot and woke Old -Thing. Speechless, we got up shivering, and went out. The tracks -through the orchard were feet deep. - -We planted irregular branches and broke up the wheel tracks. Over -the guns was a roof of wire netting which I’d had put up a day -previously. Into these we stuck trailing vine branches one by one, -wet and cold. The Major appeared in the middle of the operation -and silently joined forces. By half-past four the camouflage was -complete. Then the Major broke the silence. - -“I’m going up to shoot ’em in,” he said. - -Old Thing, dozing on a gun seat, woke with a start and stared. He -hadn’t been with the Major as long as I had. - -“D’you mind if one detachment does the whole thing?” said I. “They’re -all just about dead, but C’s got a kick left.” - -The Major nodded. Old Thing staggered away, collected two signallers -who looked like nothing human, and woke up C sub-section. They came -one by one, like silent ghosts through the orchard, tripping over -stumps and branches, sightless with sleep denied. - -The Major took a signaller and went away. Old Thing and I checked -aiming posts over the compass. - -Fifteen minutes later the O.P. rang through, and I reported ready. - -The sun came out warm and bright, and at nine o’clock we “stood -down.” Old Thing and I supported each other into the house and fell -on our valises with a laugh. Some one pulled off our gum boots. It -must have been a servant but I don’t know. I was asleep before they -were off. - -The raid came off at one o’clock that night in a pouring rain. The -gunners had been carrying ammunition all day after about four hours’ -sleep. Old Thing and I had one. The Major didn’t have any. The -barrage lasted an hour and a half, during which one sub-section made -a ghastly mistake and shot for five full minutes on a wrong switch. - -A raid of any size is not just a matter of saying, “Let’s go over the -top to-night, and nobble a few of ’em! Shall us?” - -And the other fellow in the orthodox manner says, “Let’s”--and over -they go with a lot of doughty bombers, and do a lot of dirty work. I -wish it were. - -What really happens is this. First, the Brigade Major, quite a -long way back, undergoes a brain-storm which sends showers of -typewritten sheets to all sorts of Adjutants, who immediately talk of -transferring to the Anti-Aircraft. Other sheets follow in due course, -contradicting the first and giving also a long list of code words of -a domestic nature usually, with their key. These are hotly pursued -by maps on tracing paper, looking as though drawn by an imaginative -child. - -At this point Group Commanders, Battalion Commanders, and Battery -Commanders join in the game, taking sides. Battery Commanders walk -miles and miles daily along duck boards, and shoot wire in all sorts -of odd places on the enemy front trench, and work out an exhaustive -barrage. - -Then comes a booklet, which is a sort of revision of all that has -gone before, and alters the task of every battery. A new barrage -table is worked out. Follows a single sheet giving zero day. - -The raiders begin cutting off their buttons and blacking their faces -and putting oil drums in position. - -Battery wagon lines toil all night, bringing up countless extra -rounds. The trench mortar people then try and cut the real bit of -wire, at which the raiders will enter the enemy front line. As a -rule they are unsuccessful, and only provoke a furious retaliatory -bombardment along the whole sector. - -Then Division begins to get excited and talks rudely to Group. Group -passes it on. Next a field battery is ordered to cut that adjective -wire and does. - -A Gunner officer is detailed to go over the top with the raid -commander. He writes last letters to his family, drinks a last -whisky, puts on all his Christmas-tree, and says, “Cheero” as though -going to his own funeral. It may be. - -Then telephones buzz furiously in every brigade, and everybody says -“Carrots” in a whisper. - -You look up “Carrots” in the code book, and find it means “raid -postponed 24 hours.” Everybody sits down and curses. - -Another paper comes round saying that the infantry have changed the -colours of all the signal rockets to be used. All gunners go on -cursing. - -Then comes the night! Come up to the O.P. and have a dekko with me, -but don’t forget to bring your gas mask. - -Single file we zigzag down the communication trenches. The O.P. is a -farmhouse, or was, in which the sappers have built a brick chamber -just under the roof. You climb up a ladder to get to it, and find -room for just the signaller and ourselves, with a long slit through -which you can watch Germany. The Hun knows it’s an O.P. He’s got -a similar one facing you, only built of concrete, and if you don’t -shell him he won’t shell you. But if you do shell him with a futile -18-pounder H.E. or so, he turns on a section of five-nines, and the -best thing you can do is to report that it’s “snowing,” clear out -quick and look for a new O.P. The chances are you won’t find one -that’s any good. - -It’s frightfully dark; can’t see a yard. If you want to smoke, for -any sake don’t strike matches. Use a tinder. See that sort of extra -dark lump, just behind those two trees--all right, poles if you like. -They _were_ trees!--Well, that’s where they’re going over. - -Not a sound anywhere except the rumble of a battle away up north. -Hell of a strafe apparently. - -Hullo! What’s the light behind that bank of trees?--Fritz started -a fire in his own lines? Doesn’t look like a fire.--It’s the moon -coming up, moon, moon, so brightly shining. Pity old Pelissier turned -up his toes.--Ever heard the second verse of “Au Clair de la Lune?” - - (singing) - - Au clair de la lune - Pierrot répondit, - “Je n’ai pas de plume, - Je suis dans mon lit.” - - “Si tu es donc couché,” - Chuchotta Pierrette, - “Ouvre-moi ta porte - Pour que je m’y mette.” - -_’Tis_ the moon all right, a corker too.--What do you make the -time?--A minute to go, eh? Got your gas mask at the alert? - -The moon came out above the trees and shed a cold white light on the -countryside. On our side, at least, the ground was alive with men, -although there wasn’t a sound or a movement. Tree stumps, blasted by -shell fire, stood out stark naked. The woods on the opposite ridge -threw a deep belt of black shadow. The trenches were vague uneven -lines, camouflaging themselves naturally with the torn ground. - -Then a mighty roar that rocked the O.P., made the ground tremble and -set one’s heart thumping, and the peaceful moonlight was defiled. -Bursts of flame and a thick cloud of smoke broke out on the enemy -trenches. Great red flares shot up, the oil drums, staining all the -sky the colour of blood. Rifle and machine-gun fire pattered like the -chattering of a thousand monkeys, as an accompaniment to the roaring -of lions. Things zipped past or struck the O.P. The smoke out there -was so thick that the pin-points of red fire made by the bursting -shells could hardly be seen. The raiders were entirely invisible. - -Then the noise increased steadily as the German sky was splashed -with all-coloured rockets and Verey lights and star shells, and -their S.O.S. was answered. There’s a gun flash! What’s the bearing? -Quick.--There she goes again!--Nine-two magnetic, that’s eighty true. -Signaller! Group.--There’s another! By God, that’s some gun. Get -it while I bung this through.--Hullo! Hullo, Group! O.P. speaking. -Flash of enemy gun eight--0 degrees true. Another flash, a hell of a -big one, what is it?--One, one, two degrees,--Yes, that’s correct. -Good-bye. - -Then a mighty crash sent earth and duckboards spattering on to the -roof of the O.P., most unpleasantly near. The signaller put his mouth -to my ear and shouted, “Brigade reports gas, sir.” Curse the gas. You -can’t see anything in a mask.--Don’t smell it yet, anyhow. - -Crash again, and the O.P. rocked. Damn that five-nine. Was he -shooting us or just searching? Anyhow, the line of the two bursts -doesn’t look _quite_ right for us, do you think? If it hits the -place, there’s not an earthly. Tiles begin rattling down off the roof -most suggestively. It’s a good twenty-foot drop down that miserable -ladder. Do you think his line.--Look out! She’s coming.--Crash! - -God, not more than twenty yards away! However, we’re all right. He’s -searching to the left of us. Where _is_ the blighter? Can you see his -flash? Wonder how our battery’s getting on?-- - -Our people were on the protective barrage now, much slower. The -infantry had either done their job or not. Anyhow they were getting -back. The noise was distinctly tailing off. The five-nine was -searching farther and farther behind to our left. The smell of gas -was very faint. The smoke was clearing. Not a sign of life in the -trenches. Our people had ceased fire. - -The Hun was still doing a ragged gun fire. Then he stopped. - -A Verey light or two went sailing over in a big arc. - -The moon was just a little higher, still smiling inscrutably. -Silence, but for that sustained rumble up north. How many men were -lying crumpled in that cold white light? - -Division reported “Enemy front line was found to be unoccupied. On -penetrating his second line slight resistance was encountered. One -prisoner taken. Five of the enemy were killed in trying to escape. -Our casualties slight.” - -At the end of our barrage I called that detachment up, reduced -three of them to tears and in awful gloom of spirit reported the -catastrophe to the Major. He passed it on to Brigade who said they -would investigate. - -A day later Division sent round a report of the “highly successful -raid which from the adverse weather conditions owed its success to -the brilliance of the artillery barrage....” - -That same morning the Colonel went to Division, the General was on -leave. The Major was sent for to command the Group, and my secret -hopes of the wagon line were dashed to the ground. I was a Battery -Commander again in deed if not in rank. - - -12 - -The wagon line all this while had, in the charge of the -sergeant-major, been cursed most bitterly by horse masters and -A.D.V.S.’s who could not understand how a sergeant-major, aged -perhaps thirty-nine, could possibly know as much about horse -management as a new-fledged subaltern anywhere between nineteen and -twenty-one. - -From time to time I pottered down on a bicycle for the purpose -of strafing criminals and came away each time with a prayer of -thanks that there was no new-fledged infant to interfere with the -sergeant-major’s methods. - -On one occasion he begged me to wait and see an A.D.V.S. of sorts who -was due at two o’clock that afternoon and who on his previous tour of -inspection had been just about as nasty as he could be. I waited. - -Let it be granted as our old enemy Euclid says that the horse -standings were the worst in France--the Division of course had the -decent ones--and that every effort was being made to repair them. -The number of shelled houses removed bodily from the firing line -to make brick standings and pathways through the mud would have -built a model village. The horses were doing this work in addition -to ammunition fatigues, brigade fatigues and every other sort of -affliction. Assuming too that a sergeant-major doesn’t carry as much -weight as a Captain (I’d got my third pip) in confronting an A.S.C. -forage merchant with his iniquities, and I think every knowledgeable -person admitted that our wagon line was as good as, if not better -than, shall we say, any Divisional battery. Yet the veterinary -expert (?) crabbed my very loyal supporter, the sergeant-major, -who worked his head and his hands off day in, day out. It was -displeasing,--more, childish. - -In due course he arrived,--in a motor car. True, it wasn’t a -Rolls-Royce, but then he was only a Colonel. But he wore a fur coat -just as if it had been a Rolls-Royce. He stepped delicately into -the mud, and left his temper in the car. To the man who travels in -motors, a splash of mud on the boots is as offensive as the sight of -a man smoking a pipe in Bond Street at eleven o’clock in the morning. -It isn’t done. - -I saluted and gave him good morning. He grunted and flicked a finger. -Amicable relations were established. - -“Are you in charge of these wagon lines?” said he. - -“In theory, yes, sir.” - -He didn’t quite understand, and cocked a doubtful eye at me. - -I explained. “You see, sir, the B.C. and I are carrying on the war. -He’s commanding Group and I’m commanding the battery. But we’ve got -the fullest confidence in the sergeant-maj.--” - -Was it an oath he swallowed? Anyhow, it went down like an oyster. - -The Colonel moved thus expressing his desire to look round. - -I fell into step. - -“Have you got a hay sieve?” said he. - -“Sergeant-Major, where’s the hay sieve?” said I. - -“This way, sir,” said the sergeant-major. - -Two drivers were busily passing hay through it. The Colonel told them -how to do it. - -“Have you got wire hay racks above the horses?” - -“Sergeant-Major,” said I, “have we got wire hay racks?” - -“This way, sir,” said the sergeant-major. - -Two drivers were stretching pieces of bale wire from pole to pole. - -The Colonel asked them if they knew how to do it. - -“How many horses have you got for casting?” said the Colonel. - -“Do we want to cast any horses, Sergeant-Major?” said I. - -“Yes, sir,” said the Sergeant-Major. “We’ve got six.” - -It was a delightful morning. Every question that the Colonel asked -I passed on to the sergeant-major, whose answer was ever ready. -Wherever the Colonel wished to explore, there were men working. - -Could a new-fledged infant unversed in the ways of the Army have -accomplished it? - -One of the sections was down the road, quite five minutes away. -During the walk we exchanged views about the war. He confided to me -that the ideal was to have in each wagon line an officer who knew no -more about gunnery than that turnip, but who knew enough about horses -to take advice from veterinary officers. - -In return I told him that there ought not to be any wagon lines, -that the horse was effete in a war of this nature, that over half -the man-power of the country was employed in grooming and cleaning -harness, half the tonnage of the shipping taken up in fetching -forage, and that there was more strafing over a bad turn-out than if -a battery had shot its own infantry for four days running. - -The outcome of it all was pure farce. He inspected the remaining -section and then told me he was immensely pleased with the marked -improvement in the condition of the animals and the horse management -generally (nothing had been altered), and that if I found myself -short of labour when it came to building a new wagon line, he -thought he knew where he could put his hand on a dozen useful men. -Furthermore, he was going to write and tell my Colonel how pleased he -was. - -The sergeant-major’s face was a study! - -The psychology of it is presumably the same that brings promotion to -the officer who, smartly and with well-polished buttons, in reply to -a question from the General, “What colour is black?” whips out like a -flash, “White, sir!” - -And the General nods and says, “Of course!--Smart young officer that! -What’s his name?” - -Infallible! - - -13 - -It is difficult to mark the exact beginnings of mental attitudes when -time out there is one long action of nights and days without names. -One keeps the date, because of the orders issued. For the rest it -is all one. One can only trace points of view, feelings, call them -what you will, as dating before or after certain outstanding events. -Thus I had no idea of war until the gas bombardment in Armentières, -no idea that human nature could go through such experiences and -emotions and remain sane. So, once in action, I had not bothered -to find the reason of it all, contenting myself merely with the -profound conviction that the world was mad, that it was against -human nature,--but that to-morrow we should want a full échelon of -ammunition. Even the times when one had seen death only gave one a -momentary shock. One such incident will never leave me, but I cannot -feel now anything of the horror I experienced at the moment. - -It was at lunch one day before we had left the château. A trickle -of sun filtered down into the cellar where the Major, one other -subaltern and myself were lunching off bully beef and ration pickles. -Every now and again an H.E. shell exploded outside, in the road along -which infantry were constantly passing. One burst was followed by -piercing screams. My heart gave a leap and I sprang for the stairs -and out. Across the way lay three bodies, a great purple stain on the -pavement, the mark of a direct hit on the wall against which one was -huddled. I ran across. Their eyes were glassy, their faces black. -Grey fingers curled upwards from a hand that lay back down. Then the -screams came again from the corner house. I dashed in. Our corporal -signaller was trying to bandage a man whose right leg was smashed -and torn open, blood and loose flesh everywhere. He lay on his back, -screaming. Other screams came from round the corner. I went out -again and down the passage saw a man, his hands to his face, swaying -backwards and forwards. - -I ran to him. “Are you hit?” - -He fell on to me. “My foot! Oh, my foot! Christ!” - -Another officer, from the howitzer battery, came running. We formed a -bandy chair and began to carry him up towards the road. - -“Don’t take me up there,” he blubbered. “Don’t take me there!” - -We had to. It was the only way, to step over those three black-faced -corpses and into that house, where there was water and bandages. -There was a padre there now and another man. I left them and returned -to the cellar to telephone for an ambulance. I was cold, sick. But -they weren’t _our_ dead. They weren’t our gunners with whose faces -one was familiar, who were part of our daily life. The feeling -passed, and I was able to go on with the bully beef and pickles and -the war. - -During the weeks that followed the last raid I was to learn -differently. They were harassing weeks with guns dotted all over the -zone. The luck seemed to have turned, and it was next to impossible -to find a place for a gun which the Hun didn’t immediately shell -violently. Every gun had, of course, a different pin-point, and map -work became a labour, map work and the difficulty of battery control -and rationing. One’s brain was keyed incessantly up to concert pitch. - -Various changes had taken place. We had been taken into Right Group -and headquarters was established in a practically unshelled farm -with one section beside it. Another section was right forward in the -Brickstack. The third was away on the other side of the zone, an -enfilade section which I handed over, lock, stock and barrel, to the -section commander, who had his own O.P. in Moat Farm, and took on his -own targets. We were all extremely happy, doing a lot of shooting. - -One morning, hot and sunny, I had to meet the Major to reconnoitre -an alternative gun position. So I sent for the enfilade section -commander to come and take charge, and set out in shorts and shirt -sleeves on a bicycle. The Major, another Headquarters officer and -myself had finished reconnoitring, and were eating plums, when a -heavy bombardment began in the direction of the battery farm. -Five-nines they were in section salvos, and the earth went up in -spouts, not on the farm, but mighty close. I didn’t feel anxious at -first, for that subaltern had been in charge of the Chapelle section -and knew all about clearing out. But the bombardment went on. The -Major and the other left me, advising me to “give it a chance” before -I went back. - -So I rode along to an O.P. and tried to get through to the battery on -the ’phone. The line was gone. - -Through glasses I could see no signs of life round about the farm. -They must have cleared, I thought. However, I had to get back some -time or other, so I rode slowly back along the road. A track led -between open fields to the farm. I walked the bicycle along this -until bits of shell began flying. I lay flat. Then the bombardment -slackened. I got up and walked on. Again they opened, so I lay flat -again. - -For perhaps half an hour bits came zooming like great stagbeetles all -round, while I lay and watched. - -They were on the gun position, not the farm, but somehow my anxiety -wouldn’t go. After all, I was in charge of the battery, and here -I was, while God knew what might have happened in the farm. So I -decided to make a dash for it, and timed the bursts. At the end of -five minutes they slackened and I thought I could do it. Two more -crashed. I jumped on the bike, pedalled hard down the track until it -was blotted out by an enormous shell hole into which I went, left the -bike lying and ran to the farm gate, just as two pip-squeaks burst in -the yard. I fell into the door, covered with brick dust and tiles, -but unhurt. - -The sound of singing came from the cellar. I called down, “Who’s -there?” The servants and the corporal clerk were there. And the -officer? Oh, he’d gone over to the guns to see if everybody -had cleared the position. He’d given the order as soon as the -bombardment began. But over at the guns the place was being chewed up. - -Had he gone alone? No. One of the servants had gone with him. How -long ago? Perhaps twenty minutes. Meanwhile, during question and -answer, four more pip-squeaks had landed, two at the farm gate, one -in the yard, one just over. - -It was getting altogether too hot. I decided to clear the farm first. -Two at a time, taking the word from me, they made a dash for it -through the garden and the hedge to a flank, till only the corporal -clerk and myself were left. We gathered the secret papers the “wind -gadget,” my compass and the telephone and ran for it in our turn. - -We caught the others who were waiting round the corner well to -a flank. I handed the things we’d brought to the mess cook, and -asked the corporal clerk if he’d come with me to make sure that the -subaltern and the gunners had got away all right. - -We went wide and got round to the rear of the position. Not a sign -of any of the detachments in any houses round about. Then we worked -our way up a hedge which led to the rear of the guns, dropping flat -for shells to burst. They were more on the farm now than the guns. We -reached the signal pit,--a sort of dug-out with a roof of pit props, -and earth and a trench dug to the entrance. - -The corporal went along the trench. “Christ!” he said, and came -blindly back. - -For an instant the world spun. Without seeing I saw. Then I climbed -along the broken trench. A five-nine had landed on the roof of the -pit and crashed everything in. - -A pair of boots was sticking out of the earth.-- - -He had been in charge of the battery for _me_. From the safety of -the cellar he had gone out to see if the men were all right. He had -done _my_ job! - -Gunners came with shovels. In five minutes we had him out. He was -still warm. The doctor was on his way. We carried him out of the -shelling on a duck board. Some of the gunners went on digging for the -other boy. The doctor was there by the time we’d carried him to the -road. He was dead. - - -14 - -A pair of boots sticking out of the earth. - -For days I saw nothing else. That jolly fellow whom I’d left -laughing, sitting down to write a letter to his wife,--a pair of -boots sticking out. Why? Why? - -We had laid him in a cottage. The sergeant and I went back, and by -the light of a candle which flickered horribly, emptied his pockets -and took off his ring. How cold Death was. It made him look ten years -younger. - -Then we put him into an army blanket with his boots on and all his -clothes. The only string we had was knotted. It took a long time to -untie it. At last it was done. - -A cigarette holder, a penknife, a handkerchief, the ring. I took them -out with me into the moonlight, all that King and country had left of -him. - -What had this youngster been born for, sent to a Public School, -earned his own living and married the pretty girl whose photo I had -seen in the dug-out? To die like a rat in a trap, to have his name -one day in the Roll of Honour and so break two hearts, and then be -forgotten by his country because he was no more use to it. What was -the worth of Public School education if it gave the country no -higher ideal than war?--to kill or be killed. Were there no brains -in England big enough to avert it? He hadn’t wanted it. He was a -representative specimen. What had he joined for? Because all his pals -had. He didn’t want them to call him coward. For that he had left his -wife and his home, and to-morrow he would be dropped into a hole in -the ground and a parson would utter words about God and eternal life. - -What did it all mean? Why, because it was the “thing to do,” did we -all join up like sheep in a Chicago packing yard? What right had our -country--the “free country”--to compel us to live this life of filth -and agony? - -The men who made the law that sent us out, they didn’t come too. They -were the “rudder of the nation,” steering the “Ship of State.” They’d -never seen a pair of boots sticking out of the earth. Why did we bow -the neck and obey other men’s wills? - -Surely these conscientious objectors had a greater courage in -withstanding our ridicule than we in wishing to prove our possession -of courage by coming out. What was the root of this war,--honour? How -can honour be at the root of dishonour, and wholesale manslaughter? -What kind of honour was it that smashed up homesteads, raped -women, crucified soldiers, bombed hospitals, bayoneted wounded? -What idealism was ours if we took an eye for an eye? What was our -civilization, twenty centuries of it, if we hadn’t reached even to -the barbaric standards,--for no barbarian could have invented these -atrocities. What was the festering pit on which our social system was -built? - -And the parson who talked of God,--is there more than one God, then, -for the Germans quoted him as being on their side with as much -fervour and sincerity as the parson? How reconcile any God with this -devastation and deliberate killing? This war was the proof of the -failure of Christ, the proof of our own failure, the failure of the -civilized world. For twenty centuries the world had turned a blind -eye to the foulness stirring inside it, insinuating itself into the -main arteries; and now the lid was wrenched off and all the foul -stench of a humbug Christian civilization floated over the poisoned -world. - -One man had said he was too proud to fight. We, filled with the -lust of slaughter, jeered him as we had jeered the conscientious -objectors. But wasn’t there in our hearts, in saner moments, a -respect which we were ashamed to admit,--because we in our turn would -have been jeered at? Therein lay our cowardice. Death we faced daily, -hourly, with a laugh. But the ridicule of our fellow cowards, that -was worse than death. And yet in our knowledge we cried aloud for -Peace, who in our ignorance had cried for War. Children of impulse -satiated with new toys and calling for the old ones! We would set -back the clock and in our helplessness called upon the Christ whom we -had crucified. - -And back at home the law-makers and the old men shouted patriotically -from their club fenders, “We will fight to the last man!” - -The utter waste of the brown-blanketed bundle in the cottage room! - -What would I not have given for the one woman to put her arms round -me and hide my face against her breast and let me sob out all the -bitterness in my heart? - - -15 - -From that moment I became a conscientious objector, a pacifist, a -most bitter hater of the Boche whose hand it was that had wrenched -the lid off the European cesspit. Illogical? If you like, but what is -logic? Logically the war was justified. We crucified Christ logically -and would do so again. - -From that moment my mind turned and twisted like a compass needle -that had lost its sense of the north. The days were an endless burden -blackened by the shadow of death, filled with emptiness, bitterness -and despair. - -The day’s work went on as if nothing had happened. A new face took -his place at the mess table, the routine was exactly the same. Only -a rough wooden cross showed that he had ever been with us. And all -the time we went on shooting, killing just as good fellows as he, -perhaps, doing our best to do so at least. Was it honest, thinking -as I did? Is it honest for a convict who doesn’t believe in prisons -to go on serving his time? There was nothing to be done but go on -shooting and try and forget. - -But war isn’t like that. It doesn’t let you forget. It gives you a -few days, or weeks, and then takes some one else. “Old Thing” was the -next, in the middle of a shoot in a front line O.P. - -I was lying on my bed playing with a tiny kitten while the third -subaltern at the ’phone passed on the corrections to the battery. -Suddenly, instead of saying “Five minutes more right,” he said, -“_What’s_ that?--Badly wounded?” and the line went. - -I was on the ’phone in a flash, calling up battalion for stretcher -bearers and doctors. - -They brought me his small change and pencil-ends and pocketbook,--and -the kitten came climbing up my leg. - -The Major came back from leave--which he had got on the Colonel’s -return--in time to attend Old Thing’s funeral with the Colonel and -myself. Outside the cemetery a football match was going on all the -time. They didn’t stop their game. Why should they? They were too -used to funerals,--and it might be their turn in a day or two. - -Thanks to the Major my leave came through within a week. It was like -the answer to a prayer. At any price I wanted to get away from the -responsibility, away from the sight of khaki, away from everything to -do with war. - -London was too full of it, of immaculate men and filmy girls who -giggled. I couldn’t face that. - -I went straight down to the little house among the beeches and -pines,--an uneasy guest of long silences, staring into the fire, -of bursts of violent argument, of rebellion against all existing -institutions. - -But it was good to watch the river flowing by, to hear it lapping -against the white yacht, to hear the echo of rowlocks, flung back -by the beech woods, and the wonderful whir! whir! whir! of swans -as they flew down and down and away; to see little cottages with -wisps of blue smoke against the brown and purple of the distant -woods, not lonely ruins and sticks; to see the feathery green moss -and the watery rays of a furtive sun through the pines, not smashed -and torn by shells; at night to watch the friendly lights in the -curtained windows and hear the owls hooting to each other unafraid -and let the rest and peace sink into one’s soul; to shirk even the -responsibility of deciding whether one should go for a walk or out in -the dinghy, or stay indoors, but just to agree to anything that was -suggested. - -To decide anything was for out there, not here where war did not -enter in. - -Fifteen dream days, like a sudden strong whiff of verbena or -honeysuckle coming out of an envelope. For the moment one shuts one’s -eyes,--and opens them again to find it isn’t true. The sound of guns -is everywhere. - -So with that leave. I found myself in France again, trotting up in -the mud and rain to report my arrival as though I’d never been away. -It was all just a dream to try and call back. - - -16 - -Everything was well with the battery. My job was to function with all -speed at the building of the new horse lines. Before going on leave I -had drawn a map to scale of the field in which they were to be. This -had been submitted to Corps and approved, and work had started on it -during my leave. - -My kit followed me and I installed myself in a small canvas hut with -the acting-Captain of another of our batteries whose lines were belly -deep in the next field. He had succeeded Pip Don who went home gassed -after the Armentières shelling and who, on recovering, had been sent -out to Mesopotamia. - -The work was being handled under rather adverse conditions. Some of -the men were from our own battery, others from the Brigade Ammunition -Column, more from a Labour Company, and there was a full-blown Sapper -private doing the scientific part. They were all at loggerheads; -none of the N.C.O.’s would take orders from the Sapper private, and -the Labour Company worked Trades Union hours, although dressed in -khaki and calling themselves soldiers. The subaltern in charge was on -the verge of putting every one of them under arrest,--not a bad idea, -but what about the standings? - -By the time I’d had a look round tea was ready. At least there seemed -to be plenty of material. - -At seven next morning I was out. No one else was. So I took another -look round, did a little thinking, and came and had breakfast. By -nine o’clock there seemed to be a lot of cigarette smoke in the -direction of the works. - -I began functioning. My servant summoned all the heads of departments -and they appeared before me in a sullen row. At my suggestion tongues -wagged freely for about half an hour. I addressed them in their own -language and then, metaphorically speaking, we shook hands all round, -sang hymn number 44 and standings suddenly began to spring up like -mushrooms. - -It was really extraordinary how those fellows worked once they’d -got the hang of the thing. It left me free to go joy-riding with -my stable companion in the afternoons. We carried mackintoshes on -the saddle and scoured the country, splashing into Bailleul--it was -odd to revisit the scene of my trooper days after three years--for -gramophone records, smokes, stomachic delicacies and books. We also -sunk a lot of francs in a series of highly artistic picture postcards -which, pinned all round the hut at eye level, were a constant source -of admiration and delight to the servants and furnished us with a -splash of colour which at least broke the monotony of khaki canvas. -These were--it goes without saying--supplemented from time to time -with the more reticent efforts of _La Vie Parisienne_. - -All things being equal we were extremely comfortable, and, although -the stove was full of surprises, quite sufficiently frowzy during the -long evenings, which were filled with argument, invention, music and -much tobacco. The invention part of the programme was supplied by my -stable companion who had his own theories concerning acetylene lamps, -and who, with the aid of a couple of shell cases and a little carbide -nearly wrecked the happy home. Inventions were therefore suppressed. - -They were tranquil days, in which we built not only book shelves, -stoves and horse standings but a great friendship,--ended only by his -death on the battlefield. He was all for the gun line and its greater -strenuousness. - -As for me, then, at least, I was content to lie fallow. I had seen -too much of the guns, thanked God for the opportunity of doing -something utterly different for a time and tried to conduct a mental -spring-clean and rearrangement. As a means to this I found myself -putting ideas on paper in verse--a thing I’d never done in all my -life--bad stuff but horribly real. One’s mind was tied to war, like -a horse on a picketing rope, and could only go round and round in a -narrow circle. To break away was impossible. One was saturated with -it as the country was with blood. Every cog in the machinery of war -was like a magnet which held one in spite of all one’s struggles, -giddy with the noise, dazed by its enormity, nauseated by its results. - -The work provided one with a certain amount of comic relief. -Timber ran short and it seemed as if the standings would be denied -completion. Stones, gravel and cinders had been already a difficulty, -settled only by much importuning. Bricks had been brought from the -gun line. But asking for timber was like trying to steal the chair -from under the General. I went to Division and was promptly referred -to Corps, who were handling the job. Corps said, “You’ve had all -that’s allowed in the R.E. handbook. Good morning.” I explained that -I wanted it for wind screens. They smiled politely and suggested my -getting some ladies’ fans from any deserted village. On returning to -Division they said, “If Corps can’t help you, how the devil can you -expect us to?” - -I went to Army. They looked me over and asked me where I came from -and who I was, and what I was doing, and what for and on what -authority, and why I came to them instead of going to Division and -Corps? To all of which I replied patiently. Their ultimate answer was -a smile of regret. There wasn’t any in the country, they said. - -So I prevailed upon my brother who, as War Correspondent, ran a big -car and no questions asked about petrol, to come over and lunch with -me. To him I put the case and was immediately whisked off to O.C. -Forests, the Timber King. At the lift of his little finger down came -thousands of great oaks. Surely a few branches were going begging? - -He heard my story with interest. His answer threw beams of light. -“Why the devil don’t Division and Corps and all the rest of them -_ask_ for it if they want it? I’ve got tons of stuff here. How much -do you want?” - -I told him the cubic stature of the standings. - -He jotted abstruse calculations for a moment. “Twenty tons,” said he. -“Are you anywhere near the river”? - -The river flowed at the bottom of the lines. - -“Right. I’ll send you a barge. To-day’s Monday. Should be with you by -Wednesday. Name? Unit?” - -He ought to have been commanding an army, that man. - -We lunched most triumphantly in Hazebrouck, had tea and dinner at -Cassel and I was dropped on my own doorstep well before midnight. - -It was not unpleasing to let drop, quite casually of course, to -Division and Corps and Army, that twenty tons of timber were being -delivered at my lines in three days and that there was more where -that came from. If they wanted any, they had only to come and ask -_me_ about it. - - -17 - -During this period the Major had handed over the eighteen-pounders, -receiving 4.5 howitzers in exchange, nice little cannons, but -apparently in perpetual need of calibration. None of the gunners -had ever handled them before but they picked up the new drill with -extraordinary aptitude, taking the most unholy delight in firing gas -shells. They hadn’t forgotten Armentières either. - -My wagon line repose was roughly broken into by an order one -afternoon to come up immediately. The Colonel was elsewhere and the -Major had taken his place once more. - -Furthermore, a raid was to take place the same night and I hadn’t -the foggiest idea of the numberless 4.5 differences. However we did -our share in the raid and at the end of a couple of days I began to -hope we should stick to howitzers. The reasons were many,--a bigger -shell with more satisfactory results, gas as well as H.E., four guns -to control instead of six, far greater ease in finding positions and -a longer range. This was in October, ’17. Things have changed since -then. The air recuperator with the new range drum and fuse indicator -have made the 18-pounder a new thing. - -Two days after my going up the Hun found us. Between 11 a.m. and 4 -p.m. he sent over three hundred five-nines, but as they fell between -two of the guns and the billet, and he didn’t bother to switch, we -were perfectly happy. To my way of thinking his lack of imagination -in gunnery is one of the factors which has helped him to lose the -war. He is consistent, amazingly thorough and amazingly accurate. We -have those qualities too, not quite so marked perhaps, but it is the -added touch of imagination, of sportingness, which has beaten him. -What English subaltern for instance up in that Hun O.P. wouldn’t have -given her five minutes more right for luck,--and got the farm and -the gun and the ammunition? But because the Boche had been allotted -a definite target and a definite number of rounds he just went on -according to orders and never thought of budging off his line. We all -knew it and remained in the farm although the M.P.I. was only fifty -yards to a flank. - -The morning after the raid I went the round of the guns. One of them -had a loose breechblock. When fired the back flash was right across -the gun pit. I put the gun out of action, the chances being that -very soon she would blow out her breech and kill every man in the -detachment. - -As my knowledge was limited to eighteen-pounders, however, I sent for -the brigade artificer. His opinion confirmed mine. - -That night she went down on the tail of a wagon. The next night she -came back again, the breech just as loose. Nothing had been done. The -Ordnance workshop sent a chit with her to say she’d got to fire so -many hundred more rounds at 4th charge before she could be condemned. - -What was the idea? Surely to God the Hun killed enough gunners -without our trying to kill them ourselves? Assuming that a 4.5 cost -fifteen hundred pounds in round figures, four gunners and a sergeant -at an average of two shillings a day were worth economising, to say -nothing of the fact that they were all trained men and experienced -soldiers, or to mention that they were human beings with wives and -families. It cannot have been the difficulty of getting another gun. -The country was stiff with guns and it only takes a busy day to fire -four hundred rounds. - -It was just the good old system again! I left the gun out of action. - -Within a couple of days we had to hand over again. We were leaving -that front to go up into the salient, Ypres. But I didn’t forget to -tell the in-coming Battery Commander all about that particular gun. - -Ypres! One mentions it quite casually but I don’t think there was an -officer or man who didn’t draw a deep breath when the order came. It -was a death trap. - -There was a month’s course of gunnery in England about to take -place,--the Overseas Course for Battery Commanders. My name had been -sent in. It was at once cancelled so that the Ypres move was a double -disappointment. - -So the battery went down to the wagon line and prepared for the -worst. For a couple of days we hung about uneasily. Then the Major -departed for the north in a motor lorry to take over positions. -Having seen him off we foregathered with the officers of the Brigade -Ammunition Column, cursed with uneasy laughter and turned the -rum-specialist on to brewing flaming toddy. - -The next day brought a telegram from the Major of which two words at -least will never die: “Move cancelled.” - -We had dinner in Estaires that night! - -But the brigade was going to move, although none of us knew where. -The day before they took the road I left for England in a hurry to -attend the Overseas Course. How little did I guess what changes were -destined to take place before I saw them again! - - -18 - -The course was a godsend in that it broke the back of the winter. -A month in England, sleeping between sheets, with a hot bath every -day and brief week-ends with one’s people was a distinct improvement -on France, although the first half of the course was dull to -desperation. The chief interest, in fact, of the whole course was to -see the fight between the two schools of gunners,--the theoretical -and the practical. Shoebury was the home of the theoretical. We -filled all the Westcliff hotels and went in daily by train to -the school of gunnery, there to imbibe drafts of statistics--not -excluding our old friend T.O.B.--and to relearn all the stuff we -had been doing every day in France in face of the Hun, a sort of -revised up-to-date version, including witty remarks at the expense of -Salisbury which left one with the idea, “Well, if this is the last -word of _the_ School of Gunnery, I’m a damned sight better gunner -than I thought I was.” - -Many of the officers had brought their wives down. Apart from them -the hotels were filled with indescribable people,--dear old ladies -in eighteenth-century garments who knitted and talked scandal and -allowed their giggling daughters to flirt and dance with all and -sundry. One or two of the more advanced damsels had left their -parents behind and were staying there with “uncles,”--rather -lascivious-looking old men, rapidly going bald. Where they all came -from is a mystery. One didn’t think England contained such people, -and the thought that one was fighting for them was intolerable. - -After a written examination which was somewhat of a farce at the end -of the first fortnight, we all trooped down to Salisbury to see the -proof of the pudding in the shooting. Shoebury was routed. A couple -of hundred bursting shells duly corrected for temperature, barometer, -wind and the various other disabilities attaching to exterior -ballistics will disprove the most likely-sounding theory. - -Salisbury said, “Of course they will tell you _this_ at Shoebury. -They may be perfectly right. I don’t deny it for a moment, but I’ll -show you what the ruddy bundook says about it.” And at the end of -half an hour’s shooting the “ruddy bundook” behind us had entirely -disposed of the argument. We had calibrated that unfortunate battery -to within half a foot a second, fired it with a field clinometer, put -it through its paces in snow-storms and every kind of filthy weather -and went away impressed. The gun does not lie. Salisbury won hands -down. - -The verdict of the respective schools upon my work was amusing and -showed that at least they had fathomed the psychology of me. - -Shoebury said, “Fair. A good second in command.” Salisbury said, -“Sound practical work. A good Battery Commander.” - -Meanwhile the papers every day had been ringing with the Cambrai -show. November, ’17, was a memorable month for many others besides -the brigade. Of course I didn’t know for certain that we were in it, -but it wasn’t a very difficult guess. The news became more and more -anxious reading, especially when I received a letter from the Major -who said laconically that he had lost all his kit; would I please -collect some more that he had ordered and bring it out with me? - -This was countermanded by a telegram saying he was coming home on -leave. I met him in London and in the luxury of the Carlton Grill he -told me the amazing story of Cambrai. - -The net result to the brigade was the loss of the guns and many -officers and men, and the acquiring of one D.S.O. which should have -been a V.C., and a handful of M.C.’s, Military Medals, and Croix de -Guerre. - -I found them sitting down, very merry and bright, at a place called -Poix in the Lines of Communication, and there I listened to stories -of Huns shot with rifles at one yard, of days in trenches fighting -as infantry, of barrages that passed conception, of the amazing -feats of my own Major who was the only officer who got nothing out -of it,--through some gross miscarriage of justice and to my helpless -fury. - -There was a new Captain commanding my battery in the absence of the -Major. But I was informed that I had been promoted Major and was -taking over another battery whose commander had been wounded in the -recent show. Somehow it had happened that that battery and ours had -always worked together, had almost always played each other in the -finals of brigade football matches and there was as a result a strong -liking between the two. It was good therefore to have the luck to -go to them instead of one of the others. It completed the entente -between the two of us. - -Only the Brigade Headquarters was in Poix. The batteries and the -Ammunition Column had a village each in the neighbourhood. My new -battery, my first command, was at Bergicourt, some three miles -away, and thither I went in the brigade trap, a little shy and -overwhelmed at this entirely unexpected promotion, not quite sure of -my reception. The Captain was an older man than I, and he and some -of the subalterns had all been lieutenants together with me in the -Heytesbury days. - -From the moment of getting out of the trap, as midday stables -was being dismissed, the Captain’s loyalty to me was of the most -exceptional kind. He did everything in his power to help me the -whole time I remained in command, and I owe him more gratitude and -thanks than I can ever hope to repay. The subalterns too worked like -niggers, and I was immensely proud of being in command of such a -splendid fighting battery. - -Bergicourt was a picturesque little place that had sprung up in -a hillside cup. A tiny river ran at the bottom of the hill, the -cottages were dotted with charming irregularity up and down its -flank and the surrounding woody hills protected it a little from -the biting winter winds. The men and horses were billeted among -the cottages. The battery office was in the Mairie, and the mess -was in the presbytery. The Abbé was a diminutive, round-faced, -blue-chinned little man with a black skull cap, whose simplicity -was altogether exceptional. He had once been on a Cook’s tour to -Greece, Egypt and Italy but for all the knowledge of the world he got -from it he might as well have remained in Bergicourt. He shaved on -Sundays and insinuated himself humbly into the mess room--his best -parlour--with an invariable “_Bonjour, mon commandant!_” and a “_je -vous remerc--ie_,” that became the passwords of the battery. The -S sound in _remercie_ lasted a full minute to a sort of splashing -accompaniment emerging from the teeth. We used to invite him in -to coffee and liqueurs after dinner and his round-eyed amazement -when the Captain and one of the subalterns did elementary conjuring -tricks, producing cards from the least expected portions of his -anatomy and so on as he sat there in front of the fire with a drink -in his hand and a cigarette smouldering in his fingers, used to send -us into helpless shrieks of laughter. - -He bestowed on me in official moments the most wonderful title, -that even Haig might have been proud of. He called me “_Monsieur le -Commandant des armées anglaises à Bergicourt_,”--a First Command -indeed! - -Christmas Day was a foot deep in snow, wonderfully beautiful -and silent with an almost canny stillness. The Colonel and the -Intelligence Officer came and had dinner with us in the middle of the -day, after the Colonel had made a little speech to the men, who were -sitting down to theirs, and been cheered to the echo. - -At night there was a concert and the battery got royally tight. It -was the first time they’d been out of action for eight months and it -probably did them a power of good. - -Four Christmases back I had been in Florida splashing about in the -sea, revelling in being care free, deep in the writing of a novel. -It was amazing how much water had flowed under the bridges since -then,--one in Fontainehouck, one in Salonica, one in London, and now -this one at Bergicourt with six guns and a couple of hundred men -under me. I wondered where the next would be and thought of New York -with a sigh. If anyone had told me in Florida that I should ever be a -Major in the British Army I should have thought he’d gone mad. - - -19 - -The time was spent in Poix in completing ourselves with all the -things of which the batteries were short--technical stores--in making -rings in the snow and exercising the horses, in trying to get frost -nails without success, in a comic _chasse au sanglier_ organised by a -local sportsman in which we saw nothing but a big red fox and a hare -and bagged neither, in endeavouring to camouflage the fuel stolen by -the men, in wondering what 1918 would bring forth. - -The bitter cold lasted day after day without any sign of a break and -in the middle of it came the order to move. We were wanted back in -the line again. - -I suppose there is always one second of apprehension on receiving -that order, of looking round with the thought, “Whose turn this -time?” There seemed to be no hope or sign of peace. The very idea was -so remote as to be stillborn. Almost it seemed as if one would have -to go on and on for ever. The machine had run away with us and there -was no stopping it. Every calendar that ran out was another year of -one’s youth burnt on the altar of war. There was no future. How could -there be when men were falling like leaves in autumn? - -One put up a notice board on the edge of the future. It said, -“Trespassers will be pip-squeaked.” The present was the antithesis -of everything one had ever dreamed, a ghastly slavery to be borne -as best one could. One sought distractions to stop one’s thinking. -Work was insufficient. One developed a literary gluttony, devouring -cannibalistically all the fiction writers, the war poets, everything -that one could lay hands on, developing unconsciously a higher -criticism, judging by the new standards set by three years of -war--that school of post-impressionism that rubs out so ruthlessly -the essential, leaving the unessential crowing on its dunghill. It -only left one the past as a mental playground and even there the -values had altered. One looked back with a different eye from that -with which one had looked forward only four years ago. One had seen -Death now and heard Fear whispering, and felt the pulse of a world -upheaved by passions. - -The war itself had taken on a different aspect. The period of peace -sectors was over. Russia had had enough. Any day now would see the -released German divisions back on the western front. It seemed that -the new year must inevitably be one of cataclysmic events. It was -not so much “can we attack?” as “will they break through?” And yet -trench warfare had been a stalemate for so long that it didn’t seem -possible that they could. But whatever happened it was not going to -be a joy-ride. - -We were going to another army. That at least was a point of interest. -The batteries, being scattered over half a dozen miles of country, -were to march independently to their destinations. So upon the -appointed day we packed up and said good-bye to the little priest and -interviewed the mayor and haggled over exorbitant claims for damages -and impossible thefts of wood and potatoes, wondering all the while -how the horses would ever stand up on the frozen roads without a -single frost nail in the battery. It was like a vast skating rink and -the farrier had been tearing his hair for days. - -But finally the last team had slithered down to the gun park, hooked -in and everything was reported ready. Billeting parties had gone on -ahead. - -It is difficult to convey just what that march meant. It lasted four -days, once the blizzard being so thick and blinding that the march -was abandoned, the whole brigade remaining in temporary billets. -The pace was a crawl. The team horses slid into each other and -fell, the leads bringing the centres down, at every twenty yards -or so. The least rise had to be navigated by improvising means of -foothold--scattering a near manure heap, getting gunners up with -picks and shovels and hacking at the road surface, assisting the -horses with drag-ropes--and all the time the wind was like a razor -on one’s face, and the drivers up on the staggering horses beat -their chests with both arms and changed over with the gunners when -all feeling had gone from their limbs. Hour after hour one trekked -through the blinding white, silent country, stamping up and down at -the halts with an anxious eye on the teams, chewing bully beef and -biscuits and thanking God for coffee piping hot out of a thermos -in the middle of the day. Then on again in the afternoon while the -light grew less and dropped finally to an inky grey and the wind grew -colder,--hoping that the G.S. wagons, long since miles behind, would -catch up. Hour after hour stiff in the saddle with icy hands and -feet, one’s neck cricked to dodge the wind, or sliding off stiffly -to walk and get some warmth into one’s aching limbs, the straps -and weight of one’s equipment becoming more and more irksome and -heavy with every step forward that slipped two back. To reach the -destination at all was lucky. To get there by ten o’clock at night -was a godsend, although watering the horses and feeding them in the -darkness with frozen fingers that burned on straps and buckles drew -strange Scotch oaths. For the men, shelter of sorts, something at -least with a roof where a fire was lit at risk of burning the whole -place down. For the officers sometimes a peasant’s bed, or valises -spread on the floor, unpacking as little as possible for the early -start on the morning, the servants cooking some sort of a meal, -either on the peasant’s stove or over a fire of sticks. - -The snow came again and one went on next day, blinded by the feathery -touch of flakes that closed one’s eyes so gently, crept down one’s -neck and pockets, lodged heavily in one’s lap when mounted, clung in -a frozen garment to one’s coat when walking, hissed softly on one’s -pipe and made one giddy with the silent, whirling, endless pattern -which blotted out the landscape, great flakes like white butterflies, -soft, velvety, beautiful but also like little hands that sought to -stop one persistently, insidiously. “Go back,” said their owner, “go -back. We have hidden the road and the ditches and all the country. -We have closed your eyelids and you cannot see. Go back before you -reach that mad place where we have covered over silent things that -once were men, trying to give back beauty to the ugliness that you -have made. Why do you march on in spite of us? Do you seek to become -as they? Go back. Go back,” they whispered. - -But we pushed blindly through, stumbling to another billet to hear -that the snow had stalled the motor lorries and therefore there were -no rations for the men and that the next day’s march was twenty miles. - -During the night a thaw set in. Snowflakes turned to cold rain and -in the dawn the men splashed, shivering, and harnessed the shivering -horses. One or two may have drunk a cup of coffee given them by the -villagers. The rest knew empty stomachs as well as shivering. The -village had once been in the war zone and only old women and children -clung precariously to life. They had no food to give or sell. The -parade was ordered for six o’clock. Some of the rear wagons, in -difficulties with teams, had not come in till the dawn, the Captain -and all of them having shared a biscuit or two since breakfast. But -at six the battery was reported ready and not a man was late or sick. -The horses had been in the open all night. - -So on we went again with pools of water on the icy crust of the road, -the rain dripping off our caps. Would there be food at the other end? -Our stomachs cried out for it. - -And back in England full-fed fathers hearing the rain splashing -against the windows put an extra coal on the fire, crying again, “We -will fight to the last man!”; railway men and munitioners yelled, -“Down tools! We need more pay!” and the Government flung our purses -to them and said, “Help yourselves--of course we shall count on you -to keep us in power at the next election.” - - -20 - -The village of Chuignolles, ice-bound, desolate, wood-patched was -our destination. The battles of the Somme had passed that way, -wiping everything out. Old shell holes were softened with growing -vegetation. Farm cottages were held together by bits of corrugated -iron. The wind whistled through them, playing ghostly tunes on -splintered trunks that once had been a wood. - -Two prison camps full of Germans, who in some mysterious way knew -that we had been in the Cambrai push and commented about it as we -marched in, were the only human beings, save the village schoolmaster -and his wife and child, in whose cottage we shared a billet with a -Canadian forester. The schoolmaster was minus one arm, the wife had -survived the German occupation, and the child was a golden-haired boy -full of laughter, with tiny teeth, blue eyes and chubby fingers that -curled round his mother’s heart. The men were lodged under bits of -brick wall and felting that constituted at least shelter, and warmed -themselves with the timber that the Canadian let them remove from -his Deccaville train which screamed past the horse lines about four -or five times a day. They had stood the march in some marvellous way -that filled me with speechless admiration. Never a grouse about the -lack of rations, or the awful cold and wet, always with a song on -their lips they had paraded to time daily, looked after the horses -with a care that was almost brotherly, put up with filthy billets and -the extremes of discomfort with a readiness that made me proud. What -kept them going? Was it that vague thing patriotism, the more vague -because the war wasn’t in their own country? Was it the ultimate -hope of getting back to their Flos and Lucys, although leave, for -them, was practically non-existent? What had they to look forward to -but endless work in filth and danger, heaving guns, grooming horses, -cleaning harness eternally? And yet their obedience and readiness and -courage were limitless, wonderful. - -We settled down to training and football and did our best to acquire -the methods of the new army. My Major, who had been in command of the -brigade, had fallen ill on the march and had been sent to England. -The doctor was of opinion that he wouldn’t be coming out again. -He was worn out. How characteristic of the wilfully blind system -which insists that square pegs shall be made to fit round holes! -There was a man who should have been commanding an army, wasted in -the command of a battery, while old men without a millionth part -of his personality, magnetism or knowledge recklessly flung away -lives in the endeavour to justify their positions. In the Boer War -if a General lost three hundred men there was an inquiry into the -circumstances. Now if he didn’t lose three hundred thousand he was a -bad General. There were very few bad ones apparently! - -At least one could thank God that the Major was out of it with a -whole skin, although physically a wreck. - -The guns we drew from Ordnance at Poix and Chuignolles were not -calibrated, but there was a range half a day’s march distant and -we were ordered to fire there in readiness for going back into the -line. So one morning before dawn we set out to find the pin-point -given us on the map. Dawn found us on a road which led through a -worse hell than even Dante visited. Endless desolation spread away on -every side, empty, flat, filled with an infinite melancholy. No part -of the earth’s surface remained intact. One shell hole merged into -another in an endless pattern of pockmarks, unexploded duds lying in -hundreds in every direction. Bits of wreckage lay scattered, shell -baskets, vague shapes of iron and metal which bespoke the one-time -presence of man. Here and there steam rollers, broken and riddled, -stuck up like the bones of camels in the desert. A few wooden crosses -marked the wayside graves, very few. For the most part the dead had -lain where they fell, trodden into the earth. Everywhere one almost -saw a hand sticking up, a foot that had worked up to the surface -again. A few bricks half overgrown marked where once maidens had -been courted by their lovers. The quiet lane ringing with the songs -of birds where they had met in the summer evenings at the stroke -of the Angelus was now one jagged stump, knee-high, from which the -birds had long since fled. The spirits of a million dead wailed -over that ghastly graveyard, unconsecrated by the priests of God. -In the grey light one could nearly see the corpses sit up in their -countless hundreds at the noise of the horses’ feet, and point with -long fingers, screaming bitter ridicule through their shapeless -gaping jaws. And when at last we found the range and the guns broke -the eerie stillness the echo in the hills was like bursts of horrible -laughter. - -And on the edge of all this death was that little sturdy boy with the -golden hair, bubbling with life, who played with the empty sleeve of -his young father spewed out of the carnage, mutilated, broken in this -game of fools. - - -21 - -February found us far from Chuignolles. Our road south had taken us -through a country of optimism where filled-in trenches were being -cultivated once more by old women and boys, barbed wire had been -gathered in like an iron harvest and life was trying to creep back -again like sap up the stem of a bruised flower. Their homes were -made of empty petrol tins, bits of corrugated iron, the wreckage -of the battlefield,--these strange persistent old people, clinging -desperately to their clod of earth, bent by the storm but far from -being broken, ploughing round the lonely graves of the unknown dead, -sparing a moment to drop a bunch of green stuff on them. Perhaps some -one was doing the same to their son’s grave. - -We came to Jussy and Flavy-le-Martel, an undulating country of -once-wooded hillsides now stamped under the Hun’s heel and where even -then the spiteful long-range shell came raking in the neatly swept -muck heaps that once had been villages. The French were there, those -blue-clad, unshaven poilus who, having seen their land laid waste, -turned their eyes steadily towards Germany with the gleam of faith -in them that moves mountains, officered by men who called them “_mes -enfants_” and addressed each one as “thou.” - -We had reached the southern end of the British line and were to take -over the extra bit down to Barisis. Our own zone was between Essigny -and Benay and in a morning of thick fog the Divisional Battery -Commanders and ourselves went up to the gun positions held by the -slim French 75’s. They welcomed us politely, bowing us into scratches -in the earth and offering sausages and red wine and cigarettes -of Caporal. It appeared that peace reigned on that front. Not a -shell fell, hardly was a round ever fired. Then followed maps and -technical details of pin-points and zero lines and O.P.’s and the -colour of S.O.S. rockets. We visited the guns and watched them fire -a round or two and discussed the differences between them and our -eighteen-pounders and at last after much shaking of hands bade them -au revoir and left them in the fog. - -The relief took place under cover of night without a hitch, in a -silence unbroken by any gun, and finally, after having journeyed to -the O.P. with the French Battery Commander, up to our thighs in mud, -fired on the zero point to check the line, reported ourselves ready -to take on an S.O.S. and watched the French officer disappear in -the direction of his wagon line, we found ourselves masters of the -position. - -The fog did eventually lift, revealing the least hopeful of any -gun positions it has ever been my lot to occupy. The whole country -was green, a sort of turf. In this were three great white gashes -of upturned chalk visible to the meanest intelligence as being the -three battery positions. True, they were under the crest from any -Hun O.P., but that didn’t minimize the absurdity. There were such -things as balloons and aeroplanes. Further inspection revealed shell -holes neatly bracketing the guns, not many, but quite sufficient to -prove that Fritz had done his job well. Beside each gun pit was a -good deep dugout for the detachment and we had sleeping quarters that -would stop at least a four-two. The mess was a quaint little hut of -hooped iron above ground, camouflaged with chalky earth, big enough -to hold a table and four officers, if arranged carefully. We rigged -up shelves and hung new fighting maps and Kirchners and got the stove -to burn and declared ourselves ready for the war again. We spent -long mornings exploring the trenches, calling on a rather peevish -infantry whose manners left much to be desired, and found that as -usual the enemy had all the observation on the opposite ridge. Behind -the trench system we came upon old gun positions shelled out of all -recognition, and looked back over an empty countryside with rather a -gloomy eye. It was distinctly unprepossessing. If there were ever a -show---- - -So we played the gramophone by night and invented a knife-throwing -game in the door of the hut and waited for whatever Fate might have -in store for us. The Captain had gone on leave from Chuignolles. The -night after his return he came up to the guns as my own leave was due -again. So having initiated him into the defence scheme and the S.O.S. -rules I packed up my traps and departed,--as it turned out for good. - -Fate decreed that my fighting was to be done with the battery which I -had helped to make and whose dead I had buried. - -On my return from leave fourteen days later, towards the end of -February, I was posted back to them. The end of February,--a curious -period of mental tightening up, of expectation of some colossal -push received with a certain incredulity. He’d push all right, but -not here. And yet, in the depths of one’s being, there formed a -vague apprehension that made one restless and took the taste out -of everything. The work seemed unsatisfactory in the new battle -positions to which we were moved, a side-step north, seven thousand -yards from the front line, just behind Essigny which peeped over a -million trenches to St. Quentin. The men didn’t seem to have their -hearts in it and one found fault in everything. The new mess, a -wooden hut under trees on a hilltop with a deep dugout in it, was -very nice, allowing us to bask in the sun whenever it shone and -giving a wonderful view over the whole zone, but seemed to lack -privacy. One yearned to be alone sometimes and always there was some -one there. The subalterns were practically new to me, and although -one laughed and talked one couldn’t settle down as in the old days -with the Major and Pip Don. The Scots Captain was also occupying -the hilltop. It was good to go off on long reconnaissances with him -and argue violently on all the known philosophies and literatures, -to challenge him to revolver shooting competitions and try and -escape the eternal obsession that clouded one’s brain, an uneasiness -that one couldn’t place, like the feeling that makes one cold in -the pit of the stomach before going down to get ready for a boxing -competition, magnified a million times. - -The weather was warm and sunny after misty dawns and the whole -country was white with floating cobwebs. The last touches were being -put to the gun position and a narrow deep trench ran behind the guns -which were a quarter of a mile beyond the hilltop, down beyond the -railway line under camouflage in the open. Word came round that “The -Attack,” was for this day, then that, then the other, and the heavy -guns behind us made the night tremble with their counter-preparation -work, until at last one said, “Please God, they’ll get on with it, -and let’s get it over!” The constant cry of “Wolf! Wolf!” was trying. - -Everybody knew about it and all arrangements were made, extra -ammunition, and extra gunners at the positions, details notified as -to manning O.P.’s, the probable time at which we should have to open -fire being given as ten o’clock at night at extreme range. - -My Captain, a bloodthirsty Canadian, had gone on leave to the south -of France, which meant leaving a subaltern in the wagon line while I -had three with me. - -The days became an endless tension, the nights a jumpy stretch of -darkness, listening for the unknown. Matters were not helped by my -brother’s rolling up one day and giving out the date definitely as -the twenty-first. It was on the ninth that he arrived and took me for -a joy-ride to Barisis to have a look at the Hun in the Forêt de St. -Gobain, so deeply wooded that the car could run to within a hundred -yards of the front-line trench. We dined at the charming old town of -Noyon on the way back and bought English books in a shop there, and -stayed the night in a little inn just off the market square. The next -morning he dropped me at the battery and I watched him roll away in -the car, feeling an accentuated loneliness, a yearning to go with him -and get out of the damned firing line, to escape the responsibility -that rode one like an Old Man from the Sea. - -In war there is only one escape. - -The nights of the eighteenth and nineteenth were a continuous roll of -heavy guns, lasting till just before the dawn, the days comparatively -quiet. Raids had taken place all along the front on both sides and -identifications made which admitted of no argument. - -On the night of the twentieth we turned in as usual about midnight -with the blackness punctuated by flashes and the deep-voiced rumble -of big guns a sort of comfort in the background. If Brother Fritz -was massing anywhere for the attack at least he was having an -unpleasant time. We were unable to join in because we were in battle -positions seven thousand yards behind the front line. The other -eighteen-pounders in front of us were busy, however, and if the show -didn’t come off we were going up to relieve them in a week’s time. So -we played our goodnight tune on the gramophone, the junior subaltern -waiting in his pyjamas while the last notes were sung. Then he -flicked out the light and hopped into bed, and presently the hut was -filled by his ungentle snores. Then one rang through a final message -to the signaller on duty at the guns and closed one’s eyes. - - -22 - -The twenty-first of March, 1918, has passed into history now, a page -of disaster, blood and prisoners, a turning point in the biggest war -in history, a day which broke more hearts than any other day in the -whole four and a half years; and yet to some of us it brought an -infinite relief. The tension was released. The fight was on to the -death. - -We were jerked awake in the darkness by a noise which beat upon the -brain, made the hill tremble and shiver, which seemed to fill the -world and all time with its awful threat. - -I looked at my watch,--4 a.m. - -The subaltern who lay on the bed beside mine said, “She’s off!” and -lit a candle with a laugh. He was dead within six hours. We put coats -over our pyjamas and went out of the hut. Through the fog there -seemed to be a sort of glow along the whole front right and left, -like one continuous gun flash. The Scots Captain came round with his -subalterns and joined us, and two “Archie” gunners who shared a tent -under the trees and messed with us. We stood in a group, talking -loudly to make ourselves heard. There was nothing to be done but to -stand by. According to plan we should not come into action until -about 10 p.m. that night to cover the retreat, if necessary, of the -gunners and infantry in the line. Our range to start with would be -six thousand yards. - -So we dressed and talked to Brigade, who had no information. At six -o’clock Brigade issued an order, “Man O.P.’s at once.” The fog still -hung like a blanket, and no news had come through from the front -line. The barrage was reported thick in front of and in Essigny with -gas. - -The signallers were ready, three of them. The subaltern detailed had -only to fill his pockets with food. - -The subaltern detailed! It sounds easy, doesn’t it? But it isn’t -any fun detailing a man to go out into a gas barrage in any sort -of a show, and this was bigger than the wildest imagination could -conceive. I wondered, while giving him instructions, whether I -should ever see him again. I never did. He was taken prisoner, and -the signallers too. - -They went out into the fog while the servants lit the fire and -bustled about, getting us an early breakfast. The Anti-Aircraft -discussed the advisability of withdrawing immediately or waiting to -see what the barrage would do. They waited till about 9 a.m. and then -got out. The Scots Captain and I wished them luck and looked at each -other silently and refilled pipes. - -There was a hint of sun behind the fog now, but visibility only -carried about two hundred yards. The Guns reported that the barrage -was coming towards them. The Orderly Officer had been down and -found all things in readiness for any emergency. None of the O.P.’s -answered. Somewhere in that mist they were dodging the barrage while -we sat and waited, an eye on the weather, an eye on the time, an ear -always for the buzz of the telephone; box respirators in the alert -position, the guns laid on the S.O.S. loaded with H.E. - -Does one think in times like that? I don’t know. Only little details -stand out in the brain like odd features revealed in a flash of -lightning during a storm. I remember putting a drawing-pin into the -corner of a Kirchner picture and seeing the headlines of the next -day’s paper at home; I saw the faces of my people as they read them. -I saw them just coming down to breakfast at the precise moment that -I was sticking in the drawing-pin, the door open on to the lawn--in -America, still asleep, as they were six hours behind, or possibly -only just turning in after a dance--in Etaples, where perhaps the -noise had already reached one of them. When would they hear from me -again? They would be worrying horribly. - -The ’phone buzzed. “Brigade, sir!” - -“Right. Yes?--S.O.S. 3000! _Three_ thousand?--Right! Battery! Drop to -_three_ thousand, S.O.S.--Three rounds per gun per minute till I come -down.” - -It was 10 a.m. and that was the range, when according to plan it -shouldn’t have come till 10 p.m. at double the range. - -The subalterns were already out, running down to the guns as I -snatched the map and followed after, to hear the battery open fire as -I left the hut. - -The greater significance of this S.O.S. came to me before I’d left -the hut. At that range our shells would fall just the other side of -Essigny, still a vague blur in the mist. What had happened to the -infantry three thousand yards beyond? What had become of the gunners? -There were no signs of our people coming back. The country, as far -as one could see in the fog, was empty save for the bursting shells -which were spread about between Essigny and the railway, with the -battery in the barrage. The noise was still so universal that it was -impossible to know if any of our guns farther forward were still in -action. They couldn’t be if we were firing. It meant--God knew what -it meant! - -The subalterns went on to the guns while I stopped in the control dug -into the side of the railway and shed my coat, sweating after the -quarter-mile run. Five-nines and pip-squeaks were bursting on the -railway and it seemed as if they had the battery taped. - -To get off my coat was a matter of less than half a minute. It had -only just dropped to the ground when the signaller held me the -instrument. “Will you speak here, sir?” - -I took it. - -“Is that the Major?” - -“Yes.” - -“Will you come, sir? Mr. B.’s badly wounded. Sergeant ---- has lost -an eye and there’s no one here to----” - -“Go on firing. I’m coming over.” Badly wounded? - -I leaped up out of the dugout and ran. There was no shell with -my name on it that morning. The ground went up a yard away from -me half a dozen times but I reached the guns and dived under the -camouflage into the trench almost on top of poor old B. who was lying -motionless, one arm almost smashed off, blood everywhere. It was he -who had said “She’s off!” and lit the candle with a laugh. A man was -endeavouring to tie him up. Behind him knelt a sergeant with his face -in his hands. As I jumped down into the trench he raised it. “I’m -blind, sir,” he said. His right eye was shot away. - -The others were all right. I went from gun to gun and found them -firing steadily. - -Somehow or other we tied up the subaltern and carried him along the -narrow trench. Mercifully he was unconscious. We got him out at last -on to a stretcher. Four men went away with it, the sergeant stumbling -after. The subaltern was dead before they reached a dressing station. -He left a wife and child. - -There were only the junior subaltern and myself left to fight the -battery. He was twenty last birthday and young at that. If I stopped -anything there was only that boy between King and country and the -Hun. Is _any_ reward big enough for these babes of ours? - -Perhaps God will give it. King and country won’t. - - * * * * * - -Vague forms of moving groups of men could be seen through my glasses -in the neighbourhood of Essigny impossible to say whether British or -German. The sun was struggling to pierce the mist. The distance was -about a thousand yards. We were still firing on the S.O.S. range, as -ordered. - -I became aware of a strange subaltern grinning up at me out of the -trench. - -“Where the devil do you spring from?” said I. - -He climbed out and joined me on the top, hatless, minus box -respirator, cheery. Another babe. - -“I’m from the six-inch section straight in front, sir,” he said. -“They’ve captured my guns. Do you think you could take ’em on?” - -They _were_ Germans, then, those moving forms! - -I swept the glasses round once more anxiously. There were six, seven, -ten, creeping up the railway embankment on the left flank _behind_ -the battery. Where the hell were our infantry reinforcements? My Babe -sent the news back to Brigade while I got a gun on top and fired at -the six-inch battery in front over open sights at a thousand yards -with fuse 4. The Hun was there all right. He ran at the third round. -Then we switched and took on individual groups as they appeared. - -The party on the railway worried me. It was improper to have the -enemy behind one’s battery. So I got on the ’phone to the Scots -Captain and explained the position. It looked as if the Hun had -established himself with machine guns in the signal box. The skipper -took it on over open sights with H.E. At the fourth round there was -only a settling mass of red brick dust. I felt easier in my mind -and continued sniping groups of two or three with an added zest and -most satisfactory results. The Hun didn’t seem to want to advance -beyond Essigny. He hung about the outskirts and, when he showed, ran, -crouching low. From his appearance it looked as if he had come to -stay. Each of them had a complete pack strapped on to his back with -a new pair of boots attached. The rest of the battery dropped their -range and searched and swept from the pits. The Skipper joined in the -sniping. - -A half platoon of infantry came marching at a snail’s pace along the -railway behind me,--on the top of course, in full view! I wanted -to make sure of those Huns on the embankment, so I whistled to the -infantry officer and began semaphoring, a method of signalling at -which I rather fancied myself. - -It seemed to frighten that infantry lad. At the first waggle he -stopped his men and turned them about. In twenty leaps I covered the -hundred yards or so between us, screaming curses, and brought him to -a halt. He wore glasses and looked like a sucking curate. He may have -been in private life but I gave tongue at high pressure, regardless -of his feelings, and it was a very red-faced platoon that presently -doubled along the other side of the railway under cover towards -the embankment, thirsting for blood, mine for choice, Fritz’s from -_embarras de richesse_. - -I returned to my sniping, feeling distinctly better, as the little -groups were no longer advancing but going back,--and there was that -ferocious platoon chivvying them in the rear! - -Things might have been much worse. - -A megaphone’s all right, but scream down it for three hours and -see what happens to your voice. Mine sounded much like a key in -a rusty lock. Hunger too was no longer to be denied about three -o’clock in the afternoon after breakfast at cock-crow. The six-inch -subaltern had tried unsuccessfully to get back to his guns. The Hun, -however, had established a machine-gun well the other side of them -and approach single-handed was useless. Lord knew where his gunners -were! Prisoners, probably. So he returned and asked if I had any use -for him. Stout lads of his kidney are not met with every day. So I -sent him up the hill to get food and a box respirator. He returned, -grinning more cheerily than before, so I left him and the Babe to -fight the good fight and went to get a fresh point of view from the -tree O.P. up the hill. They seemed to be doing useful work between -them by the time I got up the tree, so I left them to it and went to -the mess to get some food. - -It seemed curiously empty. Kits, half-packed, lay about the floor. -The breakfast plates, dirty, were still on the table. I called each -servant by name. No answer. - -The other battery’s servants were round the corner. I interviewed -them. They had seen nothing of my people for hours. They thought -that they had gone down to the wagon line. In other words it meant -that while we were stopping the Hun, with poor old B. killed and the -sergeant with an eye blown out, those dirty servants had run away! - -It came over me with something of a shock that if I put them under -arrest the inevitable sentence was death. - -I had already sent one officer and three men to their death, or -worse, at the O.P. and seen another killed at the guns. Now these -four! Who would be a Battery Commander? - -However, food was the immediate requirement. The other battery helped -and I fed largely, eased my raw throat with pints of water and drank -a tot of rum for luck. Those precious servants had left my even more -precious cigars unpacked. If the Hun was coming I’d see him elsewhere -before he got those smokes. So I lit one and filled my pockets with -the rest, and laden with food and a flask of rum went back to the -guns and fed my subaltern. The men’s rations had been carried over -from the cook house. - -A few more infantry went forward on the right and started a bit of a -counter-attack but there was no weight behind it. They did retake -Essigny or some parts of it, but as the light began to fail they -came back again, and the Hun infantry hung about the village without -advancing. - -With the darkness we received the order to retire to Flavy as soon as -the teams came up. The barrage had long since dropped to desultory -fire on the Hun side, and as we were running short of ammunition, we -only fired as targets offered. On returning up the hill I found it -strongly held by our infantry, some of whom incidentally stole my -trench coat. - -The question of teams became an acute worry as time went on. The Hun -wasn’t too remote and one never knew what he might be up to in the -dark, and our infantry were no use because the line they held was a -quarter of a mile behind the nearest battery. The skipper and I sent -off men on bicycles to hurry the teams, while the gunners got the -guns out of the pits in the darkness ready to hook in and move off at -a moment’s notice. - -Meanwhile we ate again and smoked and summoned what patience we -could, endeavouring to snatch a sleep. It wasn’t till ten o’clock -that at last we heard wheels,--the gun limbers, cooks’ cart and a -G.S. wagon came up with the wagon line officer who had brought the -servants back with him. There was no time to deal with them. The -officer went down to hook in to the guns and I saw to the secret -papers, money, maps and office documents which are the curse of all -batteries. The whole business of packing up had to be done in pitch -darkness, in all the confusion of the other battery’s vehicles and -personnel, to say nothing of the infantry. We didn’t bother about the -Hun. Silence reigned. - -It was not till midnight that the last of the guns was up and the -last of the vehicles packed, and then I heard the voice of the Babe -calling for me. He crashed up on a white horse in the darkness and -said with a sob, “Dickie’s wounded!” - -“Dickie” was the wagon line subaltern, a second lieutenant who had -got the D.S.O. in the Cambrai show, one of the stoutest lads God ever -made. In my mind I had been relying on him enormously for the morrow. - -“Is he bad? Where is he?” - -“Just behind, sir,” said the Babe. “I don’t know how bad it is.” - -Dickie came up on a horse. There was blood down the horse’s shoulder -and he went lame slightly. - -“Where is it, Dickie, Old Thing?” - -His voice came from between his teeth. “A shrapnel bullet through the -foot,” he said. “I’m damn sorry Major.” - -“Let’s have a look.” I flashed a torch on it. The spur was bent into -his foot just behind the ankle, broken, the point sticking in. - -There was no doctor, no stretcher, no means of getting the spur out. - -“Can you stick it? The wagon is piled mountains high. I can’t shove -you on that. Do you think you can hang on till we get down to Flavy?” - -“I think so,” he said. - -He had a drink of rum and lit a cigarette and the battery got -mounted. I kept him in front with me and we moved off in the dark, -the poor little horse, wounded also, stumbling now and again. What -that boy must have suffered I don’t know. It was nearly three hours -later before the battery got near its destination and all that time -he remained in the saddle, lighting one cigarette from another and -telling me he was “damn sorry.” I expected him to faint every moment -and stood by to grab him as he fell. - -At last we came to a crossroads at which the battery had to turn off -to reach the rendezvous. There was a large casualty clearing station -about half a mile on. - -So I left the battery in charge of the Babe and took Dickie straight -on, praying for a sight of lights. - -The place was in utter darkness when we reached it, the hut doors -yawning open, everything empty. They had cleared out! - -Then round a corner I heard a motor lorry starting up. They told me -they were going to Ham. There was a hospital there. - -So Dickie slid off his horse and was lifted into the lorry. - -As my trench coat had been stolen by one of the infantry he insisted -that I should take his British warm, as within an hour he would be -between blankets in a hospital. - -I accepted his offer gladly,--little knowing that I was not to take -it off again for another nine days or so! - -Dickie went off and I mounted my horse again, cursing the war and -everything to do with it, and led his horse, dead lame now, in search -of the battery. It took me an hour to find them, parked in a field, -the gunners rolled up in blankets under the wagons. - -The 21st of March was over. The battery had lost three subalterns, a -sergeant, three signallers and a gunner. - -France lost her temper with England. - -Germany, if she only knew it, had lost the war. - - -23 - -The new line of defence was to be the canal at Flavy. - -After two hours’ sleep in boots, spurs and Dickie’s coat, a servant -called me with tea and bacon. Washing or shaving was out of the -question. The horses were waiting--poor brutes, how they were worked -those days--and the Quartermaster-sergeant and I got mounted and rode -away into the unknown dark, flickering a torch from time to time on -to the map and finding our way by it. - -With the Captain on leave, one subaltern dead, another left behind in -Germany, a third wounded, one good sergeant and my corporal signaller -away on a course, it didn’t look like a very hopeful start for -fighting an indefinite rearguard action. - -I was left with the Babe, keen but not very knowledgeable, and one -other subaltern who became a stand-by. They two were coming with me -and the guns; the sergeant-major would be left with the wagon line. -Furthermore I had absolutely no voice and couldn’t speak above a -whisper. - -Of what had happened on the flanks of our army and along the whole -front, there was absolutely no news. The Divisional infantry and -gunners were mostly killed or captured in the mist. We never saw -anything of them again but heard amazing tales of German officers -walking into the backs of batteries in the fog and saying, “Will you -cease fire, please? You are my prisoners,” as polite as you please. - -What infantry were holding the canal, I don’t know,--presumably -those who had held our hilltop overnight. All we knew was that our -immediate job was to meet the Colonel in Flavy and get a position in -the Riez de Cugny just behind and pump shells into the Germans as -they advanced on the canal. The Babe and the Stand-by were to bring -the battery to a given rendezvous. Meanwhile the Colonel and all of -us foregathered in a wrecked cottage in Flavy and studied maps while -the Colonel swallowed a hasty cup of tea. He was ill and a few hours -later was sent back in an ambulance. - -By eight o’clock we had found positions and the guns were coming in. -Camouflage was elementary. Gun platforms were made from the nearest -cottage wall or barn doors. Ammunition was dumped beside the gun -wheels. - -While that was being done I climbed trees for an O.P., finding one -eventually in a farm on a hill, but the mist hid everything. The Huns -seemed to get their guns up as if by magic and already shells were -smashing what remained of Flavy. It was impossible to shoot the guns -in properly. The bursts couldn’t be seen so the line was checked and -rechecked with compass and director, and we opened fire on targets -ordered by Brigade, shooting off the map. - -Riez de Cugny was a collection of cottages with a street running -through and woods and fields all around and behind. The inhabitants -had fled in what they stood up in. We found a chicken clucking -hungrily in a coop and had it for dinner that night. We installed -ourselves in a cottage and made new fighting maps, the Scots Captain -and I--his battery was shooting not a hundred yards from mine--and -had the stove lit with anything burnable that came handy, old chairs, -meat rolling boards, boxes, drawers and shelves. - -It seemed that the attack on the canal was more or less half-hearted. -The bridges had been blown up by our sappers and the machine gunners -made it too hot for the Hun. Meanwhile we had the gun limbers hidden -near the guns, the teams harnessed. The wagon line itself was a -couple of miles away, endeavouring to collect rations, forage and -ammunition. The sergeant-major was a wonder. During the whole show he -functioned alone and never at any time did he fail to come up to the -scratch. - -Even when I lost the wagon line for two days I knew that he was all -right and would bring them through safely. Meanwhile aeroplanes -soared over and drew smoke trails above the battery and after a -significant pause five-nines began searching the fields for us. Our -own planes didn’t seem to exist and the Hun explored at will. On -the whole things seemed pretty quiet. Communication was maintained -all the time with Brigade; we were quietly getting rid of a lot of -ammunition on targets indicated by the infantry and the five-nines -weren’t near enough to worry about. So the Scot and I went off in -the afternoon and reconnoitred a way back by a cross-country trail -to the wagon line,--a curious walk that, across sunny fields where -birds darted in and out of hedges in utter disregard of nations which -were stamping each other into the earth only a few hedges away. Tiny -buds were on the trees, tingling in the warmth of the early sun. -All nature was beginning the new year of life while we fools in our -blind rage and folly dealt open-handedly with death, heeding not the -promise of spring in our veins, with its colour and tenderness and -infinite hope. - -Just a brief pause it was, like a fleecy cloud disappearing from -view, and then we were in the wagon lines, soldiers again, in a -tight position, with detail trickling from our lips, and orders -and arrangements. Dickie was well on his way to England now, lucky -Dickie! And yet there was a fascination about it, an exhilaration -that made one “fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds’ worth -of distance run.” It was the real thing this, red war in a moving -battle, and it took all one’s brain to compete with it. I wouldn’t -have changed places with Dickie. A “Blighty” wound was the last thing -that seemed desirable. Let us see the show through to the bitter end. - -We got back to the guns and the cottage and in front of us Flavy -was a perfect hell. Fires in all directions and shells spreading -all round and over the area. Our wagons returned, having snatched -ammunition from blazing dumps, like a new version of snapdragon, and -with the falling darkness the sky flared up and down fitfully. That -night we dished out rum all round to the gunners and turned half of -them in to sleep beside the guns while the other half fought. Have -you ever considered sleeping beside a firing eighteen-pounder? It’s -easy--when you’ve fought it and carried shells for forty-eight hours. - -We had dinner off that neglected fowl, both batteries in the cottage, -and made absurd remarks about the photos left on the mantelpiece and -fell asleep, laughing, on our chairs or two of us on a bed, booted -and spurred still, taking turns to wake and dash out and fire a -target, called by the liaison officer down there with the infantry, -while the others never moved when the salvos rocked the cottage to -its foundations, or five-nines dropped in the garden and splashed it -into the street. - -The Hun hadn’t crossed the canal. That was what mattered. The -breakfast was very nearly cooked next morning about seven and we were -shooting gun fire and salvos when the order came over the ’phone -to retire immediately and rendezvous on the Villeselve-Beaumont -crossroads. Fritz was over the canal in the fog. The Babe dashed -round to warn the teams to hook in. They had been in cottages about -two hundred yards from the guns, the horses harnessed but on a line, -the drivers sleeping with them. The Stand-by doubled over to the -guns and speeded up the rate of fire. No good leaving ammunition -behind. The signallers disconnected telephones and packed them on gun -limbers. Both gunners and drivers had breakfasted. We ate ours half -cooked in our fingers while they were packing up. - -The mist was like a wet blanket. At twenty yards objects lost their -shape and within about twenty minutes of receiving the order the -battery was ready. We had the other battery licked by five good -minutes and pulled out of the field on to the road at a good walk. -In the fog the whole country looked different. Direction was -impossible. One prayed that one wasn’t marching towards Germany--and -went on. At last I recognised the cross-country track with a sigh -of relief. It was stiff going for the horses, but they did it and -cut off a mile of road echoing with shouts and traffic in confusion, -coming out eventually on an empty main road. We thought we were well -ahead but all the wagon lines were well in front of us. We caught up -their tail-ends just as we reached Beaumont, which was blocked with -every kind of infantry, artillery and R.A.M.C. transport, mules, -horses and motors. However there was a Headquarters in Beaumont with -Generals buzzing about and signallers, so I told the Stand-by to take -the battery along with the traffic to the crossroads and wait for me. - -Our own General was in that room. I cleaved a passage to him and -asked for orders. He told me that it was reported that the Hun was -in Ham--right round our left flank. I was, therefore, to get into -position at the crossroads and “Cover Ham.” - -“Am I to open fire, sir?” - -“No. Not till you see the enemy.” - -I’d had enough of “seeing the enemy” on the first day. It seemed to -me that if the Hun was in Ham the whole of our little world was bound -to be captured. There wasn’t any time to throw away, so I leaped on -to my horse and cantered after the battery followed by the groom. -At the crossroads the block was double and treble while an officer -yelled disentangling orders and pushed horses in the nose. - -The map showed Ham to be due north of the crossroads. There proved to -be an open field, turfed just off the road with a dozen young trees -planted at intervals. What lay between them and Ham it was impossible -to guess. The map looked all right. So I claimed the traffic -officer’s attention, explained that a battery of guns was coming into -action just the other side and somehow squeezed through, while the -other vehicles waited. We dropped into action under the trees. The -teams scattered about a hundred yards to a flank and we laid the line -due north. - -At that moment a Staff subaltern came up at the canter. “The General -says that the Hun is pretty near, sir. Will you send out an officer’s -patrol?” - -He disappeared again, while I collected the Stand-by, a man of -considerable stomach. - -The orders were simply, “Get hold of servants, cooks, spare -signallers and clerks. Arm them with rifles and go off straight into -the fog. Spread out and if you meet a Hun fire a salvo and double -back immediately to a flank.” - -While that was being done the Babe went round and had a dozen shells -set at fuse 4 at each gun. It gives a lovely burst at a thousand -yards. The Stand-by and his little army went silently forth. The -corner house seemed to indicate an O.P. I took a signaller with me -and we climbed upstairs into the roof, knocked a hole in the tiles -and installed a telephone which eventually connected with Brigade. - -I began to get the fidgets about the Stand-by. This cursed fog was -too much of a good thing. It looked as if the God the Huns talked so -much about was distinctly on their side. However, after an agonising -wait, with an ear strained for the salvo of rifle fire, the fog -rolled up. Like dots in the distant fields I saw the Stand-by with -two rows of infantry farther on. The Stand-by saw them too and turned -about. More than that, through glasses I could see troops and horse -transports advancing quickly over the skyline in every direction. -Columns of them, Germans, far out of range of an eighteen-pounder. -As near as I could I located them on the map and worried Brigade for -the next hour with pin-points. - -Ham lay straight in front of my guns. The Germans were still shelling -it and several waves of our own infantry were lying in position in -series waiting for their infantry to emerge round the town. It was -good to see our men out there, although the line looked dangerously -bulgy. - -After a bit I climbed down from the roof. The road had cleared of -traffic and there was a subaltern of the Scot’s battery at the corner -with the neck of a bottle of champagne sticking out of his pocket. A -thoughtful fellow. - -So was I! A little later one of the Brigade Headquarters officers -came staggering along on a horse, done to the world, staying in the -saddle more by the grace of God than his own efforts. Poor old thing, -he was all in, mentally and physically. We talked for a while but -that didn’t improve matters and then I remembered that bottle of -fizz. In the name of humanity and necessity I commandeered it from -the reluctant subaltern and handed it up to the man in the saddle. -Most of it went down his unshaven chin and inside his collar, but it -did the trick all right. - -What was left was mine by right of conquest, and I lapped it down, a -good half bottle of it. There were dry biscuits forthcoming too, just -as if one were in town, and I was able to cap it with a fat cigar. -Happy days! - -Then the Scot arrived upon his stout little mare followed by his -battery, which came into position on the same crossroads a hundred -yards away, shooting at right angles to me, due east, back into Cugny -from where we had come. Infantry were going up, rumours of cavalry -were about and the bloodstained Tommies who came back were not very -numerous. There seemed to be a number of batteries tucked away -behind all the hedges and things looked much more hopeful. Apart from -giving pin-points of the far distant enemy there was nothing to be -done except talk to all and sundry and try and get news. Some French -machine-gunner officers appeared who told us that the entire French -army was moving by forced marches to assist in stopping the advance -and were due to arrive about six o’clock that night. They were late. - -Then too, we found that the cellar of the O.P. house was stored with -apples. There weren’t many left by the time the two batteries had -helped themselves. As many horses as the farmyard would hold were -cleared off the position and put under cover. The remainder and the -guns were forced to remain slap in the open. It was bad luck because -the Hun sent out about a dozen low-flying machines that morning and -instead of going over Ham, which would have been far more interesting -for them, they spotted us and opened with machine guns. - -The feeling of helplessness with a dozen great roaring machines -spitting at you just overhead is perfectly exasperating. You can’t -cock an eighteen-pounder up like an Archie and have a bang at them, -and usually, as happened then, your own machine gun jams. It was a -comic twenty minutes but trying for the nerves. The gunners dived -under the gun shields and fired rifles through the wheels. The -drivers stood very close to the horses and hoped for the best. The -signallers struggled with the machine gun, uttering a stream of -blasphemies. And all the time the Hun circled and emptied drum after -drum from a height of about a hundred feet. I joined in the barrage -with my revolver. - -Two horses went down with a crash and a scream. A man toppled over in -the road. Bullets spat on the ground like little puffs of smoke. Two -went through my map, spread out at my feet, and at last away they -roared,--presumably under the impression that they had put us out of -action. The horses were dead! - -The man was my servant, who had run away on the first morning. Three -through his left leg. Better than being shot at dawn, anyhow. - -Curiously enough, the mess cook had already become a casualty. He was -another of the faint-hearted and had fallen under a wagon in the fog -and been run over. A rib or two went. Poetic justice was rampant that -morning. It left me two to deal with. I decided to let it go for the -time and see if fate would relieve me of the job. As a matter of fact -it didn’t, and many many lifetimes later, when we were out of action, -I had the two of them up in a room with a ceiling and a cloth on the -table, and the Babe stood at my elbow as a witness. - -One was a man of about thirty-eight or forty, a long-nosed, lazy, -unintelligent blighter. The other was a short, scrubby, Dago-looking, -bullet-headed person,--poor devils, both cannon fodder. My face may -have looked like a bit of rock but I was immensely sorry for them. -Given a moment of awful panic, what kind of intelligence could they -summon to fight it, what sort of breeding and heredity was at the -back of them? None. You might as well shoot two horses for stampeding -at a bursting shell. They were gripped by blind fear and ran for it. -They didn’t want to. It was not a reasoned thing. It was a momentary -lack of control. - -But to shoot them for it was absurd, a ridiculous parody of justice. -Supposing I had lost my nerve and cleared out? The chances are that -being a senior officer I should have been sent down to the base as -R.T.O. or M.L.O. and after a few months received the D.S.O. It has -been done. They, as Tommies, had only earned the right to a firing -party. - -It seemed to me, therefore, that my job was to prevent any -recurrence, so in order to uproot the fear of death I implanted the -fear of God in them both. Sweat and tears ran down their faces at the -end of the interview,--and I made the Dago my servant forthwith. - -He has redeemed himself many times under worse shell fire than that -barrage of the 21st of March. - - -24 - -Headquarters gave me another subaltern during the day. He had been -with the battery in the early days at Armentières but for various -reasons had drifted to another unit. - -He joined us just before the order was received to take up another -position farther back and lay out a line on the Riez de Cugny. The -enemy was apparently coming on. So we hooked in once more about 4.30 -in the afternoon and trekked up the road on to a ridge behind which -was the village of Villeselve. The Hun seemed to have taken a dislike -to it. Five-nines went winging over our heads as we came into action -and bumped into the village about two hundred yards behind. The Babe -rode back to Brigade to report and ask for orders. There were no -means of knowing where our infantry were except through Brigade who -were at infantry headquarters, and obviously one couldn’t shoot blind. - -Meanwhile the Dago servant collected bread and bully and a Tommy’s -water bottle, which stank of rum but contained only water, and the -Stand-by, the new lad and myself sat under a tree watching the Hun -barrage splash in all directions and made a meal. - -The Babe didn’t return as soon as he ought to have done. With all -that shooting going on I was a little uneasy. So the new lad was told -to go to Brigade and collect both the orders and the Babe. - -It was getting dark when the Scot brought up his battery and wheeled -them to drop into action beside us. As he was doing so the Babe and -the new lad returned together. Their news was uncomforting. Brigade -Headquarters had retired into the blue, and the other two batteries -which had been on the road had also gone. There was no one there at -all. - -So the Scotsman and I held a council of war, while the Stand-by -went off on a horse to reconnoitre a passable way round the shelled -village. The light had gone and the sky behind us was a red glare. -The village was ablaze and at the back of it on the next ridge some -aeroplane hangars were like a beacon to guide storm-tossed mariners. -The crackling could be heard for miles. - -There was no one to give us the line or a target, no means of finding -where the headquarters were or any likelihood of their finding us as -we hadn’t been able to report our position. We were useless. - -At the back of my brain was the word Guivry. I had heard the Adjutant -mention it as a rendezvous. On the map it seemed miles away, but -there was always the chance of meeting some one on the way who would -know. So while the other people snatched a mouthful of ration biscuit -we brought the teams up and hooked in. - -The Scotsman led as his battery was nearest the track that the -Stand-by reported passable. The only light was from the burning -hangars and we ran into mud that was axle deep. Incidentally we ran -into the barrage. A subaltern of the other battery was blown off -his feet and deposited in a sitting position in a mud hole. He was -fished out, spluttering oaths, and both batteries went off at a trot -that would have made an inspecting General scream unintelligible -things in Hindustani. Mercifully they don’t inspect when one is -trying to hurry out of a barrage, so we let it rip up the slope -until we had got past the hangars in whose glow we showed up most -uncomfortably on the top of the ridge. As soon as we had got into -darkness again we halted and took stock of ourselves. No one was hurt -or missing, but all the dismounted men were puffing and using their -sleeves to wipe the sweat off their faces. I was one. - -It was from this point that the second phase of the retreat began. -It was like nothing so much as being in that half dead condition on -the operating table when the fumes of ether fill one’s brain with -phantasies and flapping birds and wild flights of imagination just -before one loses consciousness, knowing at the time that one hasn’t -quite “gone.” Overfatigue, strain, lack of food and above all was a -craving to stop everything, lie down, and sleep and sleep and sleep. -One’s eyes were glued open and burnt in the back of one’s head, the -skin of one’s face and hands tightened and stretched, one’s feet were -long since past shape and feeling; wherever the clothes touched one’s -body they irritated--not that one could realize each individual ache -then. The effect was one ceaseless dolour from which the brain flung -out and away into the no man’s land of semi-consciousness, full of -thunder and vast fires, only to swing back at intervals to find the -body marching, marching, endlessly, staggering almost drunkenly, -along the interminable roads of France in the rain and cold. Hour -after hour one rode side by side with the Scot, silent, swaying in -the saddle, staring hollow-eyed into the dark ahead, or sliding with -a stiff crash to the ground and blundering blindly from rut to rut, -every muscle bruised and torn. Unconsciously every hour one gave a -ten-minute halt. The horses stood drooping, the men lay down on the -side of the road, motionless bundles like the dead, or sprawled over -the vehicles, limp and exhausted, not smoking, not talking, content -to remain inert until the next word of command should set them in -motion again; wonderful in their recognition of authority, their -instant unquestioning obedience, their power of summoning back all -their faculties for just one more effort, and then another after that. - -The country was unknown. Torches had given out their last flicker. -Road junctions were unmarked. We struck matches and wrestled with -maps that refused to fold in the right place, and every time Guivry -seemed a million miles away. The noise of shelling dropped gradually -behind until it became a mere soothing lullaby like the breaking -of waves upon a pebble beach while we rolled with crunching wheels -down the long incline into Buchoire, a village of the dead, without -lights, doors creaking open at the touch of the wind. - -We halted there to water the horses and give them what forage could -be scraped together. The Scot and I rode on alone to Guivry, another -seven kilometres. As we neared it so the sound of guns increased -again as though a military band had died away round one corner and -came presently marching back round another, playing the same air, -getting louder as it came. - -In a small room lit by oil lamps, Generals and Staffs were bending -over huge maps scored heavily with red and blue pencils. Telephones -buzzed and half conversations with tiny voices coming from back there -kept all the others silent. Orderlies came in motor overalls with all -the dust of France over them. - -They gave us food,--whisky, bully and bread, apples with which we -filled our pockets. Of our Corps they knew nothing, but after much -telephoning they “thought” we should find them at Château Beines. - -The Scot and I looked at one another. Château Beines was ten minutes -from the burning hangars. We had passed it on our way down empty, -silent, hours ago, in another life. Would the horses get us back up -that interminable climb? Who should we find when we got there--our -people or Germans? We rode back to Buchoire and distributed apples to -the Babe, the Stand-by and the others and broke it to them that we -had to go back on the chance of finding our brigade. The horses had -been watered but not fed. - -We turned about and caught up French transport which had blocked the -road in both directions. We straightened them out, a wagon at a time, -after endless wagging of hands and tongues and finally got to Château -Beines to find a French Headquarters installed there who knew nothing -about our brigade. There were English artillery in the farm a mile -farther. - -We went there. The farm was a ruin wreathed in fog, but from beneath -the now smoking hangars a battery of ours was spitting shells into -the night. Headquarters was somewhere in the farm cellar. We followed -up a chink of light to its source and found a row of officers lying -on wooden beds of rabbit netting, a signaller squatting on a reel -of wire in the corner over a guttering candle, the concrete roof -dripping moisture upon them. It was 3 a.m. - -Orders were to come into action at once and open fire on a certain -main-road junction. - -The Scot and I went out and scoured ploughed fields waist-deep in -drifting mist, looking for a position, found a belt of turf on the -edge of a road and fetched the guns up. Locating the position on the -map, working out the angle of the line of fire and the range with -protractors took us back to the cellar where those lucky devils -who were not commanding batteries were lying stertorous. Horses and -men sweated their heart’s blood in getting the guns into position -on the spongy ground and within an hour the first ear-splitting -cracks joined in the chorus of screaming resistance put up by the -other two batteries, with gunners who lost their balance at the -weight of a shell and fell upon their faces, picking themselves up -without even an oath and loading up again in a stupor by a process of -sub-conscious reflex energy. - -What are the limits of human endurance? Are there any? We had three -more days and nights of it and still those men went on. - - -25 - -Sometime or other the Babe, the Stand-by and the other lad got some -tea down in the cellar and fell asleep over their cups. Sometime or -other I too got some tea, closed my eyes and fell off the box on -which I was sitting. Sometime or other we got the order to cease -fire and seek covered positions for the day’s work. Time, as one -ordinarily recognizes it, had ceased. There was no night, marked by -rest, nor day divided off into duties and meals. Time was all one, -a blurry mixture of dark and cold; light, which hurt one’s eyes, -and sweat. Sleep and rest were not. What was happening we did not -know. It might have been the end of the world and we shouldn’t have -known till we were in the next. There were just guns to be fired at -given points for ever and ever, always and always, world with or -without end, amen. Guns, guns and nothing but guns, in front, behind, -right and left, narrowing down to those of mine which grew hot and -were sponged out and went on again and still on, unhurriedly, -remorselessly into the German advance, and would go on long and long -after I was dead. - -One’s mind refused to focus anything but angles and ranges and -ammunition supply. There was nothing of importance in the world but -those three things, whether we moved on or stayed where we were, -whether we walked or whether we rode, whether we ate or whether we -starved. In a sort of detached fog one asked questions and gave -orders about food and forage and in the same fog food eventually -appeared while one stared at the map and whispered another range -which the Stand-by shouted down the line of guns. - -With spades we cut a gap in a hedge which shut off an orchard from -the road. The ditch was filled with stones and bricks from the farm. -The horses took the guns in one by one, and other gaps were cut in -the front hedge for the gun muzzles. Platforms were dug and trail -beds, and ammunition began to pile up beside each gun as the sun came -out and thinned the fog. - -A telephone line ran away across the fields and a new voice came -through the receiver, tickling one’s ear,--that of an uncaptured -Colonel of a captured brigade who honoured us by taking command of -our brigade. With a shaven face and washed hands he had looked upon -our bearded chins and foul appearance and talked of the condition of -our horses. - -In front of the guns a long line of French machine gunners had dug -themselves in and we were on the top of a high ridge. Below us the -ground sloped immediately away to a beautiful green valley which -rose up again to a feathery wood about to burst into green and ran -past it in undulations like the green rollers of the Atlantic. -Away in the distance were the great bulbous ever-watching eyes of -the enemy,--balloons, which as the sun came up, advanced steadily, -hypnotically, many of them strung out in a long line. Presently from -the wood below came trickling streams of men, like brown insects -coming from a dead horse. The sun glinted on their rifles. Steadily -they came, unhurriedly, plodding up to the ridge, hundreds of them, -heedless of the enemy barrage which began climbing too in great -hundred-yard jumps. - -“What news?” said I, as one trickle reached me. It was led by a -Colonel. - -He shook his head. “We’ve been relieved by the French,” said he, not -stopping. - -“Relieved? But God’s truth, isn’t there a war on?” - -“Who the hell are you talking to?” He flung it over his shoulder and -his men followed him away. - -Somehow it didn’t seem credible. And yet there all along the ridge -and the valley was the entire British infantry, or what looked like -it, leisurely going back, while the French machine gunners looked -at them and chattered. I got on the ’phone to Brigade about it. The -Colonel said, “Yes, I know.” - -We went on firing at long range. The teams were just behind the guns, -each one under an apple tree, the drivers lying beside their horses. -The planes which came over didn’t see us. The other batteries were -in the open behind the crest tucked into folds of the ground, all -the wagon lines clinging to a farmhouse about a mile back where the -headquarters was. The Hun barrage was quickly coming nearer. - -A troop of cavalry trotted down into it and took cover under one -end of the wood. They had only one casualty. A shell struck a tree -and brought it crashing down on top of a horse and rider. The last -of our infantry had passed behind us and the wood was empty again. -The opposite ridge was unoccupied; glasses showed no one in the -country that stretched away on the left. Only the balloons seemed -almost on top of us. The cavalry left the wood and trotted over the -ridge in a long snake of half sections, and then the fringe of the -barrage reached us. It splashed into the orchard. Drivers leaped to -the horses’ heads. No man or animal was touched. Again one heard -it coming, instinctively crouching at its shriek. Again it left us -untouched as with an inattentive eye I saw the cavalry come trotting -quietly back. It was followed by a chattering of the French. The -reason was obvious. Out of the wood other streams came trickling, -blue this time, in little parties of four and five, momentarily -increasing in number and pace. - -The first lot reached the battery and said they were the second line. -The Boche was a “_sale race, b’en zut alors!_” and hitching their -packs they passed on. - -The machine gunners began to get ready. The battery began to look at -me. The Stand-by gave them another salvo for luck and then ordered -ten rounds per gun to be set at fuse 6--the edge of the wood was -about fifteen hundred. - -The next stream of poilus was hotter. They sweated much all among -the orchard and told me with a laugh that the Boche would be here in -five minutes. But when I suggested that they should stay and see what -we could do together they shrugged their shoulders, spat, said, “_En -route!_” and en routed. - -The gunners had finished setting the fuses and were talking earnestly -together. The machine gunners weren’t showing much above ground. The -barrage had passed over to our rear. - -I called up the Colonel again and told him. He told me I could drop -the range to three thousand. - -The Stand-by passed the order. It got about as far as the first -gun and there died of inanition. The battery was so busy talking -about the expected arrival of the Boche that orders faded into -insignificance. The Stand-by repeated the order. Again it was not -passed. I tried a string of curses but nothing more than a whisper -would leave my throat. The impotence of it was the last straw. I -whispered to the Stand-by to repeat word for word what I said. -He megaphoned his hands and you could have heard him across the -Channel,--a lovely voice, a bull of Bashan, that rose above the crash -of shells and reached the last man at the other end of the line of -guns. What he repeated was totally unprintable. If voice failed -me, vocabulary hadn’t. I rose to heights undreamed of by even the -Tidworth sergeant-major. - -At the end of two minutes we began a series which for smartness, -jump, drive, passing and execution of orders would have put a -Salisbury depot battery into the waste-paper basket. Never in my life -have I seen such gunnery as those fellows put up. Salvos went over -like one pistol shot. Six rounds battery fire one second were like -the ticking of a stop watch. Gun fire was like the stoking of the -fires of hell by demons on hot cinders. - -One forgot to be tired, one forgot to look out for the Hun in the -joy of that masterly performance, a fortissima cantata on a six pipe -organ of death and hate. Five minutes, ten minutes? I don’t know, but -the pile of empty shell cases became a mountain behind each gun. - -A signaller tugged at my arm and I went to the ’phone. - -“Retire immediately! Rendezvous at Buchoire!” - -I was still caught up with the glory of that shooting. - -“What the hell for?” said I. “I can hang on here for ages yet.” - -“Retire immediately!” repeated the Colonel. - -I came to earth with a bang and began to apologize. Somehow it -doesn’t do to talk like that to one’s Colonel even in moments of -spiritual exaltation. - -We ceased fire and packed up and got mounted and hooked in like -six bits of black ginger, but the trouble was that we had to leave -the comparative safety of our orchard and go out into the barrage -which was churning up the fields the other side of the hedge. I -collected the Stand-by and gave him the plan of campaign. They were -to follow me in column of route at a trot, with twenty yards between -guns,--that is, at right angles to the barrage, so as to form a -smaller target. No man can have failed to hear his voice but for some -unknown reason they failed to carry out the order. The leading gun -followed me over the ditch on to the field, shells bursting on every -side. About sixty yards across the field I looked over my shoulder -and saw that they were all out of the orchard but wheeling to form -line, broadside on to the barrage. - -The leading gun, which the Stand-by took on, was the only one that -got safely away. The five others all stuck with horses dead and men -wounded, and still that barrage dropped like hail. - -We cut out the dead horses and shot the badly wounded ones and -somehow managed a four-horse team for each gun. The wounded who -couldn’t walk were lifted on to limbers and held there by the others, -and the four-horse teams nearly broke their hearts before we got -the guns off that devilish bit of ploughed land on to a road, and -after another twenty minutes had got out of the shell fire. Three -sergeants were wounded, a couple of drivers and a gunner. The road -was one solid mass of moving troops, French and English, infantry, -gunners and transport. There was no means of going cross-country with -four-horse teams. One had to follow the stream. Fortunately there -were some R.A.M.C. people with stretchers and there was a motor -ambulance. Between the two we got all our casualties bandaged and -away. The other batteries had been gone already three quarters of an -hour. There was no sign of them anywhere. - -My own battery was scattered along a mile of traffic; one gun here, -another there, divided by field kitchens and French mitrailleuse -carts, marching infantry and limbered G.S. wagons. Where the -sergeant-major was with the wagon line was beyond the bounds of -conjecture. One hoped to find him at the rendezvous at Buchoire. -There was nothing with us in the way of rations or forage and we -only had the limbers full of ammunition. Fortunately the men had -had a midday ration issued in the orchard, and the horses had been -watered and fed during the morning. In the way of personnel I had the -Quartermaster-sergeant, and two sergeants. The rest were bombardiers, -gunners, and drivers,--about three men per gun all told. The outlook -was not very optimistic. - -The view itself did not tend to lighten one’s depression. We climbed -a fairly steep slope which gave a view of the country for miles on -either side. The main roads and every little crossroad as far as the -eye could carry were all massed with moving troops going back. It -looked like the Allied armies in full retreat, quite orderly but none -the less routed. Where would it end? From rumours which ran about we -were almost surrounded. The only way out was south. We were inside a -bottle which we could not break, all aiming for the neck. - -And yet everywhere on that slope French infantry had dug themselves -in, each man in a little hole about knee-deep with a tiny bank of mud -in front of him, separated from the next man by a few yards. They -sat and smoked in their holes, so like half-dug graves, waiting for -the enemy, watching us go back with a look in their eyes that seemed -to be of scorn. Now and again they laughed. It was difficult to meet -those quiet eyes without a surge of rage and shame. How much longer -were we going to retreat? Where were our reinforcements? Why had -our infantry been “relieved” that morning? Why weren’t we standing -shoulder to shoulder with those blue-clad poilus? What was the brain -at the back of it all? Who was giving the orders? Was this the end of -the war? Were we really beaten? Could it be possible that somewhere -there was not a line of defence which we could take up and hold, -hold for ever? Surely with magnificent men like ours who fought till -they dropped and then picked themselves up and fought again, surely -something could be done to stop this appalling débâcle! - - -26 - -The tide of traffic took us into Guiscard where we were able to pull -out of the stream one by one and collect as a battery,--or at least -the gun part of it. While studying the map a mounted orderly came up -and saluted. - -“Are you the ---- Brigade, sir?” he said. - -I said yes. - -“The orders are to rendezvous at Muiraucourt instead of Buchoire.” - -To this day that man remains a mystery. The rest of the brigade did -rendezvous at Buchoire and fought twice again that day. The Colonel -never gave any order about Muiraucourt and had never heard of the -place. Where the orderly came from, who he was, or how he knew the -number of the brigade are unsolved problems. I never saw him again. -Having given the message he disappeared into the stream of traffic, -and I, finding the new rendezvous to be only about three kilometres -away in a different direction to Buchoire and out of the traffic road -led on again at once. - -We passed French gunners of all calibres firing at extreme range and -came to Muiraucourt to find it absolutely empty and silent. While the -horses were being watered and the wounded ones bandaged I scouted on -ahead and had the luck to find an A.S.C. officer with forage for us -and a possibility of rations if we waited an hour. It was manna in -the wilderness. - -We drew the forage and fed the starving horses. At the end of the -hour an A.S.C. sergeant rode in to say that the ration wagons had -been blown up.--We took up an extra hole in our Sam Brownes. It -appeared that he had seen our headquarters and the other batteries -marching along the main road in the direction of Noyon, to which -place they were undoubtedly going. - -The Quartermaster whispered something about bread and tea. So we -withdrew from the village and halted on a field just off the road -and started a fire. The bread ration was a snare and a delusion. -It worked out at about one slice per every other man. He confided -this to me sadly while the men were spread-eagled on the bank at -the roadside, enjoying all the anticipation of a full stomach. We -decided that it wasn’t a large enough quantity to split up so I went -over and put the position to them, telling them that on arrival at -Noyon we hoped to find the brigade looking out for us with a meal -for everybody ready. Meanwhile there wasn’t enough to go round. What -about tossing for it?... The ayes had it. They tossed as if they were -going to a football match, the winners sending up a cheer, and even -the losers sitting down again with a grin. - -I decided to ride on into Noyon and locate the brigade and find out -where to get rations. So I handed the battery to the Stand-by to -bring on when ready, left him the Babe and the other lad, and took -the Quartermaster on with me. - -It was a nightmare of a ride through miles and miles of empty -villages and deserted country, blown-up bridges like stricken giants -blocking every way, not a vehicle on the roads, no one in sight, -the spirit of desertion overhanging it all, with the light failing -rapidly and Noyon apparently as far off as ever. The horses were so -done that it was difficult to spur them out of a walk, we ourselves -so done that we could hardly raise the energy to spur them. At last -after hours of riding we came to the main Roye-Noyon road but didn’t -recognize it in the dark and turned the wrong way, going at least -half an hour before we discovered our mistake! It was the last straw. - -A thing that added to our anxiety was the sight of big guns on -caterpillars all coming away from the place we were going to and -as we got nearer the town the roar of bursting shells seemed to be -very near. One didn’t quite know that streams of the enemy would -not pour over the crest at any minute. Deep in one’s brain a vague -anxiety formed. The whole country was so empty, the bridges so well -destroyed. Were we the last--had we been cut off? Was the Hun between -us and Noyon? Suppose the battery were captured? I began to wish -that I hadn’t ridden on but had sent the Stand-by in my place. For -the first time since the show began, a sense of utter loneliness -overwhelmed me, a bitter despair at the uselessness of individual -effort in this gigantic tragedy of apocalyptic destruction. Was it -a shadow of such loneliness as Christ knew upon the Cross when He -looked out upon a storm-riven world and cried, “My God, my God, why -hast Thou forsaken Me?” All the evil in the world was gathered here -in shrieking orgy, crushing one to such mental and physical tiredness -that death would only have been a welcome rest. - -Unaided I should not have regretted that way out, God knows. But two -voices came to me through the night,--one from a little cottage among -the pine trees in England, the other calling across the Atlantic with -the mute notes of a violin. - -“Your men look to you,” they whispered. “_We_ look to you....” - - -27 - -We came to Noyon! - -It was as though the town were a magnet which had attracted all the -small traffic from that empty countryside, letting only the big guns -on caterpillars escape. The centre of the town, like a great octopus, -has seven roads which reach out in every direction. Each of these was -banked and double-banked with an interlocked mass of guns and wagons. -Here and there frantic officers tried to extricate the tangle but for -the most part men sat silent and inert upon their horses and vehicles -beyond effort and beyond care. - -Army Headquarters told me that Noyon would begin to be shelled in -an hour’s time and gave me maps and a chit to draw food from the -station, but they had never heard of the brigade and thought the -Corps had been wiped out. As I left, the new lad came up and reported -that the battery had halted on the outskirts of the town. We went -back to it and collected the limbers and tried to take them with us -to the station, with hearts beating high at the thought of food. It -was impossible, so we left them on the pavement and dodged single -file between wagon wheels and horses’ legs. After an hour’s fighting -every yard of the way we got to the station to find a screaming -mob of civilians carrying bundles, treading on each other in their -efforts to enter a train, weeping, praying, cursing, out of all -control. - -The R.S.O. had gone. There was no food. - -We fought our way back to Army Headquarters where we learned that a -bombardier with two wagons of rations destined to feed stray units -like us had gone to Porquericourt, five kilometres out. If we found -him we could help ourselves. If we didn’t find him--a charming smile, -and a shrug of the shoulders. - -I decided to try the hotel where I had spent a night with my brother -only three weeks ago. Three weeks, was it possible? I felt years -older. The place was bolted and barred and no amount of hammering or -shouting drew an answer. The thought of going back empty-handed to my -hungry battery was an agony. The chances of finding that bombardier -were about one in a million, so small that he didn’t even represent a -last hope. In utter despair one called aloud upon Christ and started -to walk back. In a narrow unlit street we passed a black doorway in -which stood a soldier. - -“Can you give me a drink of water?” said I. - -“Yes,” said he. “Come in, sir. This is the officers’ club.” - -Was it luck? Or did Christ hear? You may think what you like but I am -convinced that it was Christ. - -We went in. In one room were sleeping officers all over the floor. -The next was full of dinner tables uncleared, one electric light -burning. It was long after midnight. We helped ourselves to bits of -bread from each table and drank the leavings of milk which had been -served with the coffee. Then a waiter came. He said he would cook us -some tea and try and find a cold tongue or some ham. I told him that -I had a starving battery down the road and wanted more than tea and -ham. I wanted food in a sack, two sacks, everything he could rake up, -anything. - -He blinked at me through his glasses. “I’ll see what I can do, sir,” -he said and went away. - -We had our tea and tongue and he brought a huge sack with loaves and -tins of jam and bits of cheese and biscuits and packets of cigarettes -and tins of bully. Furthermore he refused all payment except two -francs for what we had eaten. - -“That’s all right, sir,” he said. “I spent three days in a shell hole -outside Wipers on one tin o’ bully.--That’s the best I can do for -you.” - -I wrung him by the hand and told him he was a brother and a pal, and -between us the lad and I shouldered the sack and went out again, -thanking God that at least we had got something for the men to eat. - -On returning to the battery I found that they had been joined by six -wagons which had got cut off from the sergeant-major’s lot and the -entire wagon line of the Scots Captain’s battery with two of his -subalterns in charge. They, too, were starving. - -The sack didn’t go very far. It only took a minute or so before the -lot was eaten. Then we started out, now a column about a mile long, -to find Porquericourt, a tiny village some two kilometres off the -main road, the gunners sleeping as they walked, the drivers rocking -in the saddle, the horses stumbling along at a snail’s pace. None -of us had shaved or washed since the 21st. We were a hollow-eyed, -draggled mob, but we got there at last to be challenged by sentries -who guarded sleeping bits of units who had dropped where they stood -all over the place. While my two units fixed up a wagon line I took -the Quartermaster with me and woke up every man under a wagon or near -one asking him if he were Bombardier So and So,--the man with the -food. How they cursed me. It took me an hour to go the rounds and -there was no bombardier with food. The men received the news without -comment and dropped down beside the wagons. The Babe had collected -a wagon cover for us to sleep under and spread it under a tree. The -four of us lay on it side by side and folded the end over ourselves. -There was a heavy dew. But my job wasn’t over. There was to-morrow -to be considered. I had given orders to be ready to move off at six -o’clock unless the Hun arrived before that. It was then 3 a.m. - -The Army had told me that if our Corps was not completely wiped out, -their line of retreat was Buchoire, Crissolles and so back in the -direction of Lassigny. They advised me to go to Crissolles. But one -look at the map convinced me that Crissolles would be German by six -o’clock in the morning. So I decided on Lagny by the secondary road -which went straight to it from Porquericourt. If the brigade was not -there, surely there would be some fighting unit who would have heard -of them, or who might at least be able to spare us rations, or tell -us where we could get some. Fighting on scraps of bread was all right -but could not be prolonged indefinitely. - -At six o’clock we set out as a squadron of cavalry with slung lances -trotted like ghosts across the turf. We had only been on the march -five minutes when a yell from the rear of the battery was passed -quickly up to me as I walked in the lead. - -“Halt! Action rear!” - -My heart stood still. Were the Germans streaming up in the mist? -Were we caught at last like rats in a trap? It _couldn’t_ be. It was -some fool mistake. The Babe was riding just behind me. I called -him up. “Canter back and find out who gave that order and bring him -here.--You, lead driver! Keep on walking till I give you the order to -do anything else.” - -We went on steadily. From moment to moment nothing seemed to happen, -no rifle or machine-gun fire.--The Babe came back with a grin. “The -order was ‘All correct in rear,’ sir.” - -Can you get the feeling of relief? We were not prisoners or fighting -to the last man with clubbed rifles in that cold grey dawn on empty -stomachs. - -I obeyed the natural instinct of all mothers who see their child -snatched from destruction,--to slap the infant. “Find out the man who -passed it up wrongly and damn his soul to hell?” - -“Right, sir,” said the Babe cheerily, and went back. Good Babe, he -couldn’t damn even a mosquito properly! - -The road was the most ungodly track imaginable, blocked here and -there by 60-pounders coming into action. But somehow the horses -encompassed the impossible and we halted in the lane outside the -village at about seven o’clock. The Stand-by remained in charge of -the battery while the Babe and I went across gardens to get to the -village square. There was an old man standing at a door. He gazed -at us motionless. I gave him _bon jour_ and asked him for news of -British troops, gunners. Yes, the village was full. Would we care -for some cider? Wouldn’t we! He produced jugfuls of the most perfect -cider I’ve ever drunk and told us the story of his life. He was a -veteran of 1870 and wept all down himself in the telling. We thanked -him profusely, shook his trembling hand and went out of his front -door into the main street. - -There were wagons with the brigade mark! I could have wept with joy. - -In a couple of minutes we had found Headquarters. The man I’d dosed -with champagne on the road corner two days before fell on my neck -with strong oaths. It appeared that I’d been given up as wiped out -with the whole battery, or at least captured. He looked upon me as -back from the dead. - -The Colonel had a different point of view. He was no longer shaved -and washed, and threatened to put me under arrest for not having -rendezvoused at Buchoire! Relations between us were strained, -but everybody was in the act of getting mounted to reconnoitre -positions so there was no time for explanations or recriminations. -Within three-quarters of an hour the battery was in action, but the -Quartermaster had found the sergeant-major, who, splendid fellow, had -our rations. He functioned mightily with cooks. Tea and bacon, bread -and butter,--what could the “Carlton” have done better than that? - -And later, when the sun came out, there was no firing to be done, and -we slept beside the gun wheels under an apple tree, slept like the -dead for nearly a whole hour. - - -28 - -The Hun was indeed at Crissolles, for the brigade had fought there -the previous evening. So much for Army advice. - -The day was marked by two outstanding events; one, the return of -the Major of the Scots Captain’s battery, his wound healed, full of -bloodthirst and cheeriness; the other, that I got a shave and wash. -We advanced during the morning to cover a village called Bussy. We -covered it,--with gun fire and salvos, the signal for each salvo -being a wave from my shaving brush. There was a hell of a battle in -Bussy, street fighting with bayonets and bombs. The brigade dropped -a curtain of fire on the outer fringe of the village and caught -the enemy in full tide. Four batteries sending over between them a -hundred rounds a minute of high explosive and shrapnel can make a -nasty mess of a pin-point. The infantry gloated,--our infantry. - -On our right Noyon was the centre of a whirlwind of Hun shells. We -were not out any too soon. The thought added zest to our gun fire. -Considering the amount of work those guns had done in the last five -days and nights it was amazing how they remained in action without -even breaking down. The fitter worked like a nigger and nursed them -like infants. Later the Army took him from me to go and drive rivets -in ships! - -We pulled out of action again as dusk was falling, and the word was -passed that we had been relieved and were going out of the line. The -brigade rendezvoused at Cuy in a field off the road while the traffic -crept forward a yard and halted, waited an hour and advanced another -yard, every sort of gun, wagon, lorry, ambulance and car, crawling -back, blocked at every crossroads, stuck in ditches, sometimes -abandoned. - -All round the sky glared redly. Hour after hour we sat in that cup -of ground waiting for orders, shivering with cold, sleeping in -uneasy snatches, smoking tobacco that ceased to taste, nibbling -ration biscuits until the night became filled with an eerie strained -silence. Jerky sentences stopped. Faint in the distance came the -crunch of wheels, a vague undercurrent of sound. The guns had -stopped. Now and again the chink of a horse mumbling his bit. The -tail end of the traffic on the road below us was silent, waiting, the -men huddled, asleep. And through it all one’s ear listened for a new -sound, the sound of marching feet, or trotting horses which might -mean an Uhlan patrol. Bussy was not far. - -Suddenly one voice, far away, distinct, pierced the darkness like a -thin but blinding ray. “Les Boches!--Les Boches!” - -A sort of shivering rustle ran over the whole brigade. Men stirred, -sat up, muttered. Horses raised their heads with a rattle of harness. -Hands crept to revolvers. Every breath was held and every head stared -in the direction of the voice. - -For a moment the silence was spellbound. - -Then the voice came again, “_A gauche! A gauche! Nom de Dieu!_” and -the crunch of wheels came again. - -The brigade relaxed. There came a laugh or two, a mumbled remark, a -settling down, a muttered curse and then silence once more. - -Eventually came a stir, an order. Voices were raised. Sleeping -figures rolled over stiffly, staggered up. Officers came forward. The -order “Get mounted!” galvanized everybody. - -Wagon by wagon we pulled out of the field. My battery was the last. -No sooner on the road, with our noses against the tailboard of the -last vehicle of the battery in front, than we had to halt again and -wait endlessly, the drivers sleeping in their saddles until pulled -out by the N.C.O.’s, the gunners flinging themselves into the ditch. -At last on again, kicking the sleepers awake,--the only method of -rousing them. It was very cold. To halt was as great an agony as -to march, whether mounted or on foot. For five days and nights one -had had one’s boots on. The condition of feet was indescribable. In -places the road was blocked by abandoned motor lorries. We had to -extemporize bridges over the ditch with rocks and tins and whatever -was in the lorries with a tailboard placed on top, to unhook lead -horses from a four-horse gun team and hook them into a loaded wagon -to make a six-horse team, to rouse the drivers sufficiently to make -them drive properly and get the full team to work together, and at -last, having reached a good metalled road, to follow the battery in -front, limping and blind, hour after hour. From time to time the -gunners and drivers changed places. For the most part no word was -spoken. We halted when the teams bumped their noses on the wagon -in front, went on again when those in front did. At one halt I sat -on a gun seat, the unforgivable sin for a gunner on the line of -march,--and I was the Battery Commander. Sprawled over the breech -of the gun in a stupor I knew no more for an indefinite period when -I woke again to find us still marching. The sergeant-major confided -to me afterwards that he was so far my accomplice in that lack of -discipline that he posted a gunner on either side to see that I -didn’t fall off. We had started the march about five o’clock in the -afternoon. - -We didn’t reach our destination till nine o’clock next morning. -The destination consisted of halting in the road outside a village -already full of troops, Chevrincourt. The horses were unhooked and -taken off the road, watered, and tied to lines run up between the -trees. Breakfast was cooked, and having ascertained that we were not -going to move for the rest of the day we spread our valises, and got -into pyjamas, not caring if it snowed ink. - - -29 - -We stayed there two days, doing nothing but water and feed the -horses and sleep. I succeeded in getting letters home the first -morning, having the luck to meet a junior Brass Hat who had done -the retreat in a motor-car. It was good to be able to put an end to -their anxiety. Considering all things we had been extraordinarily -lucky. The number of our dead, wounded and missing was comparatively -slight and the missing rolled up later, most of them. On the second -night at about two in the morning, Battery Commanders were summoned -urgently to Brigade Headquarters. The Colonel had gone, leaving -the bloodthirsty Major in command. It transpired that a Divisional -brigade plus one battery of ours was to go back into the line. -They would take our best guns, some of our best teams and our best -sergeants. The exchanges were to be carried out at once. They were. - -We marched away that day, leaving one battery behind. As it happened, -it didn’t go into the line again but rejoined us a week later. - -The third phase of the retreat, marching back to the British area--we -were far south into the French area at Chevrincourt, which is near -Compiègne, and all its signboards showed Paris so many kilometres -away--gave us an impression of the backwash of war. The roads -were full, not of troops, but of refugees, women, old men, girls -and children, with what possessions they could load into a farm -wagon piled sky high. They pulled their cattle along by chains or -ropes tied round their horns. Some of them pushed perambulators -full of packages and carried their babies. Others staggered under -bundles. Grief marked their faces. The hope of return kept them -going. The French have deeper roots in the soil than we. To them -their “_patelin_” is the world and all the beauty thereof. It was a -terrible sight to see those poor women trudging the endless roads, -void of a goal as long as they kept away from the pursuing death, -half starved, sleeping unwashed in leaky barns, regardless of sex, -begging milk from the inhabited villages they passed through to -satisfy their unhappy babies, managing somehow to help the aged -and infirm who mumbled bitter curses at the “_sale Boche_” and -“_soixante-dix_.” I heard one woman say “_Nous savons c’qu c’est que -la guerre! Nous avons tout fait excepté les tranchées._” “We know -what war is. We have done everything except the trenches.” Bombarded -with gas and long-range guns, bombed by aeroplanes, homeless, half -starved, the graves of their dead pillaged by ghoul-like Huns, their -sons, husbands, and lovers killed, indeed they knew the meaning of -war. - -England has been left in merciful ignorance of this side of war, -but woe unto her if she ever forgets that these women of France are -her blood-sisters, these peasant women who later gave food to the -emaciated Tommies who staggered back starving after the armistice, -food of which they denied themselves and their children. - -On the third day we reached Poix where only three months previously -we had spent a merry Christmas and drunk the New Year in, the third -day of ceaseless marching and finding billets in the middle of the -night in villages crowded with refugees. The whole area was full, -British and French elbowing each other, the unfortunate refugees -being compelled to move on. - -Here we exchanged old guns for new, received reinforcements of men -and horses, drew new equipment in place of that which was destroyed -and lost, found time to ride over to Bergicourt to pay our respects -to the little Abbé, still unshaved, who was now billeting Moroccan -troops, and who kissed us on both cheeks before all the world, and in -three more days were on our way to their firing line again. - -It was here that the runaway servants were dealt with; here, too, -that my brother came rolling up in his car to satisfy himself that I -was still this side of eternity or capture. And very good it was to -see him. He gave us the number of divisions engaged against us, and -we marvelled again that any of us were still alive. - -We went north this time for the defence of Amiens, having been joined -by our fourth battery, and relieved a brigade in action behind the -village of Gentelles. The Anzacs were in the line from Villers -Brettoneux to Hangard where their flank touched the French. The spire -of Amiens cathedral peeped up behind us and all day long-range shells -whizzed over our heads into the stricken city. - -Some one was dissatisfied with our positions behind the village. -The range was considered too long. Accordingly we were ordered to -go forward and relieve some other batteries down the slope in front -of Gentelles. The weather had broken. It rained ceaselessly. The -whole area was a mud patch broken by shell holes. The Major, who -had remained behind at Chevrincourt, and I went forward together -to locate the forward batteries. Dead horses everywhere, and fresh -graves of men marked our path. Never have I seen such joy on any -faces as on those of the officers whom we were coming to relieve. - -On our return we reported unfavourably, urging strongly that we -should remain where we were. The order was inexorable. That night we -went in. - -We stayed there three days, at the end of which time we were -withdrawn behind the village again. Our dead were three officers--one -of whom was the Babe--half the gunners, and several drivers. Our -wounded were one officer and half the remaining gunners. Of the guns -themselves about six in the brigade were knocked out by direct hits. - -Who was that dissatisfied “some one” who, having looked at a map -from the safety of a back area, would not listen to the report of -two Majors, one a regular, who had visited the ground and spoke from -their bitterly-earned experience? Do the ghosts of those officers -and men, unnecessarily dead, disturb his rest o’ nights, or is he -proudly wearing another ribbon for distinguished service? Even from -the map he ought to have known better. It was the only place where a -fool would have put guns. The German artillery judged him well. - -Poor Babe, to be thrown away at the beginning of his manhood at the -dictate of some ignorant and cowardly Brass Hat! - -“Young, unmarried men, your King and country need you!” - - -30 - -So we crawled out of the valley of death. With what remained of us -in men and guns we formed three batteries, two of which went back to -their original positions behind the village and in disproof of their -uselessness fired four thousand rounds a day per battery, fifty-six -wagon-loads of ammunition. The third battery tucked itself into a -corner of the village and remained there till its last gun had been -knocked out. One S.O.S. lasted thirty-six hours. One lived with a -telephone and a map. Sleep was unknown. Food was just food, eaten -when the servants chose to bring it. The brain reeled under the -stupendousness of the strain and the firing. For cover we lived in a -hole in the ground, some four feet deep with a tarpaulin to keep the -rain out. It was just big enough to hold us all. The wings of the -angel of death brushed our faces continuously. Letters from home were -read without being understood. One watched men burned to death in the -battery in front, as the result of a direct hit, without any emotion. -If there be a hell such as the Church talks about, then indeed we had -reached it. - -We got a new Colonel here, and the bloodthirsty Major returned to his -battery, the Scots Captain having been one of the wounded. My own -Captain rolled up again too, having been doing all sorts of weird -fighting up and down the line. It was only now that we learned the -full extent of the retreat and received an order of the day from -the Commander in Chief to the effect that England had its back up -against the wall. In other words the Hun was only to pass over our -dead bodies. He attempted it at every hour of the day and night. The -Anzacs lost and retook Villers Brettoneux. The enemy got to Cachy, -five hundred yards in front of the guns, and was driven back again. -The French Colonials filled Hangard Wood with their own and German -dead, the wounded leaving a trail of blood day and night past our -hole in the ground. The Anzacs revelled in it. They had never killed -so many men in their lives. Their General, a great tall man of mighty -few words, was round the outpost line every day. He was much loved. -Every officer and man would gladly have stopped a shell for him. - -At last we were pulled out of the line, at half an hour’s notice. -Just before hooking in--the teams were on the position--there was -a small S.O.S. lasting five minutes. My battery fired four hundred -rounds in that time,--pretty good going for men who had come through -such an inferno practically without sleep for fifteen days. - -We sat under a haystack in the rain for forty-eight hours and the -Colonel gave us lectures on calibration. Most interesting! - -I confess to having been done in completely. The Babe’s death -had been a frightful shock. His shoulder was touching mine as he -got it and I had carried him spouting blood to the shelter of a -bank. I wanted to get away and hide. I was afraid, not of death, -but of going on in that living hell. I was unable to concentrate -sufficiently to dictate the battery orders. I was unable to face the -nine o’clock parade and left it to the Orderly Officer. The day’s -routine made me so jumpy that I couldn’t go near the lines or the -horses. The sight of a gun filled me with physical sickness. The -effort of giving a definite order left me trembling all over. - -The greatest comfort I knew was to lie on my valise in the wet straw -with closed eyes and listen to “Caprice Viennois” on the gramophone. -It lifted one’s soul with gentle hands and bore it away into infinite -space where all was quiet and full of eternal rest and beauty. It -summed up the youth of the world, the springtime of love in all its -fresh cleanness, like the sun after an April shower transforms the -universe into magic colours. - -I think the subalterns guessed something of my trouble for they went -out of their way to help me in little things. - -We marched north and went into the line again behind Albert, a -murdered city whose skeleton melted before one’s eyes under the -ceaseless rain of shells from our heavy artillery. - -During and since the retreat the cry on all sides was “Where the -devil are the Americans?”--those mysterious Americans who were -reported to be landing at the rate of seven a minute. What became -of them after landing? They seemed to disappear. Some had seen them -buying up Marseilles, and then painting Paris all colours of the -rainbow, but no one had yet heard of them doing any fighting. The -attitude was not very bright, until Pershing’s offer to Foch. Then -everybody said, “Ah! _Now_ we shall see something.” Our own recruits -seemed to be the dregs of England, untrained, weedy specimens who had -never seen a gun and were incapable of learning. Yet we held the Hun -all right. One looked for the huskies from U.S.A., however, with -some anxiety. - -At Albert we found them, specimens of them, wedged in the line with -our infantry, learning the game. Their one desire was to go out into -No Man’s Land and get to close quarters. They brought Brother Boche -or bits of him every time. One overheard talk on one’s way along the -trenches to the O.P. “Danger?” queried one sarcastically, “Say, I -ain’t bin shot at yet.” And another time when two officers and I had -been shelled out of the O.P. by a pip-squeak battery to our extreme -discomfort and danger, we came upon a great beefy American standing -on the fire step watching the shells burst on the place we had just -succeeded in leaving. “If that guy don’t quit foolin’ around with -that gun,” he said thoughtfully, “some one’ll likely get hurt in a -minute.” - -Which was all to the good. They shaped well. The trouble apparently -was that they had no guns and no rifles. - -Our own positions were another instance of the criminal folly of -ignorance,--great obvious white gashes in a green field, badly -camouflaged, photographed and registered by the Hun, so placed that -the lowest range to clear the crest was 3,500 and the S.O.S. was -3,550. It meant that if the Germans advanced only fifty yards we -could not bring fire to bear on them. - -The dawn of our getting in was enlivened by an hour’s bombardment -with gas and four-twos. Every succeeding dawn was the same. - -Fortunately it proved to be a peace sector, comparatively speaking, -and I moved out of that unsavoury spot with no more delay than was -required in getting the Colonel’s consent. It only took the death -of one man to prove my point. He was a mere gunner, not even on -proficiency pay, so presumably it was cheap knowledge. We buried him -at midnight in pouring rain, the padre reading the service by the -light of my electric torch. But the Colonel wasn’t there. - -From the new position so reluctantly agreed to, we fired many -hundreds of rounds, as did our successors, and not a single man -became a casualty. - -What is the psychology of this system of insisting on going into -childishly unsuitable positions? Do they think the Battery Commander -a coward who balks at a strafed emplacement? Isn’t the idea of field -gunners to put their guns in such a place as will permit them to -remain in action effectively for the longest possible time in a show? -Why, therefore, occupy a position already accurately registered by -the enemy, which he can silence at any given moment? Do they think -that a Major of two years’ experience in command of a battery in the -line has not learned at least the rudiments of choosing positions for -his guns? Do they think it is an attempt to resent authority, or to -assert their own importance? Do they think that the difference of one -pip and a foot of braid is the boundary between omniscience and crass -stupidity? - -In civil life if the senior partner insists on doing the junior’s job -and bungles it, the junior can resign,--and say things. - -While we were outside Albert we got our first leave allotment and -the ranks were permitted to return to their wives and families for -fourteen days, provided always that they had been duly vaccinated, -inoculated, and declared free from vermin and venereal disease by the -medical officer. - -A delightful game, the inoculation business. Army orders are careful -not to make it compulsory, but if any man refuses to be done his -commanding officer is expected to argue with him politely, and, if -that fails, to hound him to the needle. If he shies at the needle’s -point then his leave is stopped,--although he has sweated blood for -King and country for eighteen months or so, on a weekly pay with -which a munitioneer daily tips the waiter at the “Carlton.” If he has -been unlucky enough to get venereal disease then his leave is stopped -for a year. - -In the next war every Tommy will be a munition maker. - - -31 - -The desire to get out of it, to hide, refused to leave me. - -I wrote to my brother and asked him if he could help me to become an -R.T.O. or an M.L.O.; failing that, a cushy liaison job miles away -from shambles and responsibility and spit and polish. He knew of the -very thing, and I was duly nominated for liaison. The weeks went by -and the nomination papers became a mass of illegible recommendations -and signatures up to the highest Generals of the English Army and a -Maréchal of France. But the ultimate reply was that I was a Battery -Commander and therefore far too important to be allowed to go. -Considering that I was half dead and not even allowed an opinion in -the choosing of a position for my own battery, Gilbert and Sullivan -could have conceived no more priceless paradox. - -Somewhere about the end of May we were relieved and went to a rest -camp outside Abbeville which was being bombed every night. A special -week’s leave to England was granted to “war-weary officers.” I sent -a subaltern and, prepared to pawn my own soul to see England again, -asked if I might go too. - -The reply is worthy of quotation. “You don’t seem to understand that -this is a rest camp, the time when you are supposed to train your -battery. You’ll get your leave in the line.” - -The camp was on turf at the edge of a deep lake. All day the horses -roamed free grazing, and the men splashed about in the water whenever -they felt inclined. The sun shone and footballs appeared from nowhere -and there were shops in the village where they could spend money, -and Abbeville was only about a mile and a half away. In the morning -we did a little gun drill and cleaned vehicles and harness. Concerts -took place in the evenings. Leslie Henson came with a theatrical -company and gave an excellent show. The battery enjoyed its time of -training. - -Most of those officers who weren’t sufficiently war-weary for the -week in England, went for a couple of days to Tréport or Paris-Plage. -For myself I got forty-eight hours in Etaples with my best pal, -who was giving shows to troops about to go up the line, feeding -train-loads of refugees and helping to bandage wounded; and somehow -or other keeping out of the way of the bombs which wrecked the -hospital and drove the reinforcement camps to sleep in the woods on -the other side of the river. We drove out to Paris-Plage and lunched -and dined and watched the golden sea sparkling and walked back in a -moonlight filled with the droning of Gothas, the crashing of bombs -and the impotent rage of an Archie barrage. - -Not only were there no horses to look after nor men to handle but -there was a kindred spirit to talk with when one felt like it, or -with whom to remain silent when one didn’t. Blessed be pals, for they -are few and far between, and their value is above rubies. - -Our rest camp came to an end with an inspection from Field-Marshal -Sir Douglas Haig and once more we took the trail. The battery’s -adventures from then until the first day of the attack which was to -end the war can be briefly summed up, as we saw hardly any fighting. -We went back to Albert and checked calibrations, then entrained and -went off to Flanders where we remained in reserve near St. Omer for a -fortnight or so. Then we entrained once more and returned to Albert, -but this time south of it, behind Morlancourt. - -There was an unusual excitement in the air and a touch of optimism. -Foch was said to have something up his sleeve. The Hun was reported -to be evacuating Albert. The Americans had been blooded and had come -up to expectations. There was a different atmosphere about the whole -thing. On our own sector the Hun was offensive. The night we came in -he made a raid, took two thousand yards of front line on our right, -and plastered us with gas and four-twos for several hours. No one was -hurt or gassed except myself. I got a dose of gas. The doctor advised -me to go down to the wagon line for a couple of days, but the barrage -was already in for our attack and the Captain was in England on the -Overseas Course. The show started about 4 p.m. right along the front. - -It was like the 21st of March with the positions reversed. South of -us the whole line broke through and moved forward. At Morlancourt the -Hun fought to the death. It was a sort of pivot, and for a couple of -days we pounded him. By that time the line had ceased to bulge and -was practically north and south. Then our infantry took Morlancourt -and pushed the Hun back on to the Fricourt ridge and in wild -excitement we got the order to advance. It was about seven o’clock -at night. All Battery Commanders and the Colonel dashed up in a car -to the old front line to reconnoitre positions. The car was missed -by about twelve yards with high explosive and we advanced in the -dark, falling over barbed wire, tumbling into shell holes, jumping -trenches and treading on corpses through a most unpleasant barrage. -The Hun had a distinct sting in his tail. - -We came into position about three hundred yards north-west of -Morlancourt. The village and all the country round stank of festering -corpses, mostly German, though now and again one came upon a British -pair of boots and puttees with legs in them,--or a whole soldier -with a pack on his back, who looked as if he were sleeping until -one saw that half his face was blown away. It made one sick, sick -with horror, whether it was our own Tommies or a long trench chaotic -with rifles, equipment, machine guns and yellow, staring and swollen -Germans. - -The excitement of advancing died away. The “glory of victory” was -just one long butchery, one awful smell, an orgy of appalling -destruction unequalled by the barbarians of pre-civilization. - -Here was all the brain, energy and science of nineteen hundred years -of “progress,” concentrated on lust and slaughter, and we called it -glorious bravery and rang church bells! Soldier poets sang their swan -songs in praise of dying for their country, their country which gave -them a period of hell, and agonizing death, then wept crocodile tears -over the Roll of Honour, and finally returned with an easy conscience -to its money-grubbing. The gladiators did it better. At least they -were permitted a final sarcasm, “_Morituri, te salutant!_” - -Even gentle women at home, who are properly frightened of mice and -spank small boys caught ill-treating an animal, even they read the -flaming headlines of the papers with a light in their eyes, and said, -“How glorious! We are winning!” Would they have said the same if they -could have been set down on that reeking battlefield where riddled -tanks splashed with blood heaved drunkenly, ambulances continuously -drove away with the smashed wrecks of what once were men, leaving a -trail of screams in the dust of the road, and always the guns crashed -out their pæan of hate by day and night, ceaselessly, remorselessly, -with a terrible trained hunger to kill, and maim and wipe out? - -There was no stopping. I was an insignificant cog in that vast -machine, but no man could stop the wheels in their mighty -revolutions. Fate stepped in, however. - -We advanced again to Mametz, and there, mercifully, I got another -dose of gas. The effects of the first one, seven days previously, had -not worked off. This was the last straw. Three days later it toppled -me over. The doctors labelled me and sent me home. - - - - - PART IV - - _THE ARMISTICE_ - - -1 - -The battery, commanded by I know not whom, went on to the bitter end -in that sweeping advance which broke the Hindenburg line and brought -the enemy to his knees. Their luck held good, for occasional letters -from the subalterns told me that no one else had been killed. The -last I heard of them they were at Tréport, enjoying life with the -hope of demobilization dangling in front of their eyes. May it not -dangle too long. - -For me the war was over. I have never fired a gun again, nor, please -God, will I ever do so. - -In saying the war was over I was wrong. I should have said the -fighting. There were other and equally terrible sides of this -world-tragedy which I was destined to see and feel. - -Let me sketch briefly the facts which led to my return to duty. - -The Medical Authorities sent me to a place called The Funkhole -of England, a seaside town where never a bomb from airships or -raiding Gothas disturbed the sunny calm, a community of convalescent -hospitals with a list of rules as long as your arm, hotels full of -moneyed Hebrews, who only journeyed to London by day to make more -money, and retired by night to the security of their wives in the -Funkhole, shop-keepers who rejoiced in the war because it enabled -them to put up their prices two hundred per cent., and indecent -flappers always ready to be picked up by any subaltern. - -The War Office authorities hastened to notify me that I was now -reduced to subaltern, but somehow I was “off” flappers. Another -department begged me to get well quickly, because, being no longer -fit to command a battery, I was wanted for that long-forgotten -liaison job. - -The explanation of degrading from Major to subaltern is not -forthcoming. Perhaps the Government were thinking of the rate payers. -The difference in pay is about two shillings and sixpence a day, and -there were many thousands of us thus reduced.--But it does not make -for an exuberant patriotism. My reply was that if I didn’t go out as -a Major, I should not hurry to get well. This drew a telegram which -stated that I was re-appointed acting-Major while employed as liaison -officer, but what they gave with one hand they took back with the -other, for the telegram ordered me to France again three weeks before -the end of my sick leave. - -It was a curious return. But for the fact that I was still in uniform -I might have been a mere tourist, a spectator. The job was more -“cushy” even than that of R.T.O. or M.L.O. Was I glad? Enormously. -Was I sorry? Yes, for out there in the thick of it were those men of -mine, in a sense my children, who had looked to me for the food they -ate, the clothes they wore, the pay they drew, the punishments they -received, whose lives had been in my keeping so long, who, for two -years, had constituted all my life, with whom I had shared good days -and bad, short rations and full, hardships innumerable, suffering -indescribable. It was impossible to live softly and be driven in a -big Vauxhall car, while they were still out there, without a twinge -of conscience, even though one was not fit to go back to them. I -slept in a bed with sheets, and now and again a hot bath, receiving -letters from home in four days instead of eight, and generally -enjoying all the creature comforts which console the back-area -officer for the lack of excitement only found in the firing line. It -was a period of doing little, observing much and thinking a great -deal among those lucky ones of the earth, whose lines had been cast -in peaceful waters far behind even the backwash of that cataclysmic -tidal wave in which so many less fortunate millions had been sucked -under. - -My first job was to accompany a party of French war correspondents to -the occupied territory which the enemy had recently been forced to -evacuate,--Dunkerque, Ostend, Bruges, Courtrai, Denain, Lille. There -one marvelled at the courage of those citizens who for four years had -had to bow the neck to the invader. From their own mouths we heard -stories of the systematic, thought-out cruelty of the Germans who -hurt not only the bodies of their victims, but their self-respect, -their decency, their honour, their souls. How they survived that -interminable hopeless four years of exaggerated brutality and -pillage, cut off from all communication with the outside world; fed -with stories of ghastly defeats inflicted upon their countrymen and -allies, of distrust and revolt between England and France; fined -and imprisoned for uncommitted offences against military law, not -infrequently shot in cold blood without trial; their women submitted -to the last indignities of the “_Inspection sanitaire_,” irrespective -of age or class, wrenched from their homes and deported into the -unknown interior, sent to work for the hated enemy behind the -firing line, unprotected from the assault of any German soldier or -officer,--for those women there were worse things than the firing -trenches. - -We saw the results of the German Official Department of -Demobilization, which had its headquarters in Alsace-Lorraine at -Metz, under a General, by whose direct orders all the factories in -the occupied regions were dismantled and sent back piecemeal to -Germany, the shells of the plant then being dynamited under pretence -of military necessity. We saw a country stripped of its resources, -gutted, sacked, rendered sterile. - -What is the Kultur, the philosophy which not only renders such -conduct thinkable, but puts it into the most thorough execution? Are -we mad to think that such people can be admitted into a League of -Nations until after hundreds of years of repentance and expiation -in sackcloth and ashes? They should be made the slaves of Europe, -the hewers of wood and drawers of water, the road-sweepers and -offal-burners, deprived of a voice in their own government, without -standing in the eyes of all peoples. - - -2 - -French General Headquarters, to which I was then sent as liaison -officer, was established in a little old-world town, not far from -Paris, whose walls had been battered by the English centuries ago. -Curious to think that after hundreds of years of racial antagonism -we should at last have our eyes opened to the fact that our one-time -enemies have the same qualities of courage and endurance, a far truer -patriotism and a code of honour which nothing can break. No longer do -we think of them as flippant and decadent. We know them for a nation -of big-hearted men, loyal to the death, of lion-like courage, with -the capacity for hanging on, which in our pride we ascribed only to -the British bull dog. We have seen Verdun. We have stood side by side -with them in mud and blood, in fat days and lean, and know it to be -true. - -In this little town, where the bells chimed the swift hours, and -market day drew a concourse of peasant women, we sat breathless at -the ’phone, hourly marking the map that liberated each time a little -more of France. Days of wild hope that the end was at hand, the end -which such a short time back had seemed so infinitely remote, days -when the future began to be a possibility, that future which for four -years one had not dared to dream about. Will the rose colours ever -come back? Or will the memory of those million dead go down with one -to the grave? - -The Armistice was signed. The guns had stopped. For a breathless -moment the world stood still. The price was paid. The youth of -England and France lay upturned to the sky. Three thousand miles -across the ocean American mothers wept their unburied sons. Did -Germany shed tears of sorrow or rage? - -The world travail was over, and even at that sacred moment when -humanity should have been purged of all pettiness and meanness, -should have bowed down in humility and thankfulness, forces were -astir to try and raise up jealousy, hatred and enmity between -England, France and America. - -Have we learnt _nothing_? Are these million dead in vain? Are we to -let the pendulum swing back to the old rut of dishonest hypocritical -self-seeking, disguised under the title of that misunderstood -word “patriotism?” Have we not yet looked into the eyes of Truth -and seen ourselves as we are? Is all this talk of world peace and -league of nations mere newspaper cant, to disguise the fear of being -out-grabbed at the peace conference? Shall we return to lying, hatred -and all malice and re-crucify Christ? What is the world travail for? -To produce stillborn through our own negligence the hope of Peace? -The leopard cannot change his spots, you say. My answer is that the -leopard does not want to. What does the present hold out to us who -have been through the Valley of the Shadow? What does it look like -to us who gaze down upon it from the pinnacle of four years upon the -edge of eternity? - -Your old men shall see visions and your young men shall dream dreams. - -The vision of the old men has been realized. In the orgy of effort -for world domination they have dug up a world unrest fertilized by -the sightless faces of youth upturned to the sky. Their working -hypothesis was false. The result is failure. They have destroyed -themselves also in the conflagration which they started. It has burnt -up the ancient fetishes, consumed their shibboleths. Their day is -done. They stand among the still-smoking ruins, naked and very ugly. - -The era of the young men has begun. Bent under the Atlas-like burden -loaded upon their shoulders, they have stood daily for five years -upon the edge of eternity. They have stared across into the eyes of -Truth, some unrecognizing, others with disdain, but many there are in -whose returning faces is the dawn of wisdom. They are coming back, -the burden exchanged. On them rests the fate of the unborn. Already -their feet are set upon the new way. But are they strong enough -unaided to keep the pendulum from swinging back? No. It is too heavy. -Every one of us must let ourselves hear the new note in their voices, -calling us to the recognition of the ideal. For five years all the -science, philosophy and energy of mankind has been concentrated on -the art of dealing death. The young men ask that mankind should -now concentrate on the art of giving life. We have proved the -power within us because the routine of the world’s great sin has -established this surprising paradox, that we daily gave evidence of -heroism, tolerance, kindliness, brotherhood. - -Shall we, like Peter who denied Christ, refuse to recognize the -greatness within ourselves? We found truth while we practised war. -Let us carry it to the practice of peace. - - - THE END - - - PRINTED AT - THE CHAPEL RIVER PRESS, - KINGSTON, SURREY. - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE - - Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been - corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within - the text and consultation of external sources. - - Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, - and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained. - - Pg 40: ‘unforgetable hell’ replaced by ‘unforgettable hell’. - Pg 40: ‘set out faces’ replaced by ‘set our faces’. - Pg 78: ‘by 9 P.M.’ replaced by ‘by 9 p.m.’. - Pg 97: ‘Just as were were’ replaced by ‘Just as we were’. - Pg 108: ‘were not wanted’ replaced by ‘were not wanting’. - Pg 125: ‘to-towards the end’ replaced by ‘towards the end’. - Pg 144: ‘the 106 fuze’ replaced by ‘the 106 fuse’. - Pg 169: ‘causalties slight’ replaced by ‘casualties slight’. - Pg 175: ‘all extremly happy’ replaced by ‘all extremely happy’. - Pg 179: ‘they dind’t come’ replaced by ‘they didn’t come’. - Pg 183: ‘who, on rcovering’ replaced by ‘who, on recovering’. - Pg 185: ‘in all my live’ replaced by ‘in all my life’. - Pg 186: ‘near he river’ replaced by ‘near the river’. - Pg 186: ‘had ea and dinner’ replaced by ‘had tea and dinner’. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Grey Wave, by Arthur Hamilton Gibbs - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY WAVE *** - -***** This file should be named 63466-0.txt or 63466-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/4/6/63466/ - -Produced by MWS, John Campbell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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*/ - position: absolute; - color: #A9A9A9; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; - text-indent: .5em; -} - - -/* blockquote (/# #/) */ -.blockquot { margin: 1.5em 20% 1.5em 20%; font-size: 80%;} - - -/* general placement and presentation */ - -.right {text-align: right; margin-right: 1em;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} -.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} - -.wsp {word-spacing: 0.3em;} -.lsp {letter-spacing: 0.2em;} -.lht {line-height: 2em;} - - -/* Images */ - -img { - border: none; - max-width: 100%; - height: auto; -} - -img.w100 {width: 100%;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - - -/* Poetry */ -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} -.poetry {display: inline-block; font-size: 80%} -.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} - -/* large inline blocks don't split well on paged devices */ -@media handheld, print { .poetry {display: block; margin-left: 4.5em;} } - - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - -.transnote p {text-indent: 0em;} - - -/* custom cover.jpg */ -.customcover {visibility: hidden; display: none;} -@media handheld { - .customcover {visibility: visible; display: block;} -} - -/* Poetry indents */ -.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} - -/* Illustration classes */ -.illowe3_75 {width: 3.75em;} - - - </style> - </head> - -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Grey Wave, by Arthur Hamilton Gibbs - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Grey Wave - -Author: Arthur Hamilton Gibbs - -Contributor: Philip Gibbs - -Release Date: October 15, 2020 [EBook #63466] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY WAVE *** - - - - -Produced by MWS, John Campbell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - -<div class="transnote"> -<p><strong>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE</strong></p> - -<p class="customcover">The cover image was created by the transcriber -and is placed in the public domain.</p> - -<p>Some minor changes to the text are noted at the <a href="#TN">end of the book.</a></p> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<div class="p6"> -<h1><i>The Grey Wave</i></h1> -</div> - - -<hr class="p6 chap pg-brk" /> - -<p class="pfs240"><em>THE GREY WAVE</em></p> - -<p class="pfs150 wsp"><em>By Major A. Hamilton Gibbs</em></p> - -<p class="pfs90"><em>With an introduction by <span class="fs150i">Philip Gibbs</span></em></p> - -<hr class="fulla" /> -<hr class="fullb" /> - -<p class="p6" /> -<div class="figcenter illowe3_75" id="icon"> - <img class="w100" src="images/icon.jpg" alt="decorative icon" /> -</div> - -<p class="p6 pfs100"><em>LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO</em><br /> -<em>:: PATERNOSTER ROW 1920 ::</em></p> - - -<hr class="chap pg-brk" /> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="p6 smcap noindent">My dear Mrs. Poole</p> - -<p>I dedicate this book to you because -your house has been a home to me for -so many years, and because, having -opened my eyes to the fact that it was -my job to join up in 1914, your kindness -and help were unceasing during the -course of the war.</p> - -<p class="right padr2">Yours affectionately,</p> - -<p class="right">ARTHUR HAMILTON GIBBS</p> - -<p>Metz, January, 1919</p> -</div> - - -<hr class="p6 chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="p6 nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - - -<table class="autotable" width="80%" summary=""> -<tr> -<td class="tdc pad2" colspan="2">PART I</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr fs60">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl smcap">The Ranks</td> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#PART_I">1</a></td> -</tr> -<tr><td> </td></tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc pad2" colspan="2">PART II</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl smcap">Ubique</td> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#PART_II">73</a></td> -</tr> -<tr><td> </td></tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc pad2" colspan="2">PART III</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl smcap">The Western Front</td> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#PART_III">123</a></td> -</tr> -<tr><td> </td></tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc pad2" colspan="2">PART IV</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl smcap">The Armistice</td> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#PART_IV">263</a></td> -</tr> -<tr><td> </td></tr> -<tr><td> </td></tr> -</table> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ix"></a>[Pg ix]</span><br /></p> - -<h2 class="p4 nobreak" id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</h2> -</div> - - -<p class="noindent">There seems no reason to me why I should write a -preface to my brother’s book except that I have been, -as it were, a herald of war proclaiming the achievements -of knights and men-at-arms in this great conflict that -has passed, and so may take up my scroll again on his -behalf, because here is a good soldier who has told, in a -good book, his story of</p> - -<p class="noindent pad2">“most disastrous chances of moving accidents -by flood and field; of hair-breadth ’scapes i’ the -imminent-deadly breach.”</p> - -<p>That he was a good soldier I can say not because -my judgment is swayed by brotherly partiality, but -because I saw him at his job, and heard the opinions -of his fellow officers, which were immensely in his favour. -“Your brother is a born soldier,” said my own Chief -who was himself a gallant officer and had a quick eye -for character. I think that was true. The boy whom -once I wheeled in a go-cart when he was a shock-headed -Peter and I the elder brother with a sense of responsibility -towards him, had grown up before the war into a strong -man whose physical prowess as an amateur pugilist, -golfer, archer (in any old sport) was quite outside my -sphere of activities, which were restricted to watching -the world spin round and recording its movements by -quick penmanship. Then the war came and like all the -elder brothers of England I had a quick kind of heart-beat -when I knew that the kid brother had joined up and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_x"></a>[x]</span> -in due time would have to face the music being played -by the great orchestra of death across the fields of life.</p> - -<p>I saw the war before he did, knew the worst before -he guessed at the lesser evils of it, heard the crash of -shell fire, went into burning and bombarded towns, -helped to carry dead and wounded, while he was training -in England under foul-mouthed sergeants—training to -learn how to fight, and, if need be, how to die, like a little -gentleman. But I from the first was only the onlooker, -the recorder, and he was to be, very quickly, one of the -actors in the drama, up to his neck in the “real thing.” -His point of view was to be quite different from mine, -I saw the war in the mass, in its broad aspects and movements -from the front line trenches to the Base, from one -end of the front to the other. I went into dirty places, -but did not stay there. I went from one little corner -of hell to another, but did not dwell in its narrow boundaries -long enough to get its intimate details of hellishness -burnt into my body and soul. He did. He had not the -same broad vision of the business of war—appalling in -its vastness of sacrifice and suffering, wonderful in its -mass-heroism—but was one little ant in a particular -muck-heap for a long period of time, until the stench -of it, the filth of it, the boredom of it, the futility of -it, entered into his very being, and was part of him -as he was part of it. His was the greater knowledge. -He was the sufferer, the victim. Our ways lay apart -for a long time. He became a ghost to me, during his -long spell in Salonica, and I thought of him only as a -ghost figure belonging to that other life of mine which -I had known “before the war,” that far-off period of -peace which seemed to have gone forever. Then one -day I came across him again out in Flanders in a field -near Armentières, and saw how he had hardened and -grown, not only in years, but in thoughtfulness and know<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xi"></a>[xi]</span>ledge. -He was a commander of men, with the power of -life and death over them. He was a commander of guns -with the power of death over human creatures lurking -in holes in the earth, invisible creatures beyond a hedge -of barbed wire and a line of trench. But he also was -under the discipline of other powers with higher command -than his—who called to him on the telephone and told -him to do things he hated to do, but had to do, things -which he thought were wrong to do, but had to do; and -among those other powers, disciplining his body and soul, -was German gun-power from that other side of the -barbed-wire hedge, always a menace to him, always -teasing him with the chance of death,—a yard this way, -a yard that, as I could see by the shell holes round about -his gun pits, following the track of his field-path, clustering -in groups outside the little white house in which he had -his mess. I studied this brother of mine curiously. -How did he face all the nerve-strain under which I had -seen many men break? He was merry and bright -(except for sudden silences and a dark look in his eyes -at times). He had his old banjo with him and tinkled -out a tune on it. How did he handle his men and junior -officers? They seemed to like him “this side idolatry,” -yet he had a grip on them, and demanded obedience, which -they gave with respect. Queer! My kid-brother had -learned the trick of command. He had an iron hand -under a velvet glove. The line of his jaw, his straight -nose (made straighter by that boxing in his old Oxford -days) were cut out for a job like this. He looked the -part. He was born to it. All his training had led up to -this soldier’s job in the field, though I had not guessed -so when I wheeled him in that old go-cart.</p> - -<p>For me he had a slight contempt, which he will deny -when he reads this preface. Though a writer of books -before the war, he had now the soldier’s scorn of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xii"></a>[xii]</span> -chronicler. It hurt him to see my green arm-band, -my badge of shame. That I had a motor-car seemed -to him, in his stationary exile, the sign of a soft job—as, -compared with his, it was—disgraceful in its luxury. -From time to time I saw him, and, in spite of many -narrow escapes under heavy shelling, he did not change, -but was splendidly cheerful. Even on the eve of the -great German offensive in March of 1918, when he took -me to see his guns dug in under the embankment -south of St. Quentin, he did not seem apprehensive of the -awful ordeal ahead of him. I knew more than he did -about that. I knew the time and place of its coming, -and I knew that he was in a very perilous position. -We said “so long” to each other at parting, with a grip -of hands, and I thought it might be the last time I should -see him. It was I think ten days later when I saw him, -and in that time much had happened, and all that time -I gave him up as lost. Under the overwhelming weight -of numbers—114 Divisions to 48—the British line -had broken, and fighting desperately, day by day, -our men fell back mile after mile with the enemy outflanking -them, cutting off broken battalions, threatening -to cut off vast bodies of men. Every day I was in the -swirl of that Retreat, pushing up to its rearguards, seeing -with increasing dismay the fearful wreckage of our -organization and machine of war which became for a -little while like the broken springs of a watch, with -Army, Corps, and Divisional staffs, entirely out of touch -with the fighting units owing to the break-down of all -lines of communication. In that tide of traffic, of men, -and guns, and transport, I made a few inquiries about -that brother of mine. Nobody had seen, or heard of his -battery. I must have been close to him at times in -Noyon, and Guiscard and Ham, but one individual -was like a needle in a bunch of hay, and the enemy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xiii"></a>[xiii]</span> -had rolled over in a tide, and there did not seem to -me a chance of his escape. Then, one morning, in a -village near Poix, when I asked a gunner-officer whether -he had seen my brother’s battery, he said, “Yes—two -villages up that road.” “Do you happen to know -Major Gibbs?” “Yes.... I saw him walking along -there a few minutes ago.”</p> - -<p>It was like hearing that the dead had risen from -the grave.</p> - -<p>Half an hour later we came face to face.</p> - -<p>He said:</p> - -<p>“Hulloa, old man!”</p> - -<p>And I said:</p> - -<p>“Hulloa, young fellow!”</p> - -<p>Then we shook hands on it, and he told me some -of his adventures, and I marvelled at him, because -after a wash and shave he looked as though he had -just come from a holiday at Brighton instead of from -the Valley of Death. He was as bright as ever, and -I honestly believe even now that in spite of all his danger -and suffering, he had enjoyed the horrible thrills of -his adventures. It was only later when his guns were -in action near Albert that I saw a change in him. The -constant shelling, and the death of some of his officers -and men, had begun to tell on him at last. I saw that -his nerve was on the edge of snapping, as other men’s -nerves had snapped after less than his experiences, and -I decided to rescue him by any means I could.... I -had the luck to get him out of that hole in the earth -just before the ending of the war.</p> - -<p>Now I have read his book. It is a real book. Here -truthfully, nakedly, vividly, is the experience not only -of one soldier in the British Army, but of thousands, -and hundreds of thousands. All our men went through -the training he describes, were shaped by its hardness<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xiv"></a>[xiv]</span> -and its roughness, were trampled into obedience of soul -and body by its heavy discipline. Here is the boredom -of war, as well as its thrill of horror, that devastating -long-drawn Boredom which is the characteristic of war -and the cause of much of its suffering. Here is the sense -of futility which sinks into the soldier’s mind, tends -to sap his mental strength and embitters him, so that -the edge is taken off his enthusiasm, and he abandons -the fervour of the ideal with which he volunteered.</p> - -<p>There is a tragic bitterness in the book, and that -is not peculiar to the temperament of the author, but a -general feeling to be found among masses of demobilized -officers and men, not only of the British Armies, but of -the French, and I fancy, also, of the American forces. -What is the cause of that? Why this spirit of revolt -on the part of men who fought with invincible courage -and long patience? It will seem strange to people -who have only seen war from afar that an officer like -this, decorated for valour, early in the field, one of the -old stock and tradition of English loyalty, should utter -such fierce words about the leaders of the war, such ironical -words about the purpose and sacrifice of the world -conflict. He seems to accuse other enemies than the -Germans, to turn round upon Allied statesmen, philosophers, -preachers, mobs and say, “You too were guilty -of this fearful thing. Your hands are red also with -the blood of youth. And you forget already those who -saved you by their sacrifice.”</p> - -<p>That is what he says, clearly, in many passionate -paragraphs; and I can bear witness that his point -of view is shared by many other soldiers who fought -in France. These men were thinking hard when day -by day they were close to death. In their dug-outs -and ditches they asked of their own souls enormous -questions. They asked whether the war was being<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xv"></a>[xv]</span> -fought really for Liberty, really to crush Militarism, -really on behalf of Democracy, or whether to bolster -up the same system on our side of the lines which had -produced the evils of the German menace. Was it not a -conflict between rival Powers imbued with exactly -the same philosophy of Imperialism and Force? Was -it not the product of commercial greed, diplomatic -fears and treacheries and intrigues (conducted secretly -over the heads of the peoples) and had not the German -people been led on to their villainy by the same spell-words -and “dope” which had been put over our peoples, -so that the watch-words of “patriotism,” “defensive -warfare” and “Justice” had been used to justify this -massacre in the fields of Europe by the Old Men of all -nations, who used the Boys as pawns in their Devil’s -game? The whole structure of Europe had been wrong. -The ministers of the Christian churches had failed Christ -by supporting the philosophy of Force, and diplomatic -wickedness and old traditions of hatred. All nations -were involved in this hark-back to the jungle-world, -and Germany was only most guilty because first to -throw off the mask, most efficient in the mechanism of -Brute-government, most logical in the damnable laws of -that philosophy which poisoned the spirit of the modern -world.</p> - -<p>That was the conclusion to which, rightly or wrongly—I -think rightly—many men arrived in their secret -conferences with their own souls when death stood near -the door of their dug-outs.</p> - -<p>That sense of having fought for ideals which were -not real in the purpose of the war embittered them; -and they were most bitter on their home-coming, after -Armistice, or after Peace, when in England they found -that the victory they had won was being used not to -inaugurate a new era of liberty, but to strengthen the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xvi"></a>[xvi]</span> -old laws of “Might and Right,” the old tyrannies of -government without the consent of peoples, the old -Fetish worship of hatred masking under the divine name -of Patriotism. Disillusionment, despair, a tragic rage, -filled the hearts of fighting men who after all their sacrifices -found themselves unrewarded, unemployed, and -unsatisfied in their souls. Out of this psychological -distress have come civil strife and much of the unrest -which is now at work.</p> - -<p>My brother’s book reveals something of this at work -in his own mind, and, as such, is a revelation of all his -comrades. I do not think he has yet found the key to -the New Philosophy which will arise out of all that experience, -emotion, and thought; just as the mass of -fighting men are vague about the future which must -replace the bad old past. They are perplexed, illogical, -passionate without a clear purpose. But undoubtedly -out of their perplexities and passion the New Era will -be born.</p> - -<p>So I salute my “kid-brother” as one of the makers -of History greater than that which crushed German -militarism and punished German crimes (which were -great), and I wish him luck with this book, which is -honest, vital, and revealing.</p> - -<p class="right">PHILIP GIBBS.</p> - - -<hr class="p4 chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[Pg 1]</span><br /></p> - -<h2 class="p4 nobreak" id="PART_I">PART I<br /> - -<span class="fs90 lsp"><em>THE RANKS</em></span></h2> -</div> - - -<hr class="p6 chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span><br /> - <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="p4 pfs150">THE GREY WAVE</p> -</div> - - -<h3>1</h3> - -<p class="drop-capy">In June, 1914, I came out of a hospital in Philadelphia -after an operation, faced with two facts. One was -that I needed a holiday at home in England, the second -that after all hospital expenses were paid I had five -dollars in the world. But there was a half-finished novel -in my trunk and the last weeks of the theatrical tour -which had brought me to Philadelphia would tide me over. -A month later the novel was bought by a magazine and -the boat that took me to England seemed to me to be -the tangible result of concentrated will power. “Man -proposes....” My own proposal was to return to -America in a month or six weeks to resume the task of -carving myself a niche in the fiction market.</p> - -<p>The parting advice of the surgeon had been that I -was not to play ball or ride a horse for at least six months. -The green sweeping uplands of Buckinghamshire greeted -me with all their fragrance and a trig golf course gave -me back strength while I thought over ideas for a new -novel.</p> - -<p>Then like a thunderbolt the word “War” crashed -out. Its full significance did not break through the -ego of one who so shortly would be leaving Europe -far behind and to whom a personal career seemed of -vital importance. England was at war. The Army<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span> -would be buckling on its sword, running out its guns; -the Navy clearing decks for action. It was their job, -not mine. The Boer War had only touched upon my -childish consciousness as a shouting in the streets, cheering -multitudes and brass bands. War, as such, was -something which I had never considered as having any -personal meaning for me. Politics and war were the -business of politicians and soldiers. My business was -writing and I went up to London to arrange accommodations -on the boat to New York.</p> - -<p>London was different in those hot August days. -Long queues waited all day,—not outside theatres, -but outside recruiting offices,—city men, tramps, brick-layers, -men of all types and ages with a look in their -eyes that puzzled me. Every taxi hoot drew one’s attention -to the flaring poster on each car, “Young Men of -England, Your King and Country need you!”</p> - -<p>How many millions of young men there were who -would be glad to answer that call to adventure,—an -adventure which surely could not last more than six -months? It did not call me. My adventure lay in -that wonderland of sprouting towers that glistened -behind the Statue of Liberty.</p> - -<p>But day by day the grey wave swept on, tearing -down all veils from before the altar of reality. Belgian -women were not merely bayoneted.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t we stop this? What is the Army doing?” -How easy to cry that out from the leafy lanes of Buckinghamshire. -A woman friend of mine travelled up in the -train with me one morning, a friend whose philosophy -and way of life had seemed to me more near the ideal -than I had dreamed of being able to reach. She spoke -of war, impersonally and without recruiting propaganda. -All unconsciously she opened my eyes to the unpleasant -fact that it was <em>my</em> war too. Suppose I had returned<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span> -to New York and the Germans had jumped the tiny -Channel and “bayoneted” her and her children? Could -I ever call myself a man again?</p> - -<p>I took a taxi and went round London. Every recruiting -office looked like a four-hour wait. I was in a hurry. -So I went by train to Bedford and found it crowded -with Highlanders. When I asked the way to the recruiting -office they looked at me oddly. Their speech was -beyond my London ear, but a pointing series of arms -showed it to me.</p> - -<p>By a miracle the place was empty except for the -doctor and an assistant in khaki.</p> - -<p>“I want to join the Cavalry,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Very good, sir. Will you please take off your -clothes.”</p> - -<p>It was the last time a sergeant called me sir for many -a long day.</p> - -<p>I stripped, was thumped and listened to and gave -description of tattoo marks which interested that -doctor greatly. The appendix scar didn’t seem to -strike him. “What is it?” said he, looking at it -curiously, and when I told him merely grunted. Shades -of Shaw! I thought with a jump of that Philadelphia -surgeon. “Don’t ride a horse for six months.” Only -three had elapsed.</p> - -<p>I was passed fit. I assured them that I was English -on both sides, unmarried, not a spy, and was finally -given a bundle of papers and told to take them along to -the barracks.</p> - -<p>The barracks were full of roughnecks and it occurred -to me for the first time, as I listened to them being sworn -in, that these were my future brother soldiers. What -price Mulvaney, Learoyd and Ortheris? thought I.</p> - -<p>I repeated the oath after an hour’s waiting and swore -to obey orders and respect superior officers and in short<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span> -do my damnedest to kill the King’s enemies. I’ve done -the last but when I think of the first two that oath makes -me smile.</p> - -<p>However, I swore, received two shillings and three-pence -for my first two days’ pay and was ordered to -report at the Cavalry Depot, Woolwich, the following -day, September 3, 1914.</p> - -<p>The whole business had been done in a rush of exaltation -that didn’t allow me to think. But when I stepped -out into the crowded streets with that two shillings rattling -in my pocket I felt a very sober man. I knew nothing -whatever of soldiering. I hardly even knew a corporal -from a private or a rifle from a ramrod, and here I was -Trooper A. H. Gibbs, 9th Lancers, with the sullen rumble -of heavy guns just across the Channel—growing louder.</p> - - -<h3>2</h3> - -<p>Woolwich!</p> - -<p>Bad smells, bad beer, bad women, bad language!—Those -early days! None of us who went through -the ranks will ever forget the tragedy, the humour, -the real democracy of that period. The hand of time -has already coloured it with the glow of romance, but -in the living it was crude and raw, like waking up to -find your nightmare real.</p> - -<p>Oxford University doesn’t give one much of an idea -of how to cope with the class of humanity at that Depot -in spite of Ruskin Hall, the working-man’s college, of -which my knowledge consisted only of climbing over -their wall and endeavouring to break up their happy home. -But the Ruskin Hall man was a prince by the side of those -recruits. They came with their shirts sticking out of -trousers seats, naked toes showing out of gaping boots,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span> -and their smell—— We lay at night side by side on -adjoining bunks, fifty of us in a room. They had spent -their two days’ pay on beer, bad beer. The weather was -hot. Most of them were stark naked. I’d had a bath -that morning. They hadn’t.</p> - -<p>The room was enormous. The windows had no -blinds. The moon streamed in on their distorted bodies -in all the twistings of uneasy sleep. Some of them -smoked cigarettes and talked. Others blasphemed them -for talking, but the bulk snored and ground their teeth -in their sleep.</p> - -<p>A bugle rang out.</p> - -<p>Aching in every limb from the unaccustomed hardness -of the iron bed it was no hardship to answer the call. -There were lavatories outside each room and amid much -sleepy blasphemy we shaved, those of us who had razors, -and washed, and in the chill of dawn went down to a -misty common. It was too early for discipline. There -weren’t enough N.C.O.’s, so for the first few days we -hung about waiting for breakfast instead of doing physical -jerks.</p> - -<p>Breakfast! One thinks of a warm room with cereals -and coffee and eggs and bacon with a morning paper and, -if there’s a soot in our cup, a sarcastic reference as to -cleanliness. That was before the war.</p> - -<p>We lined up before the door of a gun shed, hundreds -of us, shivering, filing slowly in one by one and having -a chunk of bread, a mug of tea and a tin of sardines -slammed into our hands, the sardines having to be divided -among four.</p> - -<p>The only man in my four who possessed a jack-knife -to open the tin had cleaned his pipe with it, scraped the -mud off his boots, cleaned out his nails and cut up plug -tobacco. Handy things, jack-knives. He proceeded to -hack open the tin and scoop out sardines. It was only<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span> -my first morning and my stomach wasn’t strong in those -days. I disappeared into the mist, alone with my dry -bread and tea. Hunger has taught me much since then.</p> - -<p>The mist rolled up later and daylight showed us to -be a pretty tough crowd. We were presently taken -in hand by a lot of sergeants who divided us into groups, -made lists of names and began to teach us how to march -in the files, and in sections,—the elements of soldiering. -Some of them didn’t seem to know their left foot from -their right, but the patience of those sergeants was only -equalled by the cunning of their blasphemy and the -stolidity of their victims.</p> - -<p>After an hour of it we were given a rest for fifteen -minutes, this time to get a handful of tobacco. Then -it went on again and again,—and yet again.</p> - -<p>The whole of that first period of seven days was a -long jumble of appalling happenings; meals served -by scrofulitic hands on plates from which five other -men’s leavings and grease had to be removed; bread -cut in quarter loaves; meat fat, greasy, and stewed—always -stewed, tea, stewed also, without appreciable -milk, so strong that a spoon stood up in it unaided; -sleeping in one’s clothes and inadequate washing in that -atmosphere of filth indescribable; of parades to me -childish in their elementariness; of long hours in the -evening with nothing to do, no place to go, no man to -talk to,—a period of absolute isolation in the middle of -those thousands broken only by letters which assumed -a paramount importance, constituting as they did one’s -only link with all that one had left behind, that other life -which now seemed like a mirage.</p> - -<p>Not that one regretted the step. It was a first-hand -experience of life that only Jack London or Masefield -could have depicted. It was too the means of getting -out to fight the Boche. A monotonous means, yes, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span> -every day one learnt some new drill and every day one -was thrilled with the absolute cold-blooded reality of it -all. It was good to be alive, to be a man, to get one’s -teeth right into things. It was a bigger part to play than -that of the boy in “The Blindness of Virtue.”</p> - - -<h3>3</h3> - -<p>Two incidents stand out in that chrysalis stage of -becoming soldiers.</p> - -<p>One was a sing-song, spontaneously started among -the gun sheds in the middle of the white moonlight. -One of the recruits was a man who had earned his living—hideously -sarcastic phrase!—by playing a banjo and -singing outside public houses. He brought his banjo -into the army with him. I hope he’s playing still!</p> - -<p>He stuck his inverted hat on the ground, lit a candle -beside it in the middle of the huge square, smacked his -dry lips and drew the banjo out of its baize cover.</p> - -<p>“Perishin’ thirsty weather, Bill.”</p> - -<p>He volunteered the remark to me as to a brother.</p> - -<p>“Going to play for a drink?” I asked.</p> - -<p>He was already tuning. He then sat down on a -large stone and began to sing. His accompaniment -was generous and loud and perhaps once he had a voice. -It came now with but an echo of its probable charm, -through a coating of beer and tobacco and years of -rough living.</p> - -<p>It was extraordinary. Just he sitting on the stone, -and I standing smoking by his side, and the candle -flickering in the breeze, and round us the hard black -and white buildings and the indefinable rumble of a -great life going on somewhere in the distance.</p> - -<p>Presently, as though he were the Pied Piper, men<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span> -came in twos and threes and stood round us, forming -a circle.</p> - -<p>“Give us the ‘Little Grey ’Ome in the West,’ George!”</p> - -<p>And “George,” spitting after the prolonged sentiment -of Thora, struck up the required song. At the -end of half an hour there were several hundred men -gathered round joining in the choruses, volunteering -solos, applauding each item generously. The musician -had five bottles of beer round his inverted hat and perhaps -three inside him, and a collection of coppers was taken -up from time to time.</p> - -<p>They chose love ballads of an ultra-sentimental nature -with the soft pedal on the sad parts,—these men who -to-morrow would face certain death. How little did -that thought come to them then. But I looked round -at their faces, blandly happy, dirty faces, transformed -by the moon and by their oath of service into the faces -of crusaders.</p> - -<p>How many of them are alive to-day, how many buried -in nameless mounds somewhere in that silent desolation? -How many of them have suffered mutilation? How -many of them have come out of it untouched, to the -waiting arms of their women? Brothers, I salute you.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The other incident was the finding of a friend, a -kindred spirit in those thousands which accentuated -one’s solitude.</p> - -<p>We had been standing in a long queue outside the -Quartermaster’s store, being issued with khaki one -by one. I was within a hundred yards of getting outfitted -when the Q.M. came to the door in person and -yelled that the supply had run out. I think we all -swore. The getting of khaki meant a vital step nearer -to the Great Day when we should cross the Channel. -As the crowd broke away in disorder, I heard a voice<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span> -with an ‘h’ say “How perfectly ruddy!” I could have -fallen on the man’s neck with joy. The owner of it was -a comic sight. A very battered straw hat, a dirty handkerchief -doing the duty of collar, a pair of grey flannel trousers -that had been slept in these many nights. But the -face was clear and there was a twinkle of humorous -appreciation in the blue eye. I made a bee-line for that -man. I don’t remember what I said, but in a few minutes -we were swapping names, and where we lived and what we -thought of it, and laughing at our mutually draggled -garments.</p> - -<p>We both threw reserve to the wind and were most -un-English, except perhaps that we may have looked -upon each other as the only two white men in a tribe -of savages. In a sense we were. But it was like finding -a brother and made all that difference to our immediate -lives. There was so much pent-up feeling in both of -us that we hadn’t been able to put into words. Never -have I realized the value and comfort of speech so much, -or the bond established by sharing experiences and -emotions.</p> - - -<h3>4</h3> - -<p>My new-found “brother’s” name was Bucks. After -a few more days of drilling and marching and sergeant -grilling, we both got khaki and spurs and cap badges -and bandoliers, and we both bought white lanyards -and cleaning appliances. Smart? We made a point -of being the smartest recruits of the whole bunch. We -felt we were the complete soldier at last and although -there wasn’t a horse in Woolwich we clattered about in -spurs that we burnished to the glint of silver.</p> - -<p>And then began the second chapter of our military<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span> -career. We all paraded one morning and were told -off to go to Tidworth or the Curragh.</p> - -<p>Bucks and I were for Tidworth and marched side -by side in the great squad of us who tramped in step, -singing “Tipperary” at the top of our lungs, down to -the railway station.</p> - -<p>That was the first day I saw an officer, two officers -as a matter of fact, subalterns of our own regiment. -It gave one for the first time the feeling of belonging -to a regiment. In the depot at Woolwich were 9th -Lancers, 5th Dragoon Guards, and 16th Lancers. Now -we were going to the 9th Lancer barracks and those two -subalterns typified the regiment to Bucks and me. How -we eyed them, those two youngsters, and were rather -proud of the aloof way in which they carried themselves. -They were specialists. We were novices beginning at -the bottom of the ladder and I wouldn’t have changed -places with them at that moment had it been possible. -As an officer I shouldn’t have known what to do with -the mob of which I was one. I should have been awkward, -embarrassed.</p> - -<p>It didn’t occur to me then that there were hundreds, -thousands, who knew as little as we did about the Army, -who were learning to be second lieutenants as we were -learning to be troopers.</p> - -<p>We stayed all day in that train, feeding on cheese -and bread which had been given out wrapped in newspapers, -and buns and biscuits bought in a rush at railway -junctions at which we stopped from time to time. -It was dark when we got to Tidworth, that end-of-the-world -siding, and were paraded on the platform and -marched into barracks whose thousand windows winked -cheerily at us as we halted outside the guardroom.</p> - -<p>There were many important people like sergeant-majors -waiting for us, and sergeants who called them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span> -“sir” and doubled to carry out their orders. These -latter fell upon us and in a very short time we were -divided into small groups and marched away to barrack -rooms for the night. There was smartness here, discipline. -The chaos of Woolwich was a thing of the past.</p> - -<p>Already I pictured myself being promoted to lance-corporal, -the proud bearer of one stripe, picking Boches -on my lance like a row of pigs,—and I hadn’t even handled -a real lance as yet!</p> - - -<h3>5</h3> - -<p>Tidworth, that little cluster of barrack buildings on -the edge of the sweeping downs, golden in the early -autumn, full of a lonely beauty like a green Sahara with -springs and woods, but never a house for miles, and no -sound but the sighing of the wind and the mew of the -peewit! Thus I came to know it first. Later the rain -turned it into a sodden stretch of mud, blurred and -terrible, like a drunken street-woman blown by the wind, -filling the soul with shudders and despair.—The barrack -buildings covered perhaps a square mile of ground, -ranged orderly in series, officers’ quarters—as far removed -from Bucks and me as the Carlton Hotel—married -quarters, sergeants’ mess, stables, canteen, riding school, -barrack rooms, hospital; like a small city, thriving and -busy, dropped from the blue upon that patch of country.</p> - -<p>The N.C.O.’s at Tidworth were regulars, time-serving -men who had learnt their job in India and who looked -upon us as a lot of “perishin’ amatoors.” It was a very -natural point of view. We presented an ungodly sight, -a few of us in khaki, some in “blues,” those terrible -garments that make their wearers look like an orphan’s -home, but most in civilian garments of the most tattered<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span> -description. Khaki gave one standing, self-respect, -cleanliness, enabled one to face an officer feeling that one -was trying at least to be a soldier.</p> - -<p>The barrack rooms were long and whitewashed, a stove -in the middle, rows of iron beds down either side to take -twenty men in peace times. As it was we late comers -slept on “biscuits,” square hard mattresses, laid down -between the iron bunks, and mustered nearly forty in -a room. In charge of each room was a lance-corporal -or corporal whose job it was to detail a room orderly and -to see furthermore that he did his job, <em>i.e.</em>, keep the room -swept and garnished, the lavatory basins washed, the -fireplace blackleaded, the windows cleaned, the step -swept and whitewashed.</p> - -<p>Over each bed was a locker (without a lock, of course) -where each man kept his small kit,—razor, towel, toothbrush, -blacking and his personal treasures. Those who -had no bed had no locker and left things beneath the -folded blankets of the beds.</p> - -<p>How one missed one’s household goods! One learnt -to live like a snail, with everything in the world upon -one’s person,—everything in the world cut down to the -barest necessities, pipe and baccy, letters, a photograph, -knife, fork and spoon, toothbrush, bit of soap, tooth paste, -one towel, one extra pair of socks. Have you ever tried -it for six months—a year? Then don’t. You miss -your books and pictures, the bowl of flowers on the table, -the tablecloth. All the things of everyday life that are -taken for granted become a matter of poignant loss -when you’ve got to do without them. But it’s marvellous -what can be done without when it’s a matter of -necessity.</p> - -<p>Bucks unfortunately didn’t get to the same room -with me. All of us who had come in the night before -were paraded at nine o’clock next morning before the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span> -Colonel and those who had seen service or who could -ride were considered sheep and separated from the goats -who had never seen service nor a horse. Bucks was a -goat. I could ride,—although the sergeant-major took -fifteen sulphuric minutes to tell me he didn’t think so. -And so Bucks and I were separated by the space of a -barrack wall, as we thought then. It was a greater -separation really, for he was still learning to ride when -I went out to France to reinforce the fighting regiment -which had covered itself with glory in the retreat from -Mons. But before that day came we worked through -to the soul of Tidworth, and of the sergeant-major, -if by any stretch of the imagination he may be said to -have had a soul. I think he had, but all the other men -in the squadron dedicated their first bullet to him if they -saw him in France. What a man! He stands out -among all my memories of those marvellous days of -training when everything was different from anything -I had ever done before. He stands before me now, -a long, thin figure in khaki, with a face that had been -kicked in by a horse, an eye that burnt like a branding -iron, and picked out unpolished buttons like a magnet. -In the saddle he was a centaur, part of the horse, wonderful. -His long, thin thighs gripped like tentacles of -steel. He could make an animal grunt, he gripped so -hard. And his language! Never in my life had I conceived -the possibilities of blasphemy to shrivel a man’s -soul until I heard that sergeant-major. He ripped the -Bible from cover to cover. He defied thunderbolts -from on high and referred to the Almighty as though -he were a scullion,—and he’s still doing it. Compared -to the wholesale murder of eight million men it was -undoubtedly a pin-prick, but it taught us how to ride!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span></p> - - -<h3>6</h3> - -<p>Reveille was at 5.30.</p> - -<p>Grunts, groans, curses, a kick,—and you were sleepily -struggling with your riding breeches and puttees.</p> - -<p>The morning bath? Left behind with all the other -things.</p> - -<p>There were horses to be groomed and watered and -fed, stables to be “mucked out,” much hard and muscular -work to be done before that pint of tea and slab of grease -called bacon would keep body and soul together for the -morning parade. One fed first and shaved and splashed -one’s face, neck, and arms with water afterwards. Have -you ever cleaned out a stable with your bare hands and -then been compelled to eat a meal without washing?</p> - -<p>By nine o’clock one paraded with cleaned boots, -polished buttons and burnished spurs and was inspected -by the sergeant-major. If you were sick you went before -the doctor instead. But it didn’t pay to be sick. The -sergeant-major cured you first. Then as there weren’t -very many horses in barracks as yet, we were divided -half into the riding school, half for lance and sword -drill.</p> - -<p>Riding school was invented by the Spanish Inquisition. -Generally it lasted an hour, by which time one -was broken on the rack and emerged shaken, bruised and -hot, blistered by the sergeant-major’s tongue. There -were men who’d never been on a horse more than twice -in their lives, but most of us had swung a leg over a saddle. -Many in that ride were grooms from training stables, -riders of steeple-chasers. But their methods were not -at all those desired in His Majesty’s Cavalry and they -suffered like the rest of us. But the sergeant-major’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span> -tongue never stopped and we either learned the essentials -in double-quick time or got out to a more elementary -ride.</p> - -<p>It was a case of the survival of the fittest. Round -and round that huge school, trotting with and without -stirrups until one almost fell off from sheer agony, with -and without saddle over five-foot jumps pursued by the -hissing lash of the sergeant-major’s tongue and whip, -jumping without reins, saddle or stirrups. The agony -of sitting down for days afterwards!</p> - -<p>Followed a fifteen-minute break, after the horses -were led back to the stables and off-saddled, and then -parade on the square with lance and sword. A lovely -weapon the lance—slender, irresistible—but after an -hour’s concentrated drill one’s right wrist became red-hot -and swollen and the extended lance points drooped -in our tired grasp like reeds in the wind. At night -in the barrack room we used to have competitions to see -who could drive the point deepest into the door panels.</p> - -<p>Then at eleven o’clock “stables” again: caps and -tunics off, braces down, sleeves rolled up. We had a -magnificent stamp of horse, but they came in ungroomed -for days and under my inexpert methods of grooming -took several days before they looked as if they’d been -groomed at all.</p> - -<p>Dinner was at one o’clock and by the time that hour -struck one was ready to eat anything. Each squadron -had its own dining-rooms, concrete places with wooden -tables and benches, but the eternal stew went down -like caviar.</p> - -<p>The afternoon parades were marching drill, physical -exercises, harness cleaning, afternoon stables and finish -for the day about five o’clock, unless one were wanted -for guard or picquet. Picquet meant the care of the -horses at night, an unenviable job. But guard was a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span> -twenty-four hours’ duty, two hours on, four hours off, -much coveted after a rough passage in the riding school. -It gave one a chance to heal.</p> - -<p>Hitherto everything had been a confused mass of -men without individuality but of unflagging cheerfulness. -Now in the team work of the squadron and the barrack -room individuality began to play its part and under the -hard and fast routine the cheerfulness began to yield -to grousing.</p> - -<p>The room corporal of my room was a re-enlisted -man, a schoolmaster from Scotland, conscientious, liked -by the men, extremely simple. I’ve often wondered -whether he obtained a commission. The other troopers -were ex-stable boys, labourers, one a golf caddy and one -an ex-sailor who was always singing an interminable -song about a highly immoral donkey. The caddy and -the sailor slept on either side of me. They were a mixed -crowd and used filthy language as naturally as they -breathed, but as cheery and stout a lot as you’d wish -to meet. Under their grey shirts beat hearts as kindly -as many a woman’s. I remember the first time I was -inoculated and felt like nothing on earth.</p> - -<p>“Christ!” said the sailor. “Has that perishin’ -doctor been stickin’ his perishin’ needle into you, Mr. -Gibbs?”—For some reason they always called me -Mr. Gibbs.—“Come over here and get straight to bed -before the perishin’ stuff starts workin’. I’ve ’ad some -of it in the perishin’ navy.” And he and the caddy took -off my boots and clothes and put me to bed with gentle -hands.</p> - -<p>The evening’s noisiness was given up. Everybody -spoke in undertones so that I might get to sleep. And -in the morning, instead of sweeping under my own bed -as usual, they did it for me and cleaned my buttons and -boots because my arm was still sore.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span></p> - -<p>Can you imagine men like that nailing a kitten by its -paws to a door as a booby-trap to blow a building sky -high, as those Boches have done? Instead of bayoneting -prisoners the sailor looked at them and said, “Ah, you -poor perishin’ tikes!” and threw them his last cigarettes.</p> - -<p>They taught me a lot, those men. Their extraordinary -acceptation of unpleasant conditions, their -quickness to resent injustice and speak of it at once, -their continual cheeriness, always ready to sing, gave me -something to compete with. On wet days of misery -when I’d had no letters from home there were moments -when I damned the war and thought with infinite regret -of New York. But if these fellows could stick it, well, -I’d had more advantages than they’d had and, by Jove, -I was going to stick it too. It was a matter of personal -pride.</p> - -<p>Practically they taught me many things as well. -It was there that they had the advantage of me. They -knew how to wash shirts and socks and do all the menial -work which I had never done. I had to learn. They -knew how to dodge “fatigues” by removing themselves -just one half-minute before the sergeant came looking -for victims. It didn’t take me long to learn that.</p> - -<p>Then one saw gradually the social habit emerge, called -“mucking in.” Two men became pals and paired off, -sharing tobacco and pay and saddle soap and so on. -For a time I “mucked in” with Sailor—he was always -called Sailor—and perforce learned the song about the -Rabelaisian donkey. I’ve forgotten it now. Perhaps -it’s just as well. Then when the squadron was divided -up into troops Sailor and I were not in the same troop -and I had to muck in with an ex-groom. He was the -only man who did not use filthy language.</p> - -<p>It’s odd about that language habit. While in the -ranks I never caught it, perhaps because I considered<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span> -myself a bit above that sort of thing. It was so childish -and unsatisfying. But since I have been an officer I -think I could sometimes have almost challenged the -sergeant-major!</p> - - -<h3>7</h3> - -<p>As soon as one had settled into the routine the days -began to roll by with a monotony that was, had we only -known it, the beginning of knowledge. Some genius -has defined war as “months of intense boredom punctuated -by moments of intense fear.” We had reached -the first stage. It was when the day’s work was done -that the devil stalked into one’s soul and began asking -insidious questions. The work itself was hard, healthy, -of real enjoyment. Shall I ever forget those golden -autumn dawns when I rode out, a snorting horse under -me, upon the swelling downs, the uplands touched by -the rising sun; but in the hollows the feathery tops -of trees poked up through the mist which lay in velvety -clouds and everywhere a filigree of silver cobwebs, like -strung seed pearls. It was with the spirit of crusaders -that we galloped cross-country with slung lances, or -charged in line upon an imaginary foe with yells that -would demoralise him before our lance points should -sink into his fat stomach. The good smells of earth and -saddlery and horse flesh, the lance points winking in the -sun, were all the outward signs of great romance and one -took a deep breath of the keen air and thanked God -to be in it. One charged dummies with sword and lance -and hacked and stabbed them to bits. One leaped from -one’s horse at the canter and lined a bank with rifles -while the numbers three in each section galloped the -horses to a flank under cover. One went over the brigade -jumps in troop formation, taking pride in riding so that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span> -all horses jumped as one, a magnificent bit of team work -that gave one a thrill.</p> - -<p>It was on one of those early morning rides that Sailor -earned undying fame. Remember that all of the work -was done on empty stomachs before breakfast and -that if we came back late, a frequent occurrence, we -received only scraps and a curse from the cook. On the -morning in question the sergeant-major ordered the whole -troop to unbuckle their stirrup leathers and drop them -on the ground. We did so.</p> - -<p>“Now,” said he, “we’re going to do a brisk little -cross-country follow-my-leader. I’m the leader and” -(a slight pause with a flash from the steely eye), “God help -the weak-backed, herring-gutted sons of —— who don’t -perishin’ well line up when I give the order to halt. Half -sections right! walk, march!”</p> - -<p>We walked out of the barracks until we reached the -edge of the downs and then followed such a ride as John -Gilpin or the Baron Munchausen would have revelled -in—perhaps. The sergeant-major’s horse could jump -anything, and what it couldn’t jump it climbed over. -It knew better than to refuse. We were indifferently -mounted, some well, some badly. My own was a good -speedy bay. The orders were to keep in half sections—two -and two. For a straight half-mile we thundered -across the level, drew rein slightly through a thick copse -that lashed one’s face with pine branches and then -dropped over a precipice twenty feet deep. That was -where the half-section business went to pieces, especially -when the horses clambered up the other side. We -had no stirrups. It was a case of remaining in the saddle -somehow. Had I been alone I would have ridden five -miles to avoid the places the sergeant-major took us over, -through, and under,—bramble hedges that tore one’s -clothes and hands, ditches that one had to ride one’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span> -horse at with both spurs, banks so steep that one almost -expected the horse to come over backwards, spinneys -where one had to lie down to avoid being swept off. -At last, breathless, aching and exhausted, those of us -who were left were halted and dismounted, while the -sergeant-major, who hadn’t turned a hair, took note -of who was missing.</p> - -<p>Five unfortunates had not come in. The sergeant-major -cast an eye towards the open country and remained -ominously silent. After about a quarter of an hour -the five were seen to emerge at a walk from behind a -spinney. They came trotting up, an anxious expression -on their faces, all except Sailor, who grinned from ear to -ear. Instead of being allowed to fall in with us they were -made to halt and dismount by themselves, facing us. The -sergeant-major looked at them, slowly, with an infinite contempt, -as they stood stiffly to attention. Then he began.</p> - -<p>“Look at them!” he said to us. “Look at those -five....” and so on in a stinging stream, beneath which -their faces went white with anger.</p> - -<p>As the sergeant-major drew breath, Sailor stepped -forward. He was no longer grinning from ear to ear. -His face might have been cut out of stone and he looked -at the sergeant-major with a steady eye.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, Sergeant-Major,” he said. “We’re -all that and a perishin’ lot more perhaps, but not you nor -Jesus Christ is going to make me do a perishin’ ride -like that and come back to perishin’ barracks and get -no perishin’ breakfast and go on perishin’ parade again -at nine with not a perishin’ thing in my perishin’ stomach.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” asked the sergeant-major.</p> - -<p>“What I says,” said Sailor, standing to his guns -while we, amazed, expected him to be slain before our -eyes. “Not a perishin’ bit of breakfast do we get when -we go back late.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span></p> - -<p>“Is that true?” The sergeant-major turned to us.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” we said, “perishin’ true!”</p> - -<p>“Mount!” ordered the sergeant-major without another -word and we trotted straight back to barracks. By -the time we’d watered, off-saddled and fed the horses -we were as usual twenty minutes late for breakfast. But -this morning the sergeant-major, with a face like a black -cloud, marched us into the dining-hall and up to the -cook’s table.</p> - -<p>We waited, breathless with excitement. The cook -was in the kitchen, a dirty fellow.</p> - -<p>The sergeant-major slammed the table with his whip. -The cook came, wiping a chewing mouth with the back -of his hand.</p> - -<p>“Breakfast for these men, quick,” said the sergeant-major.</p> - -<p>“All gone, sir,” said the cook, “we can’t——”</p> - -<p>The sergeant-major leaned over with his face an -inch from the cook’s. “Don’t you perishin’ well answer -me back,” he said, “or I’ll put you somewhere where -the Almighty couldn’t get you out until I say so. Breakfast -for these men, you fat, chewing swine, or I’ll come -across the table and cut your tripes out with my riding -whip and cook <em>them</em> for breakfast! Jump, you foul-feeder!” -and down came the whip on the table like a -pistol shot.</p> - -<p>The cook swallowed his mouthful whole and retired, -emerging presently with plenty of excellent breakfast -and hot tea. We laughed.</p> - -<p>“Now,” said the sergeant-major, “if you don’t get -as good a breakfast as this to-morrow and every to-morrow, -tell me, and I’ll drop this lying bastard into his -own grease trap.”</p> - -<p>Sailor got drunk that night. We paid.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span></p> - - -<h3>8</h3> - -<p>The evenings were the hardest part. There was -only Bucks to talk to, and it was never more than twice -a week that we managed to get together. Generally -one was more completely alone than on a desert island, -a solitude accentuated by the fact that as soon as one -ceased the communion of work which made us all brothers -on the same level, they dropped back, for me at least, -into a seething mass of rather unclean humanity whose -ideas were not mine, whose language and habits never -ceased to jar upon one’s sensitiveness. There was so -little to do. The local music hall, intensely fifth rate, -only changed its programme once a week. The billiard -tables in the canteen had an hour-long waiting list always.</p> - -<p>The Y.M.C.A. hadn’t developed in those early days -to its present manifold excellence. There was no gymnasium. -The only place one had was one’s bed in the -barrack room on which one could read or write, not alone, -because there was always a shouting incoming and -outgoing crowd and cross fire of elementary jokes and -horseplay. It seemed that there was never a chance -of being alone, of escaping from this “lewd and licentious -soldiery.” There were times when the desert island -called irresistibly in this eternal isolation of mind but not -of body. All that one had left behind, even the times -when one was bored and out of temper, because perhaps -one was off one’s drive at the Royal and Ancient, or -some other trivial thing like that, became so glorious -in one’s mind that the feel of the barrack blanket was an -agony. Had one <em>ever</em> been bored in that other life? -Had one been touchy and said sarcastic things that -were meant to hurt? Could it be possible that there<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> -was anything in that other world for which one wouldn’t -barter one’s soul now? How little one had realised, -appreciated, the good things of that life! One accepted -them as a matter of course, as a matter of right.</p> - -<p>Now in the barrack-room introspections their real -value stood out in the limelight of contrast and one saw -oneself for the first time: a rather selfish, indifferent -person, thoughtless, hurrying along the road of life with -no point of view of one’s own, doing things because -everybody else did them, accepting help carelessly, not -realising that other people might need one’s help in -return, content with a somewhat shallow secondhand -philosophy because untried in the fire of reality. This -was reality, this barrack life. This was the first time -one had been up against facts, the first time it was a -personal conflict between life and oneself with no mother -or family to fend off the unpleasant; a fact that one -hadn’t attempted to grasp.</p> - -<p>The picture of oneself was not comforting. To find -out the truth about oneself is always like taking a pill -without its sugar coating; and it was doubly bitter in -those surroundings.</p> - -<p>Hitherto one had never been forced to do the unpleasant. -One simply avoided it. Now one had to go -on doing it day after day without a hope of escape, -without any more alleviation than a very occasional -week-end leave. Those week-ends were like a mouthful -of water to Dives in the flames of hell,—but which made -the flames all the fiercer afterwards! One prayed for -them and loathed them.</p> - -<p>The beating heart with which one leaped out of a -taxi in London and waited on the doorstep of home, -heaven. The glory of a clean body and more particularly, -clean hands. It was curious how the lack of a bath -ceased after a time to be a dreadful thing, but the im<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span>possibility -of keeping one’s hands clean was always a -poignant agony. They were always dirty, with cracked -nails and a cut or two, and however many times they -were scrubbed, they remained appalling. But at home -on leave, with hot water and stacks of soap and much -manicuring, they did not at least make one feel uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>The soft voices and laughter of one’s people, their -appearance—just to be in the same room, silent with -emotion—God, will one ever forget it? Thin china -to eat off, a flower on the table, soft lights, a napkin.—The -little ones who came and fingered one’s bandolier -and cap badge and played with one’s spurs with their -tiny, clean hands—one was almost afraid to touch them, -and when they puckered up their tiny mouths to kiss -one good night.—I wonder whether they ever knew -how near to tears that rough-looking soldier-man was?</p> - -<p>And then in what seemed ten heart-beats one was -saying good-bye to them all. Back to barracks again -by way of Waterloo and the last train at 9 p.m.—its -great yellow lights and awful din, its surging crowd of -drunken soldiers and their girls who yelled and hugged -and screamed up and down the platform, and here and -there an officer diving hurriedly into a first-class compartment. -Presently whistles blew and one found oneself -jammed into a carriage with about twelve other soldiers -who fought to lean out of the window and see the last of -their girls until the train had panted its way out of the -long platform. Then the foul reek of Woodbine cigarettes -while they discussed the sexual charms of those -girls—and then a long snoring chorus for hours into -the night, broken only by some one being sick from overmuch -beer.</p> - -<p>The touch of the rosebud mouth of the baby girl who -had kissed me good-bye was still on my lips.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span></p> - - -<h3>9</h3> - -<p>It was in the first week of November that, having -been through an exhaustive musketry course in addition -to all the other cavalry work, we were “passed out” by -the Colonel. I may mention in passing that in October, -1914, the British Cavalry were armed, for the first time -in history, with bayonets in addition to lance, sword and -rifle. There was much sarcastic reference to “towies,” -“foot-sloggers,” “P.B.I.”—all methods of the mounted -man to designate infantry; and when an infantry sergeant -was lent to teach us bayonet fighting it seemed the -last insult, even to us recruits, so deeply was the cavalry -spirit already ingrained in us.</p> - -<p>The “passing out” by the Colonel was a day in our -lives. It meant that, if successful, we were considered -good enough to go and fight for our country: France was -the Mecca of each of us.</p> - -<p>The day in question was bright and sunny with a touch -of frost which made the horses blow and dance when, -with twinkling lance-points at the carry, we rode out with -the sergeant-major, every bright part of our equipment -polished for hours overnight in the barrack room amid -much excited speculation as to our prospects.</p> - -<p>The sergeant-major was going to give us a half-hour’s -final rehearsal of all our training before the Colonel -arrived. Nothing went right and he damned and cursed -without avail, until at last he threatened to ride us clean -off the plain and lose us. It was very depressing. We -knew we’d done badly, in spite of all our efforts, and when -we saw, not far off, the Colonel, the Major and the Adjutant, -with a group of other people riding up to put us -through our paces, there wasn’t a heart that didn’t beat<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> -faster in hope or despair. We sat to attention like Indians -while the officers rode round us, inspecting the turnout.</p> - -<p>Then the Colonel expressed the desire to see a little -troop drill.</p> - -<p>The sergeant-major cleared his throat and like an -18-pounder shell the order galvanised us into action. We -wheeled and formed and spread out and reformed without -a hitch and came to a halt in perfect dressing in front of -the Colonel again, without a fault. Hope revived in -despairing chests.</p> - -<p>Then the Colonel ordered us over the jumps in half -sections, and at the order each half section started away -on the half-mile course—walk, trot, canter, jump, steady -down to trot, canter, jump—<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">e da capo</i> right round about -a dozen jumps, each one over a different kind of obstacle, -each half section watched far more critically perhaps by -the rest of the troop than by the officers. My own -mount was a bay mare which I’d ridden half a dozen -times. When she liked she could jump anything. Sometimes -she didn’t like.</p> - -<p>This day I was taking no chances and drove home both -spurs at the first jump. My other half section was a -lance-corporal. His horse was slow, preferring to -consider each jump before it took it.</p> - -<p>Between jumps, without moving our heads and looking -straight in front of us, we gave each other advice and -encouragement.</p> - -<p>Said he, “Not so perishin’ fast. Keep dressed, can’t -you.”</p> - -<p>Said I, “Wake your old blighter up! What’ve you -got spurs on for?—Hup! Over. Steady, man, steady.”</p> - -<p>Said he, “Nar, then, like as we are. Knee to knee. -Let’s show ’em what the perishin’ Kitchener’s mob -perishin’ well <em>can</em> do.” And without a refusal we got -round and halted in our places.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span></p> - -<p>When we’d all been round, the Colonel with a faint -smile on his face, requested the sergeant-major to take -us round as a troop—sixteen lancers knee to knee in the -front rank and the same number behind.</p> - -<p>It happened that I was the centre of the front rank—technically -known as centre guide—whose job it was to -keep four yards from the tail of the troop leader and on -whom the rest of the front rank “dressed.”</p> - -<p>When we were well away from the officers and about -to canter at the first jump the sergeant-major’s head -turned over his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>you</em>’re centre guide, Gibbs, are you! Well, -you keep your distance proper, that’s all, and by Christ, -if you refuse——”</p> - -<p>I don’t know what fate he had in store for me had I -missed a jump but there I was with a knee on either -side jammed painfully hard against mine as we came to -the first jump. It was the man on either flank of the -troop who had the most difficult job. The jumps were -only just wide enough and they had to keep their horses -from swinging wide of the wings. It went magnificently. -Sixteen horses as one in both ranks rose to every jump, -settled down and dressed after each and went round the -course without a hitch, refusal or fall, and at last we sat at -attention facing the Colonel, awaiting the verdict which -would either send us back for further training, or out to—what? -Death, glory, or maiming?</p> - -<p>The Major looked pleased and twisted his moustache -with a grin. He had handled our squadron and on the -first occasion of his leading us in a charge, he in front -with drawn sword, we thundering behind with lances -menacing his back in a glittering row, we got so excited -that we broke ranks and flowed round him, yelling like -cowboys. How he damned us!</p> - -<p>The Colonel made a little speech and complimented<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> -us on our work and the sergeant-major for having trained -us so well,—us, the first of Kitchener’s “mob” to be -ready. Very nice things he said and our hearts glowed -with appreciation and excitement. We sat there without -a movement but our chests puffed out like a row of pouter -pigeons.</p> - -<p>At last he saluted us—saluted <em>us</em>, he, the Colonel—and -the officers rode away,—the Major hanging behind -a little to say with a smile that was worth all the cursings -the sergeant-major had ever given us, “Damn good, you -fellows! <em>Damn</em> good!” We would have followed him -to hell and back at that moment.</p> - -<p>And then the sergeant-major turned his horse and faced -us. “You may <em>think</em> you’re perishin’ good soldiers after -all that, but by Christ, I’ve never seen such a perishin’ -awful exhibition of carpet-baggers.”</p> - -<p>But there was an unusual twinkle in his eye and for -the first time in those two months of training he let us -“march at ease,” <em>i.e.</em>, smoke and talk, on the way back -to stables.</p> - - -<h3>10</h3> - -<p>That was the first half of the ordeal.</p> - -<p>The second half took place in the afternoon in the -barrack square when we went through lance drill and -bayonet exercises while the Colonel and the officers -walked round and discussed us. At last we were dismissed, -trained men, recruits no longer; and didn’t we -throw our chests out in the canteen that night! It made -me feel that the Nobel prize was futile beside the satisfaction -of being a fully trained trooper in His Majesty’s -Cavalry, and in a crack regiment too, which had already -shown the Boche that the “contemptible little army”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span> -had more “guts” than the Prussian Guards regiments -and anything else they liked to chuck in.</p> - -<p>I foregathered with Bucks that night and told him all -about it. Our ways had seemed to lie apart during those -intensive days, and it was only on Sundays that we sometimes -went for long cross-country walks with biscuits and -apples in our pockets if we were off duty. About once -a week too we made a point of going to the local music-hall -where red-nosed comedians knocked each other -about and fat ladies in tights sang slushy love songs; -and with the crowd we yelled choruses and ate vast -quantities of chocolate.</p> - -<p>Two other things occurred during those days which -had an enormous influence on me; one indeed altered my -whole career in the army.</p> - -<p>The first occurrence was the arrival in a car one evening -of an American girl whom I’d known in New York. It -was about a week after my arrival at Tidworth. She, it -appeared, was staying with friends about twenty miles -away.</p> - -<p>The first thing I knew about it was when an orderly -came into stables about 4.30 p.m. on a golden afternoon -and told me that I was wanted at once at the Orderly -Room.</p> - -<p>“What for?” said I, a little nervous.</p> - -<p>The Orderly Room was where all the scallawags were -brought up before the Colonel for their various crimes,—and -I made a hasty examination of conscience.</p> - -<p>However, I put on my braces and tunic and ran across -the square. There in a car was the American girl whom -I had endeavoured to teach golf in the days immediately -previous to my enlistment. “Come on out and have a -picnic with me,” said she. “I’ve got some perfectly -luscious things in a basket.”</p> - -<p>The idea was heavenly but it occurred to me I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> -ought to get permission. So I went into the Orderly -Room.</p> - -<p>There were two officers and a lot of sergeants. I -tiptoed up to a sergeant and explaining that a lady had -come over to see me, asked if I could get out of camp for -half an hour? I was very raw in those days,—half an -hour!</p> - -<p>The sergeant stared at me. Presumably ladies in -motor-cars didn’t make a habit of fetching cavalry -privates. It wasn’t “laid down” in the drill book. -However, he went over to one of the officers,—the -Adjutant, I discovered later.</p> - -<p>The Adjutant looked me up and down as I repeated my -request, asked me my name and which ride I was in and -finally put it to the other officer who said “yes” without -looking up. So I thanked the Adjutant, clicked to the -salute and went out. As I walked round the front of -the car, while the chauffeur cranked up, the door of the -Orderly Room opened and the Adjutant came on to the -step. He took a good look at the American girl and said, -“Oh—er—Gibbs! You can make it an hour if you -like.”</p> - -<p>It may amuse him to know, if the slaughter hasn’t -claimed him, that I made it exactly sixty minutes, much -as I should have liked to make it several hours, and was -immensely grateful to him both for the extra half hour -and for the delightful touch of humour.</p> - -<p>What a picnic it was! We motored away from that -place and all its roughness and took the basket under a -spinney in the afternoon sun which touched everything -in a red glow.</p> - -<p>It wasn’t only tea she gave me, but sixty precious -minutes of great friendship, letting fall little remarks -which helped me to go back all the more determined to -stick to it. She renewed my faith in myself and gave me<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span> -renewed courage,—for which I was unable to thank her. -We British are so accursedly tongue-tied in these matters. -I did try but of course made a botch of it.</p> - -<p>There are some things which speech cannot deal with. -Your taking me out that day, oh, American girl, and the -other days later, are numbered among them.</p> - - -<h3>11</h3> - -<p>The other occurrence was also brought about by a -woman, <em>the</em> woman for whom I joined up. It was a -Sunday morning on which fortunately I was not detailed -for any fatigues and she came to take me out to lunch. -We motored to Marlborough, lunched at the hotel and -after visiting a racing stable some distance off came -back to the hotel for tea, a happy day unflecked by any -shadow. In the corner of the dining-room were two -officers with two ladies. I, in the bandolier and spurs of -a trooper, sat with my back to them and my friend told -me that they seemed to be eyeing me and making -remarks. It occurred to me that as I had no official -permission to be away from Tidworth they might possibly -be going to make trouble. How little I knew what was -in their minds. When we’d finished and got up to go -one of the officers came across as we were going out of -the room and said, “May I speak to you a moment?”</p> - -<p>We both stopped. “I see you’re wearing the numerals -of my regiment,” said he and went on to ask why I was -in the ranks, why I hadn’t asked for a commission, and -strongly advised me to do so.</p> - -<p>I told him that I hadn’t ever thought of it because I -knew nothing about soldiering and hadn’t the faintest -idea of whether I should ever be any good as an officer. -He waved that aside and advised me to apply. Then he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> -added that he himself was going out to France one day in -the following week and would I like to go as his servant? -Would I? My whole idea was to get to France; and this -happened before I had been passed out by the Colonel. -So he took down my name and particulars and said he -would ask for me when he came to Tidworth, which he -proposed to do in two days’ time.</p> - -<p>Whether he ever came or not I do not know. I never -saw him again. Nor did I take any steps with regard to -a commission. My friend and I talked it over and I -remember rather laughing at the idea of it.</p> - -<p>Not so she, however. About a fortnight later I was -suddenly sent for by the Colonel.</p> - -<p>“I hear you’ve applied for a commission,” said he.</p> - -<p>It came like a bolt from the blue. But through my -brain flashed the meeting in the Marlborough Hotel and -I saw in it the handiwork of my friend.</p> - -<p>So I said, “Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>He then asked me where I was educated and whether I -spoke French and what my job was in civil life and finally -I was sent off to fill up a form and then to be medically -examined.</p> - -<p>And there the matter ended. I went on with the daily -routine, was passed out by the Colonel and a very few -days after that heard the glorious news that we were going -out as a draft to France on active service.</p> - -<p>We were all in bed in the barrack room one evening -when the door opened and a sergeant came in and flicked -on the electric light, which had only just been turned -out.</p> - -<p>“Wake up, you bloodthirsty warriors,” he cried. -“Wake up. You’re for a draft to-morrow all of you on -this list,” and he read out the names of all of us in the -room who had been passed out. “Parade at the Quartermaster’s -stores at nine o’clock in the morning.” And<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> -out went the light and the door slammed and a burst of -cheering went up.</p> - -<p>And while I lay on my “biscuits,” imagining France -and hearing in my mind the thunder of guns and wondering -what our first charge would be like, the machinery which -my friend had set in motion was rolling slowly (shades of -the War Office!) but surely. My name had been submerged -in the “usual channels” but was receiving first -aid, all unknown to me, of a most vigorous description.</p> - - -<h3>12</h3> - -<p>Shall I <em>ever</em> forget that week-end, with all its strength -of emotions running the gamut from exaltation to blank -despair and back again to the wildest enthusiasm?</p> - -<p>We paraded at the Quartermaster’s stores and received -each a kit bag, two identity discs—the subject of many -gruesome comments—a jack-knife, mess tin, water bottle, -haversack, and underclothes. Thus were we prepared -for the killing.</p> - -<p>Then the Major appeared and we fell in before him.</p> - -<p>“Now which of you men want to go to the front?” -said he. “Any man who wants to, take one pace forward.”</p> - -<p>As one man the whole lot of us, about thirty, took one -pace forward.</p> - -<p>The Major smiled. “Good,” said he. “Any man -<em>not</em> want to go—prove.”</p> - -<p>No man proved.</p> - -<p>“Well, look here,” said the Major, “I hate to disappoint -anybody but only twenty-eight of you can go. -You’ll have to draw lots.”</p> - -<p>Accordingly bits of paper were put into a hat, thirty -scraps of paper, two of them marked with crosses. Was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span> -it a sort of inverted omen that the two who drew the -crosses would never find themselves under little mounds -in France?</p> - -<p>We drew in turn, excitement running high as paper -after paper came out blank. My heart kicked within me. -How I prayed not to draw a cross. But I did!</p> - -<p>Speechless with despair the other man who drew a -cross and I received the good-natured chaff of the rest.</p> - -<p>I saw them going out, to leave this accursed place of -boredom and make-believe, for the real thing, the thing -for which we had slaved and sweated and suffered. We -two were to be left. We weren’t to go on sharing the luck -with these excellent fellows united to us by the bonds of -fellow-striving, whom we knew in sickness and health, -drunk and sober.</p> - -<p>We had to remain behind, eating our hearts out to wait -for the next draft—a lot of men whom we did not know, -strangers with their own jokes and habits—possibly a -fortnight of hanging about. The day was a Friday and -our pals were supposed to be going at any moment. The -other unlucky man and myself came to the conclusion -that consolation might be found in a long week-end leave -and that if we struck while the iron of sympathy was hot -the Major might be inclined to lend a friendly ear. This -indeed he did and within an hour we were in the London -train on that gloomy Friday morning, free as any civilian -till midnight of the following Tuesday. Thus the Major’s -generosity. The only proviso was that we had both to -leave telegraphic addresses in case——</p> - -<p>But in spite of that glorious week-end in front of us, -we refused to be consoled, yet, and insisted on telling the -other occupants of the carriage of our rotten luck. We -revelled in gloom and extraneous sympathy until Waterloo -showed up in the murk ahead. Then I’m bound to confess -my own mental barometer went up with a jump and I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span> -said good-bye to my fellow lancer, who was off to pursue -the light o’ love in Stepney, with an impromptu Te Deum -in my heart.</p> - -<p>My brother, with whom I spent all my week-ends in -those days, had a house just off the Park. He put in his -time looking like a rather tired admiral, most of whose -nights were passed looking for Zeppelins and yearning -for them to come within range of his beloved “bundooks” -which were in the neighbourhood of the Admiralty. -Thither I went at full speed in a taxi—they still existed -in those days—and proceeded to wallow in a hot bath, -borrowing my brother’s bath salts (or were they his -wife’s?), clean “undies” and hair juice with a liberal -hand. It was a comic sight to see us out together in the -crowded London streets, he all over gold lace, me just a -Tommy with a cheap swagger stick under my arm. -Subalterns, new to the game, saluted him punctiliously. -I saluted them. And when we met generals or a real -admiral we both saluted together. The next afternoon, -Saturday, at tea time a telegram came. We were deep -in armchairs in front of a gorgeous fire, with muffins sitting -in the hearth and softly shaded electric lights throwing -a glow over pictures and backs of books and the piano -which, after the barrack room, made us as near heaven as -I’ve ever been. The telegram was for me, signed by the -Adjutant.</p> - -<p>“Return immediately.”</p> - -<p>It was the echo of a far-off boot and saddle.—I took -another look round the room. Should I ever see it -again? My brother’s eye met mine and we rose together.</p> - -<p>“Well, I must be getting along,” said I. “Cheero, -old son.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll come with you to the station,” said he.</p> - -<p>I shook my head. “No, please don’t bother.—Don’t -forget to write.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span></p> - -<p>“Rather not.—Good luck, old man.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks.”</p> - -<p>We went down to his front door. I put on my bandolier -and picked up my haversack.</p> - -<p>“Well—so long.”</p> - -<p>We shook hands.</p> - -<p>“God bless you.”</p> - -<p>I think we said it together and then the door closed -softly behind me.</p> - -<p><i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Partir, c’est mourir un peu.—Un peu.</i>—God!</p> - - -<h3>13</h3> - -<p>The next day, Sunday, we all hung about in a sort of -uneasy waiting, without any orders.</p> - -<p>It gave us all time to write letters home. If I rightly -remember, absolute secrecy was to be maintained so we -were unable even to hint at our departure or to say good-bye. -It was probably just as well but they were difficult -letters to achieve. So we tied one identity disc to our -braces and slung the other round our necks on a string -and did rather more smoking than usual.</p> - -<p>Next morning, however, all was bustle. The orders -had come in and we paraded in full fighting kit in front -of the guardroom.</p> - -<p>The Colonel came on parade and in a silence that was -only broken by the beating of our hearts told us we were -going out to face the Boche for our King and Country’s -sake, to take our places in the ranks of a very gallant -regiment, and he wished us luck.</p> - -<p>We gave three rather emotional cheers and marched -away with our chins high, followed by the cheers of the -whole barracks who had turned out to see us off. Just -as we were about to entrain the Major trotted up on his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span> -big charger and shook us individually by the hand and -said he wished he were coming with us. His coming was -a great compliment and every man of us appreciated it -to the full.</p> - -<p>The harbour was a wonderful sight when we got in -late that afternoon. Hundreds of arc lights lit up -numbers of ships and at each ship was a body of troops -entraining,—English, Scotch and Irish, cavalry, gunners -and infantry. At first glance it appeared a hopeless -tangle, a babel of yelling men all getting into each other’s -way. But gradually the eye tuned itself up to the endless -kaleidoscope and one saw that absolute order prevailed. -Every single man was doing a job and the work never -ceased.</p> - -<p>We were not taking horses and marched in the charge -of an officer right through the busy crowd and halted -alongside a boat which already seemed packed with -troops. But after a seemingly endless wait we were -marched on board and, dodging men stripped to the waist -who were washing in buckets, we climbed down iron -ladders into the bowels of the hold, were herded into a -corner and told to make ourselves comfortable. Tea -would be dished out in half an hour.</p> - -<p>Holds are usually iron. This was. Furthermore it -had been recently red-leaded. Throw in a strong suggestion -of garlic and more than a hint of sea-sickness and -you get some idea of the perfume that greeted us, friendly-like.</p> - -<p>The comments, entirely good-natured, were unprintable. -There were no bunks. We had one blanket each -and a greatcoat. My thoughts turned to the first-class -stateroom of the <i>Caronia</i> in which only four months -previously I had had no thought of war. The accepted -form of romance and the glamour of war have been altered. -There are no cheering crowds and fluttering handkerchiefs<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> -and brass bands. The new romance is the light of the -moon flickering on darkened ships that creep one after -the other through the mine barrier out into deep waters, -turning to silver the foam ripped by the bows, picking out -the white expressionless faces of silent thousands of -khaki-clad men lining the rail, following the will-o’-the-wisp -which beckoned to a strange land.</p> - -<p>How many of them knew what they were going to fight -for? How many of them realized the <ins class="corr" id="tn-40" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'unforgetable hell'"> -unforgettable hell</ins> they were to be engulfed in, the sacrifice which they so -readily made of youth, love, ambition, life itself—and to -what end? To give the lie to one man who wished to -alter the face of the world? To take the part of the -smaller country trampled and battered by the bully? -To save from destruction the greasy skins of dirty-minded -politicians, thinking financially or even imperially, but -staying at home?</p> - -<p>God knows why most of us went.</p> - -<p>But the sting of the Channel wind as we <ins class="corr" id="tn-40a" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'set out faces'"> -set our faces</ins> to the enemy drove all reason from the mind and filled -it with a mighty exultation. If Death were there to -meet us, well, it was all in the game.</p> - - -<h3>14</h3> - -<p>We climbed up from the hold next morning to find -ourselves in Portsmouth harbour. The word submarines -ran about the decks. There we waited all day, and again -under cover of dark made our way out to open water, -reaching Havre about six o’clock next morning.</p> - -<p>We were marched ashore in the afternoon and transferred -to another boat. Nobody knew our destination -and the wildest guesses were made. The new boat was -literally packed. There was no question of going down<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> -into a hold. We were lucky to get sufficient deck space -to lie down on, and just before getting under way, it -began to rain. There were some London Scottish at -our end of the deck who, finding that we had exhausted -our rations, shared theirs with us. There was no question -of sleeping. It was too cold and too uncomfortable. -So we sang. There must have been some two thousand -of us on board and all those above deck joined in choruses -of all the popular songs as they sat hunched up or lying -like rows of sardines in the rain. Dawn found us shivering, -passing little villages on either bank of the river as -we neared Rouen. The early-rising inhabitants waved -and their voices came across the water, “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Vivent les -Anglais! A bas les Boches!</i>” And the sun came out -as we waved out shaving brushes at them in reply. We -eventually landed in the old cathedral city and formed -up and marched away across the bridge, with everybody -cheering and throwing flowers until we came to La -Bruyère camp.</p> - -<p>Hundreds of bell tents, thousands of horses, and mud -over the ankles! That was the first impression of the -camp. It wasn’t until we were divided off into tents -and had packed our equipment tight round the tent pole -that one had time to notice details.</p> - -<p>We spent about nine days in La Bruyère camp and we -groomed horses from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. every day, wet or -fine. The lines were endless and the mud eternal. It -became a nightmare, relieved only by the watering of the -horses. The water was about a kilometre and a half -distant. We mounted one horse and led two more each -and in an endless line splashed down belly-deep in mud -past the hospital where the slightly wounded leaned over -the rail and exchanged badinage. Sometimes the sisters -gave us cigarettes for which we called down blessings on -their heads.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span></p> - -<p>It rained most of the time and we stood ankle-deep -all day in the lines, grooming and shovelling away mud. -But all the time jokes were hurled from man to man, -although the rain dripped down their faces and necks. -We slept, if I remember rightly, twenty men in a tent, -head outwards, feet to the pole piled on top of each other,—wet, -hot, aching. Oh, those feet, the feet of tired heroes, -but unwashed. And it was impossible to open the tent -flap because of the rain.—Fortunately it was cold those -nights and one smoked right up to the moment of falling -asleep. Only two per cent. of passes to visit the town -were allowed, but the camp was only barb-wired and -sentried on one side. The other side was open to the -pine woods and very pretty they were as we went cross-country -towards the village of St. Etienne from which a -tram-car ran into Rouen in about twenty minutes. The -military police posted at the entrance to the town either -didn’t know their job or were good fellows of Nelsonian -temperament, content to turn a blind eye. From later -experience I judge that the former was probably the case. -Be that as it may, several hundreds of us went in without -official permission nearly every night and, considering -all things, were most orderly. Almost the only man -I ever saw drunk was, paradoxically enough, a police -man. He tried to place my companion and myself under -arrest, but was so far gone that he couldn’t write down our -names and numbers and we got off. The hand of Fate -was distinctly in it for had I been brought up and crimed -for being loose in the town without leave it might have -counted against me when my commission was being -considered.</p> - -<p>One evening, the night before we left for the front, we -went down for a bath, the last we should get for many a -day. On our way we paid a visit to the cathedral. It -was good to get out of the crowded streets into the vast<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span> -gloom punctured by pin-points of candlelight, with only -faint footfalls and the squeak of a chair to disturb the -silence. For perhaps half an hour we knelt in front of the -high altar,—quite unconsciously the modern version of -that picture of a knight in armour kneeling, holding up -his sword as a cross before the altar. It is called the -Vigil, I believe. We made a little vigil in khaki and -bandoliers and left the cathedral with an extraordinary -confidence in the morrow. There was a baby being -baptised at the font. It was an odd thing seeing that -baby just as we passed out. It typified somewhat the -reason of our going forth to fight.</p> - -<p>The bath was amusing. The doors were being closed -as we arrived, and I had just the time to stick my foot in -the crack, much to the annoyance of the attendant. I -blarneyed him in French and at last pushed into the hall -only to be greeted by a cry of indignation from the lady -in charge of the ticket office. She was young, however -and pretty, and, determined to get a bath, I played upon -her feelings to the extent of my vocabulary. At first she -was adamant. The baths were closed. I pointed out -that the next morning we were going to the front to fight -for France. She refused to believe it. I asked her if -she had a brother. She said she hadn’t. I congratulated -her on not being agonized by the possibilities of his -death from hour to hour. She smiled.</p> - -<p>My heart leaped with hope and I reminded her that as -we were possibly going to die for her the least she could -do was to let us die clean. She looked me straight in the -eye. There was a twinkle in hers. “You will not die,” -she said. Somehow one doesn’t associate the selling of -bath tickets with the calling of prophet. But she combined -the two. And the bath was gloriously hot.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span></p> - - -<h3>15</h3> - -<p>That nine days at La Bruyère did not teach us very -much,—not even the realization of the vital necessity of -patience. We looked upon each day as wasted because -we weren’t up the line. Everywhere were preparations -of war but we yearned for the sound of guns. Even the -blue-clad figures who exchanged jokes with us over the -hospital railing conveyed nothing of the grim tragedy of -which we were only on the fringe. They were mostly -convalescent. It is only the shattered who are being -pulled back to life by a thread who make one curse the -war. We looked about like new boys in a school, interested -but knowing nothing of the workings, reading none -of the signs. This all bored us. We wanted the line -with all the persistence of the completely ignorant.</p> - -<p>The morning after our bath we got it. There was -much bustle and running and cursing and finally we had -our saddles packed, and a day’s rations in our haversacks -and a double feed in the nose-bags.</p> - -<p>The cavalry man in full marching order bears a strange -resemblance to a travelling ironmonger and rattles like -the banging of old tins. The small man has almost to -climb up the near foreleg of his horse, so impossible is -it to get a leg anywhere near the stirrup iron with all his -gear on. My own method was to stick the lance in the -ground by the butt, climb with infinite labour and -heavings into the saddle and come back for the lance when -arranged squarely on the horse.</p> - -<p>Eventually everything was accomplished and we -were all in the saddle and were inspected to see that we -were complete in every detail. Then we rode out of that -muddy camp in sections—four abreast—and made our<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span> -way down towards the station. It was a real touch of -old-time romance, that ride. The children ran shouting, -and people came out of the shops to wave their hands and -give us fruit and wish us luck, and the girls blew kisses, -and through the hubbub the clatter of our horses over the -cobbles and the jingle of stirrup striking stirrup made -music that stirred one’s blood.</p> - -<p>There was a long train of cattle trucks waiting for us -at the station and into these we put our horses, eight to -each truck, fastened by their ropes from the head collar -to a ring in the roof. In the two-foot space between the -two lots of four horses facing each other were put the eight -saddles and blankets and a bale of hay.</p> - -<p>Two men were detailed to stay with the horses in -each truck while the rest fell in and were marched away -to be distributed among the remaining empty trucks. -I didn’t altogether fancy the idea of looking after eight -frightened steeds in that two-foot alleyway, but before -I could fall in with the rest I was detailed by the sergeant.</p> - -<p>That journey was a nightmare. My fellow stableman -was a brainless idiot who knew even less about the handling -of horses than I did.</p> - -<p>The train pulled out in the growing dusk of a cold -November evening, the horses snorting and starting -at every jolt, at every signal and telegraph pole that we -passed. When they pawed with their front feet we, -sitting on the bale of hay, had to dodge with curses. -There was no sand or bedding and it was only the tightness -with which they were packed together that kept them -on their feet. Every light that flashed by drew frightened -snorts. We spent an hour standing among them, -saying soothing things and patting their necks. We -tried closing the sliding doors but at the end of five minutes -the heat splashed in great drops of moisture from the roof -and the smell was impossible. Eventually I broke the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span> -bale of hay and threw some of that down to give them a -footing.</p> - -<p>There was a lamp in the corner of the truck. I told -the other fellow to light it. He said he had no matches. -So I produced mine and discovered that I had only six -left. We used five to find out that the lamp had neither -oil nor wick. We had just exhausted our vocabularies -over this when the train entered a tunnel. At no time -did the train move at more than eight miles an hour and -the tunnel seemed endless. A times I still dream of that -tunnel and wake up in a cold sweat.</p> - -<p>As our truck entered great billows of smoke rushed into -it. The eight horses tried as one to rear up and crashed -their heads against the roof. The noise was deafening -and it was pitch dark. I felt for the door and slid it shut -while the horses blew and tugged at their ropes in a -blind panic. Then there was a heavy thud, followed by -a yell from the other man and a furious squealing.</p> - -<p>“Are you all right?” I shouted, holding on to the head -collar of the nearest beast.</p> - -<p>“Christ!” came the answer. “There’s a ’orse down -and I’m jammed up against the door ’ere. Come and get -me out, for Christ’s sake.”</p> - -<p>My heart was pumping wildly.</p> - -<p>The smoke made one gasp and there was a furious -stamping and squealing and a weird sort of blowing gurgle -which I could not define.</p> - -<p>Feeling around I reached the next horse’s head collar -and staggered over the pile of saddlery. As I leaned -forward to get to the third something whistled past my -face and I heard the sickening noise of a horse’s hoof -against another horse, followed by a squeal. I felt -blindly and touched a flank where a head should have -been. One of them had swung round and was standing -with his fore feet on the fallen horse and was lashing out<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> -with both hind feet, while my companion was jammed -against the wall of the truck by the fallen animal presumably.</p> - -<p>And still that cursed tunnel did not come to an end. -I yelled again to see if he were all right and his fruity -reply convinced me that at least there was no damage -done. So I patted the kicker and squeezed in to his -head and tried to get him round. It was impossible to -get past, over or under, and the brute wouldn’t move. -There was nothing for it but to remain as we were until -out of the tunnel. And then I located the gurgle. It -was the fallen horse, tied up short by the head collar to -the roof, being steadily strangled. It was impossible to -cut the rope. A loose horse in that infernal <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mêlée</i> was -worse than one dead—or at least choking. But I cursed -and pulled and heaved in my efforts to get him up.</p> - -<p>By this time there was no air and one’s lungs seemed on -the point of bursting. The roof rained sweat upon our -faces and every moment I expected to get a horse’s hoof -in my face.</p> - -<p>How I envied that fellow jammed against the truck. -At last we came out into the open again, and I slid back -the door, and shoved my head outside and gulped in the -fresh air. Then I untied the kicker and somehow, I -don’t know how, got him round into his proper position -and tied him up, with a handful of hay all round to steady -their nerves.</p> - -<p>The other man was cursing blue blazes all this time, -but eventually I cut the rope of the fallen horse, and -after about three false starts he got on his feet again -and was retied. The man was not hurt. He had been -merely wedged. So we gave some more hay all round, -cursed a bit more to ease ourselves and then went to the -open door for air. A confused shouting from the next -truck reached us. After many yells we made out the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span> -following, “Pass the word forward that the train’s on -fire.”</p> - -<p>All the stories I’d ever heard of horses being burnt -alive raced through my brain in a fraction of a second.</p> - -<p>We leaned to the truck in front and yelled. No -answer. The truck was shut.</p> - -<p>“Climb on the roof,” said I, “and go forward.” The -other man obeyed and disappeared into the dark.</p> - -<p>Minutes passed, during which I looked back and saw -a cloud of smoke coming out of a truck far along the -train.</p> - -<p>Then a foot dropped over from the roof and my companion -climbed back.</p> - -<p>“Better go yourself,” he said. “I carnt mike ’im -understand. He threw lumps of coal at me from the -perishin’ engine.”</p> - -<p>So I climbed on to the roof of the swaying coach, -got my balance and walked forward till a yard-wide -jump to the next roof faced me in the darkness.</p> - -<p>“Lord!” thought I, “if I didn’t know that other -lad had been here, I shouldn’t care about it. However——” -I took a strong leap and landed, slipping to -my hands and knees.</p> - -<p>There were six trucks between me and the engine -and the jumps varied in width. I got there all right -and screamed to the engine driver, “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Incendie!—Incendie!</i>”</p> - -<p>He paused in the act of throwing coal at me and I -screamed again. Apparently he caught it, for first -peering back along all the train, he dived at a lever and -the train screamed to a halt. I was mighty thankful. -I hadn’t looked forward to going back the way I came -and I climbed quickly down to the rails. A sort of -guard with a lantern and an official appearance climbed -out of a box of sorts and demanded to know what was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> -the matter, and when I told him, called to me to follow -and began doubling back along the track.</p> - -<p>I followed. The train seemed about a mile long but -eventually we reached a truck, full of men and a rosy -glare, from which a column of smoke bellied out. The -guard flashed his lantern in.</p> - -<p>The cursed thing wasn’t on fire at all. The men were -burning hay in a biscuit tin, singing merrily, just keeping -themselves warm.</p> - -<p>I thought of the agony of those jumps in the dark -from roof to roof and laughed. But I got my own back. -They couldn’t see us in the dark, so in short snappy -sentences I ordered them to put the fire out immediately. -And they thought I was an officer and did so.</p> - - -<h3>16</h3> - -<p>The rest of the night passed in an endeavour to get -to sleep in a sitting position on the bale of hay. From -time to time one dozed off, but it was too cold, and the -infernal horses would keep on pawing.</p> - -<p>Never was a night so long and it wasn’t till eight -o’clock in the morning that we ran into Hazebrouck -and stopped. By this time we were so hungry that -food was imperative. On the station was a great pile of -rifles and bandoliers and equipment generally, all dirty -and rusty, and in a corner some infantry were doing -something round a fire.</p> - -<p>“Got any tea, chum?” said I.</p> - -<p>He nodded a Balaklava helmet.</p> - -<p>We were on him in two leaps with extended dixies. -It saved our lives, that tea. We were chilled to the -bone and had only bully beef and biscuits, of course, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span> -I felt renewed courage surge through me with every -mouthful.</p> - -<p>“What’s all that stuff?” I asked, pointing to the -heap of equipments.</p> - -<p>“Dead men’s weapons,” said he, lighting a “gasper.” -Somehow it didn’t sound real. One couldn’t -picture all the men to whom that had belonged dead. -Nor did it give one anything of a shock. One just -accepted it as a fact without thinking, “I wonder whether -<em>my</em> rifle and sword will ever join that heap?” The idea -of my being <em>killed</em> was absurd, fantastic. Any of these -others, yes, but somehow not myself. Never at any -time have I felt anything but extreme confidence in the -fact—yes, fact—that I should come through, in all -probability, unwounded. I thought about it often but -always with the certainty that nothing would happen -to me.</p> - -<p>I decided that <em>if</em> I were killed I should be most frightfully -angry! There were so many things to be done -with life, so much beauty to be found, so many ambitions -to be realized, that it was impossible that I should be -killed. All this dirt and discomfort was just a necessary -phase to the greater appreciation of everything.</p> - -<p>I can’t explain it. Perhaps there isn’t any explanation. -But never at any time have I seen the shell or -bullet with my name on it,—as the saying goes. And -yet somehow that pile of broken gear filled one with a -sense of the pity of it all, the utter folly of civilization -which had got itself into such an unutterable mess that -blood-letting was the only way out.—I proceeded to -strip to the waist and shave out of a horse-bucket of -cold water.</p> - -<p>There was a cold drizzle falling when at last we had -watered the horses, fed and saddled them up, and were -ready to mount. It increased to a steady downpour<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span> -as we rode away in half sections and turned into a muddy -road lined with the eternal poplar. In the middle of -the day we halted, numbed through, on the side of -a road, and watered the horses again, and snatched a -mouthful of biscuit and bully and struggled to fill a -pipe with icy fingers. Then on again into the increasing -murk of a raw afternoon.</p> - -<p>Thousands of motor lorries passed like an endless -chain. Men muffled in greatcoats emerged from farm-houses -and faintly far came the sound of guns.</p> - -<p>The word went round that we were going up into -the trenches that night. Heaven knows who started -it but I found it a source of spiritual exaltation that -helped to conquer the discomfort of that ride. Every -time a trickle ran down one’s neck one thought, “It -doesn’t matter. This is the real thing. We are going -up to-night,” and visualised a Hun over the sights of -one’s rifle.</p> - -<p>Presently the flames of fires lit up the murk and -shadowy forms moved round them which took no notice -of us as we rode by.</p> - -<p>At last in pitch darkness we halted at a road crossing -and splashed into a farmyard that was nearly belly-deep -in mud. Voices came through the gloom, and after -some indecision and cursing we off-saddled in a stable -lit by a hurricane lamp, hand-rubbed the horses, blanketed -them and left them comfortable for the night.</p> - -<p>We were given hot tea and bread and cheese and -shepherded into an enormous barn piled high with hay. -Here and there twinkled candles in biscuit tins and -everywhere were men sitting and lying on the hay, the -vague whiteness of their faces just showing. It looked -extremely comfortable.</p> - -<p>But when we joined them—the trench rumour was -untrue—we found that the hay was so wet that a lighted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> -match thrown on it fizzled and went out. The rain came -through innumerable holes in the roof and the wind -made the candles burn all one-sided. However, it was -soft to lie on, and when my “chum” and I had got on -two pairs of dry socks each and had snuggled down -together with two blankets over our tunics and greatcoats, -and mufflers round our necks, and Balaklava -helmets over our heads we found we could sleep warm -till reveille.</p> - -<p>The sock question was difficult. One took off soaking -boots and puttees at night and had to put them on again -still soaking in the morning. The result was that by -day our feet were always ice-cold and never dry. We -never took anything else off except to wash, or to groom -horses.</p> - -<p>The next morning I had my first lesson in real soldiering. -The results were curious.</p> - -<p>The squadron was to parade in drill order at 9 a.m. -We had groomed diligently in the chilly dawn. None -of the horses had been clipped, so it consisted in getting -the mud off rather than really grooming, and I was glad -to see that my horse had stood the train journey and -the previous day’s ride without any damage save a slight -rubbing of his tail. At about twenty minutes to nine, -shaved and washed, I went to the stables to saddle up -for the parade. Most of the others in that stable were -nearly ready by the time I got there and to my dismay -I found that they had used all my gear. There was -nothing but the horse and the blanket left,—no saddle, -no head collar and bit, no rifle, no sword, no lance. -Everything had disappeared. I dashed round and tried -to lay hands on some one else’s property. They were -too smart and eventually they all turned out leaving me. -The only saddle in the place hadn’t been cleaned for -months and I should have been ashamed to ride it.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span> -Then the sergeant appeared, a great, red-faced, bad-tempered-looking -man.</p> - -<p>I decided on getting the first blow in. So I went up -and told him that all my things had been “pinched.” -Could he tell me where I could find some more?</p> - -<p>His reply would have blistered the paint off a door. -His adjectives concerning me made me want to hit him. -But one cannot hit one’s superior officer in the army—more’s -the pity—on occasions like that. So we had -a verbal battle. I told him that if he didn’t find me -everything down to lance buckets I shouldn’t appear on -parade and that if he chose to put me under arrest, so -much the better, as the Major would then find out how -damned badly the sergeant ran his troop.</p> - -<p>It was a good bluff. Bit by bit he hunted up a head -collar, a saddle, sword, lance, etc. Needless to say they -were all filthy and I wished all the bullets in Germany -on the dirty dog who had pinched my clean stuff. However, -I was on parade just half a minute before the -Major came round to inspect us. He stopped at me, -his eye taking in the rusty bit and stirrup irons, the -coagulations on the bridle, the general damnableness of -it all. It wasn’t nice.</p> - -<p>“Did you come in last night?” The voice was -hard.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Did you come up from the base with your appointments -in that state?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>The sergeant was looking apoplectic behind him.</p> - -<p>“These aren’t my things, sir,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Whose are they?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Where are your things?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span></p> - -<p>“They were in the stables at reveille, sir, but they’d -all gone when I went to saddle up. The horse is the -only thing I brought with me, sir.”</p> - -<p>The whole troop was sitting at attention, listening, -and I hoped that the man who had stolen everything -heard this dialogue and was quaking in his wet boots.</p> - -<p>The Major turned. “What does this mean, Sergeant?”</p> - -<p>There was a vindictive look in the sergeant’s eye as -he spluttered out an unconvincing reply that “these -new fellows wanted nursemaids and weren’t ’alf nippy -enough in lookin’ arter ’emselves.”</p> - -<p>The Major considered it for a moment, told me that -I must get everything clean for the next parade and -passed on.</p> - -<p>At least I was not under arrest, but it wasn’t good -enough on the first morning to earn the Major’s scorn -through no fault of my own. I wanted some one’s blood.</p> - -<p>Each troop leader, a subaltern, was given written -orders by the Major and left to carry them out. Our -own troop leader didn’t seem to understand his orders -and by the time the other three troops had ridden away -he was still reading his paper. The Major returned -and explained, asked him if all was clear, and getting yes -for an answer, rode off.</p> - -<p>The subaltern then asked the sergeant if he had a -map!</p> - -<p>What was even more curious, the sergeant said yes. -The subaltern said we had to get to a place called Flêtre -within three quarters of an hour and they proceeded to -try and find it on the sergeant’s map without any success -for perhaps five minutes.</p> - -<p>During that time the troopers around me made remarks -in undertones, most ribald remarks. We had come -through Flêtre the previous day and I remembered the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> -road. So I turned to a lance-corporal on my right and -said, “Look here, I know the way. Shall I tell him?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, tell him for Christ’s sake!” said the lance-corporal. -“It’s too perishin’ cold to go on sitting ’ere.”</p> - -<p>So I took a deep breath and all my courage in both -hands and spoke. “I beg your pardon, sir,” said I. -“I know Flêtre.”</p> - -<p>The subaltern turned round on his horse. “Who -knows the place?” he said.</p> - -<p>“I do, sir,” and I told him how to get there.</p> - -<p>Without further comment he gave the word to advance -in half sections and we left the parade ground, but -instead of turning to the left as I had said, he led us -straight on at a good sharp trot.</p> - -<p>More than half an hour later, when we should have -been at the pin point in Flêtre, the subaltern halted us -at a crossroads in open country and again had a map -consultation with the sergeant. Again it was apparently -impossible to locate either the crossroads or the -rendezvous.</p> - -<p>But in the road were two peasants coming towards -us. He waited till they came up and then asked them -the way in bad German. They looked at him blankly, -so he repeated his question in worse French. His pronunciation -of Flêtre puzzled them but at last one of them -guessed it and began a stream of explanations and -pointings.</p> - -<p>“What the hell are they talking about?” said the -subaltern to the sergeant.</p> - -<p>The lance-corporal nudged me. “Did <em>you</em> understand?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Tell him again,” he said. “Go on.”</p> - -<p>So again I begged his pardon and explained what -the peasants had told him. He looked at me for a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span> -moment oddly. I admit that it wasn’t usual for a -private to address his officer on parade without being -first spoken to. But this was war, the world war, and -the old order changeth. Anyhow I was told to ride in -front of the troop as guide and did and brought the troop -to the rendezvous about twenty minutes late.</p> - -<p>The Major was not pleased.</p> - -<p>Later in the day the subaltern came around the stables -and, seeing me, stopped and said, “Oh—er—you!”</p> - -<p>I came to attention behind the horse.</p> - -<p>“What’s your name?” said he.</p> - -<p>I told him.</p> - -<p>“Do you talk French?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Where were you educated?”</p> - -<p>“France and Oxford University, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” slightly surprised. “Er—all right, get on -with your work”—and whether it was he or the sergeant -I don’t know, but I had four horses to groom that -morning instead of two.</p> - -<p>From that moment I decided to cut out being intelligent -and remain what the French call a “simple” soldier.</p> - -<p>By a strange coincidence there was a nephew of that -subaltern in the Brigade of Gunners to which I was -posted when I received a commission. It is curious how -accurately nephews sum up uncles.</p> - - -<h3>17</h3> - -<p>When we did not go out on drill orders like that we -began the day with what is called rough exercise. It -was. In the foggy dawn, swathed in scarfs and Balaklava -helmets, one folded one’s blanket on the horse, -bitted him, mounted, took another horse on either side,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> -and in a long column followed an invisible lance-corporal -across ploughed fields, over ditches, and along roads at a -good stiff trot that jarred one’s spine. It was generally -raining and always so cold that one never had the use -of either hands or feet. The result was that if one of -the unbitted led horses became frolicsome it was even -money that he would pull the rope out of one’s hands -and canter off blithely down the road,—for which one -was cursed bitterly by the sergeant on one’s return. The -rest of the day was divided between stables and fatigues -in that eternal heart-breaking mud. One laid brick -paths and brushwood paths and within twenty-four hours -they had disappeared under mud. It was shovelled -away in sacks and wheelbarrows, and it oozed up again -as if by magic. One made herring-bone drains and they -merged in the mud. There seemed to be no method of -competing with it. In the stables the horses stood in -it knee-deep. As soon as one had finished grooming, the -brute seemed to take a diabolical pleasure in lying down -in it. It became a nightmare.</p> - -<p>The sergeant didn’t go out of his way to make things -easier for any of us and confided most of the dirtier, -muddier jobs to me. There seemed to be always something -unpleasant that required “intelligence,” so he -said, and in the words of the army I “clicked.” The -result was that I was happiest when I was on guard, a -twenty-four-hour duty which kept me more or less out -of the mud and entirely out of his way.</p> - -<p>The first time I went on I was told by the N.C.O. -in charge that no one was to come through the hedge -that bounded the farm and the road after lights out, -and if any one attempted to do so I was to shoot on -sight. So I marched up and down my short beat in the -small hours between two and four, listening to the far-off -muttering of guns and watching the Verey lights like<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> -a miniature firework display, praying that some spy -would try and enter the gap in the hedge. My finger -was never very far from the trigger, and my beat was -never more than two yards from the hedge. I didn’t -realize then that we were so far from the line that the -chances of a strolling Hun were absurd. Looking back -on it I am inclined to wonder whether the N.C.O. didn’t -tell me to shoot on sight because he knew that the sergeant’s -billet was down that road and the hedge was a -short cut. The sergeant wasn’t very popular.</p> - -<p>There was an <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">estaminet</i> across the road from the farm, -and the officers had arranged for us to have the use of -the big room. It was a godsend, that <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">estaminet</i>, with its -huge stove nearly red-hot, its bowls of coffee and the -single glass of raw cognac which they were allowed to sell -us. The evenings were the only time one was ever -warm, and although there was nothing to read except -some old and torn magazines we sat there in the fetid -atmosphere just to keep warm.</p> - -<p>The patron talked vile French but was a kindly soul, -and his small boy, Gaston, aged about seven, became -a great friend of mine. He used to bring me my coffee, -his tiny, dirty hands only just big enough to hold the -bowl, and then stand and talk while I drank it, calling -me “thou.”</p> - -<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">T’es pas anglais, dis?</i>”</p> - -<p>And I laughed and said I was French.</p> - -<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Alors comment qu’ t’es avec eux, dis?</i>”</p> - -<p>And when one evening he came across and looked -over my shoulder as I was writing a letter, he said, “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Qué -que t’écris, dis?</i>”</p> - -<p>I told him I was writing in English.</p> - -<p>He stared at me and then called out shrilly, “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Papa. -V’là l’Français qu’écrit en anglais!</i>”</p> - -<p>He had seen the Boche, had little Gaston, and told<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> -me how one day the Uhlans had cleaned the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">estaminet</i> -out of everything,—wine, cognac, bread, blankets, -sheets—<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">les sales Boches!</i></p> - -<p>As the days dragged muddily through it was borne -in on me that this wasn’t fighting for King and Country. -It was just Tidworth over again with none of its advantages -and with all its discomforts increased a thousand-fold. -Furthermore the post-office seemed to have lost -me utterly, and weeks went by before I had any letters -at all. It was heart-breaking to see the mail distributed -daily and go away empty-handed. It was as though no -one cared, as though one were completely forgotten, as -though in stepping into this new life one had renounced -one’s identity. Indeed, every day it became more -evident that it was not I who was in that mud patch. -It was some one else on whom the real me looked down in -infinite amazement. I heard myself laugh in the farm -at night and join in choruses; saw myself dirty and -unbathed, with a scarf around my stomach and another -round my feet, and a woollen helmet over my head; -standing in the mud stripped to the waist shaving without -a looking-glass; drinking coffee and cognac in that -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">estaminet</i>.—Was it I who sometimes prayed for sleep -that I might shut it all out and slip into the land of -dreams, where there is no war and no mud? Was it I -who when the first letters arrived from home went out -into the rainy night with a candle-end to be alone with -those I loved? And was it only the rain which made -it so difficult to read them?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span></p> - - -<h3>18</h3> - -<p>The culminating point was reached when I became -ill.</p> - -<p>Feeling sick, I couldn’t eat any breakfast and dragged -myself on parade like a mangy cat. I stuck it till about -three in the afternoon, when the horse which I was -grooming receded from me and the whole world rocked. -I remember hanging on to the horse till things got a bit -steadier, and then asked the sergeant if I might go off -parade. I suppose I must have looked pretty ill because -he said yes at once.</p> - -<p>For three days I lay wrapped up on the straw in the -barn, eating nothing; and only crawling out to see the -doctor each morning at nine o’clock. Of other symptoms -I will say nothing. The whole affair was appalling, but -I recovered sufficient interest in life on the fourth morning -to parade sick, although I felt vastly more fit. -Indeed, the argument formed itself, “since I am a soldier -I’ll play the ‘old soldier’ and see how long I can be -excused duty.” And I did it so well that for three more -days I was to all intents and purposes a free man. On -one of the days I fell in with a corporal of another -squadron, and he and I got a couple of horses and rode -into Bailleul, which was only about three miles south of -us, and we bought chocolates, and candles and books, -and exchanged salutes with the Prince of Wales, who -was walking in the town. Then we came back with our -supplies after an excellent lunch at the hotel in the -square, the “Faucon,” and had tea with the officers’ -servants in a cosy little billet with a fire and beds. The -remarks they made about their officers were most in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span>structive, -and they referred to them either as “my -bloke” or “’is lordship.”</p> - -<p>And there it was I met again a man I had spoken to -once at Tidworth, who knew French and was now -squadron interpreter. He was a charming man of -considerable means, with a large business, who had -joined up immediately on the outbreak of war. But -being squadron interpreter he messed with the officers, -had a billet in a cottage, slept on a bed, had a private -hip bath and hot water, and was in heaven, comparatively. -He suggested to me that as my squadron lacked an -interpreter (he was doing the extra work) and I knew -French it was up to me.</p> - -<p>“But how the devil’s it to be done?” said I, alight -with the idea.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you go and see the Colonel?” he -suggested.</p> - -<p>I gasped. The Colonel was nearly God.</p> - -<p>He laughed. “This is ‘Kitchener’s Army,’” he -said, “not the regular Army. Things are a bit different.” -They were indeed!</p> - -<p>So I slept on the idea and every moment it seemed -to me better and better, until the following evening -after tea, instead of going to the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">estaminet</i>, I went down -to squadron headquarters. For about five minutes I -walked up and down in the mud, plucking up courage. -I would rather have faced a Hun any day.</p> - -<p>At last I went into the farmyard and knocked at the -door. There were lights in the crack of the window -shutters.</p> - -<p>A servant answered the door.</p> - -<p>“Is the Colonel in?” said I boldly.</p> - -<p>He peered at me. “What the perishin’ ’ell do <em>you</em> -want to know for?”</p> - -<p>“I want to see him,” said I.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span></p> - -<p>“And what the ’ell do <em>you</em> want to see him for?”</p> - -<p>I was annoyed. It seemed quite likely that this -confounded servant would do the St. Peter act and -refuse me entrance into the gates.</p> - -<p>“Look here,” I said, “it doesn’t matter to you what -for or why. You’re here to answer questions. Is the -Colonel <em>in</em>?”</p> - -<p>The man snorted. “Oh! I’m ’ere to answer questions, -am I? Well, if you want to know, the Colonel ain’t -in.—Anything else?”</p> - -<p>I was stumped. It seemed as if my hopes were -shattered. But luck was mine—as ever. A voice -came from the inner room. “Thomson! Who is that -man?”</p> - -<p>The servant made a face at me and went to the room -door.</p> - -<p>“A trooper, sir, from one of the squadrons, askin’ to -see the Colonel.”</p> - -<p>“Bring him in,” said the voice.</p> - -<p>My heart leapt.</p> - -<p>The servant returned to me and showed me into the -room.</p> - -<p>I saw three officers, one in shirt sleeves, all sitting -around a fire. Empty tea things were still on a table. -There were a sofa, and armchairs and bright pictures, a -pile of books and magazines on a table, and a smell of -Egyptian cigarettes. They all looked at me as I saluted.</p> - -<p>“Thomson tells me you want to see the Colonel,” -said the one whose voice I had heard, the one in shirt -sleeves. “Anything I can do?”</p> - -<p>It was good to hear one’s own language again, and I -decided to make a clean breast of it.</p> - -<p>“It’s awfully kind of you, sir,” said I. “Perhaps you -can. I came to ask for the interpretership of my -squadron. We haven’t got one and I can talk French.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span> -If you could put in a word for me I should be lastingly -grateful.”</p> - -<p>His next words made him my brother for life. “Sit -down, won’t you,” he said, “and have a cigarette.”</p> - -<p>Can you realize what it meant after those weeks of -misery, with no letters and the eternal adjective of the -ranks which gets on one’s nerves till one could scream, -to be asked to sit down and have a cigarette in that -officers’ mess?</p> - -<p>Speechless, I took one, although I dislike cigarettes -and always stick to a pipe. But that one was a link -with all that I’d left behind, and was the best I’ve ever -smoked in my life. He proceeded to ask me my name -and where I was educated, and said he would see what -he could do for me, and after about ten minutes I went -out again into the mud a better soldier than I went in. -That touch of fellow feeling helped enormously. And -he was as good as his word. For the following morning -the Major sent for me.</p> - - -<h3>19</h3> - -<p>The rain had stopped and there had been a hard -frost in the night which turned the roads to ice. The -horses were being walked round and round in a circle, -and the Major was standing watching them when I came -up and saluted.</p> - -<p>“Yes, what is it?” he said.</p> - -<p>“You sent for me, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Oh—you’re Gibbs, are you?—Yes, let’s go in out -of this wind.” He led the way into the mess and stood -with his back to the fire.</p> - -<p>Every detail of that room lives with me yet. One -went up two steps into the room. The fireplace faced<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> -the door with a window to the right of the fireplace. -There was a table between us with newspapers on it, -and tobacco and pipes. And two armchairs faced the -fire.</p> - -<p>He asked me what I wanted the interpretership for. -I told him I was sick of the ranks, that I had chucked -a fascinating job to be of use to my King and country, -and that any fool trooper could shovel mud as I did day -after day.</p> - -<p>He nodded. “But interpreting is no damned good, -you know,” he said. “It only consists in looking after -the forage and going shopping with those officers who -can’t talk French.—That isn’t what you want, is it?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Well, what other job would you like?”</p> - -<p>That floored me completely. I didn’t know what -jobs there were in the squadron and told him so.</p> - -<p>“Well, come and have dinner to-night and we’ll -talk about it,” said he.</p> - -<p>Have dinner! My clothes reeked of stables, and I -had slept in them ever since I arrived.</p> - -<p>“That doesn’t matter,” said the Major. “You -come along to-night at half-past seven. You’ve been -sick all this week. How are you? Pretty fit again?”</p> - -<p>He’s Brigadier-General now and has forgotten all -about it years ago. I don’t think I ever shall.</p> - -<p>There were the Major, the Captain and one subaltern -at dinner that night—an extraordinary dinner—the -servant who a moment previously had called me “chum” -in the kitchen gradually getting used to waiting on me -at the meal, and I, in the same dress as the servant, -gradually feeling less like a fish out of water as the -officers treated me as one of themselves. It was the -first time I’d eaten at a table covered with a white tablecloth -for over two months, the first time I had used a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span> -plate or drunk out of a glass, the first time I had been -with my own kind.—It was very good.</p> - -<p>The outcome of the dinner was that I was to become -squadron scout, have two horses, keep them at the -cottage of the interpreter, where I was to live, and ride -over the country gathering information, which I was -to bring as a written report every night at six o’clock. -While the squadron was behind the lines it was, of course, -only a matter of training myself before other men were -given me to train. But when we went into action,—vistas -opened out before me of dodging Uhlan patrols -and galloping back with information through a rain of -bullets. It was a job worth while and I was speechless -with gratitude.</p> - -<p>It was not later than seven o’clock the following -morning, Christmas Eve, 1914, that I began operations. -I breakfasted at the cottage to which I had removed my -belongings overnight, and went along towards the stables -to get a horse.</p> - -<p>The man with whom I had been mucking in met me -outside the farm. He was in the know and grinned, -cheerily.</p> - -<p>“The sergeant’s lookin’ for you,” he said. “He’s -over in the stables.”</p> - -<p>I went across. He was prowling about near the -forage.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Sergeant,” said I.</p> - -<p>He looked at me and stopped prowling. “Where -the——” and he asked me in trooperese where I had -been and why I wasn’t at early morning stables. I told -him I was on a special job for the Major.</p> - -<p>He gasped and requested an explanation.</p> - -<p>“I’m knocked off all rolls, and parades and fatigues,” -I said. “You’ve got to find me a second horse. They -are both going to be kept down the road, and I shall<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> -come and see you from time to time when I require -forage.”</p> - -<p>He was speechless for the first and only time. It -passed his comprehension.</p> - -<p>At that moment the sergeant-major came in and proceeded -to tell him almost word for word what I had told -him. It was a great morning, a poetic revenge, and -eventually I rode away leading the other horse, the -sergeant’s pop eyes following me as I gave him final -instructions as to where to send the forage.</p> - -<p>Later, as I started out on my first expedition as -squadron scout, he waved an arm at me and came running. -His whole manner had changed, and he said in a -voice of honey, “If you <em>should</em> ’appen to pass through -Ballool would you mind gettin’ me a new pipe?—’Ere’s -five francs.”</p> - -<p>I got him a pipe, and in Bailleul sought out every -likely looking English signaller or French officer, and -dropped questions, and eventually at 6 p.m., having been -the round of Dramoutre, Westoutre, and Locre, took in -a rather meagre first report to the Major. How I -regretted that I had never been a newspaper reporter! -However, it was a beginning.</p> - -<p>The following morning was Christmas Day, cold and -foggy, and before starting out I went about a mile down -the road to another farm and heard Mass in a barn. An -odd little service for Christmas morning. The altar -was made of a couple of biscuit boxes in an open barn. -The priest wore his vestments, and his boots and spurs -showed underneath. About half a dozen troopers with -rifles were all the congregation, and we kneeled on the -damp ground.</p> - -<p>The first Christmas at Bethlehem came to mind most -forcibly. The setting was the same. An icy wind -blew the wisps of straw and the lowing of a cow could<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span> -be heard in the byre. Where the Magi brought frankincense -and myrrh we brought our hopes and ambitions -and laid them at the Child’s feet, asking Him to take -care of them for us while we went out to meet the great -adventure. What a contrast to the previous Christmas, -in the gold and sunshine of Miami, Florida, splashed with -the scarlet flowers of the bougainvillea, and at night -the soft, feathery palms leaning at a curious angle in the -hard moonlight as though a tornado had once swept -over the land.</p> - -<p>The farm people sold me a bowl of coffee and a slice -of bread, and I mounted and rode away into the fog -with an apple and a piece of chocolate in my pocket, the -horse slipping and sliding on the icy road. Not a sound -broke the dead silence except the blowing of my horse -and his hoofs on the road. Every gun was silent during -the whole day, as though the Child had really brought -peace and good will.</p> - -<p>I got to within a couple of miles of Ypres by the map, -and saw nothing save a few peasants who emerged out -of the blanket of fog on their way to Mass. A magpie -or two flashed across my way, and there was only an -occasional infantryman muffled to the eyes when I passed -through the scattered villages.</p> - -<p>About midday I nibbled some chocolate, and watered -my horse and gave him a feed, feeling more and more -miserable because there was no means of getting any -information. My imagination drew pictures of the -Major, on my return with a blank confession of failure, -telling me that I was no good and had better return to -duty. As the short afternoon drew in, my spirits sank -lower and lower. They were below zero when at last I -knocked reluctantly at the door of the mess and stood -to attention inside. To make things worse all the officers -were there.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, Gibbs?” said the Major.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t well, sir,” said I. “I’m afraid I’m no damn -good. I haven’t got a thing to report,” and I told him -of my ride.</p> - -<p>There was silence for a moment. The Major flicked off -the ash of his cigarette. “My dear fellow,” he said -quietly, “you can’t expect to get the hang of the job -in five minutes. Don’t be impatient with it. Give it a -chance.”</p> - -<p>It was like a reprieve to a man awaiting the hangman.</p> - - -<h3>20</h3> - -<p>The squadron, having been on duty that day, had -not celebrated Christmas, but the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">estaminet</i> was a mass -of holly and mistletoe in preparation for to-morrow, and -talk ran high on the question of the dinner and concert -that were to take place. There were no letters for me, -but in spite of it I felt most unaccountably and absurdly -happy as I left the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">estaminet</i> and went back to my billet -and got to bed.</p> - -<p>The interpreter came in presently. He had been -dining well and Christmas exuded from him as he smoked -a cigar on the side of his bed.</p> - -<p>“Oh, by the way,” he said, “your commission has -come through. They were talking about it in mess -to-night. Congratulations.”</p> - -<p>Commission! My heart jumped back to the Marlborough -Hotel.</p> - -<p>“I expect you’ll be going home to-morrow,” he went -on; “lucky devil.”</p> - -<p>Home! Could it be? Was it possible that I was -going to escape from all this mud and filth? Home. -What a Christmas present! No more waiting for letters<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> -that never came. No more of the utter loneliness and -indifference that seemed to fill one’s days and nights.</p> - -<p>The dingy farm room and the rough army blanket -faded and in their place came a woman’s face in a setting -of tall red pines and gleaming patches of moss and high -bracken and a green lawn running up to a little house of -gables, with chintz-curtained windows, warm tiles and -red chimneys, and a shining river twisting in stately -loops. And instead of the guns which were thundering -the more fiercely after their lull, there came the mewing -of sandpipers, and the gurgle of children’s laughter, and -the voice of that one woman who had given me the -vision.—</p> - - -<h3>21</h3> - -<p>The journey home was a foretaste of the return to -civilisation, of stepping not only out of one’s trooper’s -khaki but of resuming one’s identity, of counting in the -scheme of things. In the ranks one was a number, like -a convict,—a cipher indeed, and as such it was a struggle -to keep one’s soul alive. One had given one’s body. -They wanted one’s soul as well. By “they” I mean -the system, that extraordinary self-contained world -which is the Army, where the private is marched to -church whether he have a religion or not, where he is -forced to think as the sergeant thinks and so on, right up -to the General commanding. How few officers realise -that it is in their power to make the lives of their juniors -and men a hell or a heaven.</p> - -<p>It was a merciful thing for me that I was able to escape -so soon, to climb out of that mental and physical morass -and get back to myself.</p> - -<p>From the squadron I went by motor lorry to Hazebrouck -and thence in a first-class carriage to Boulogne,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span> -and although the carriage was crowded I thought of the -horse truck in which I’d come up from Rouen, and -chuckled. At Boulogne I was able to help the Major, -who was going on leave. He had left a shirt case in the -French luggage office weeks before and by tackling the -porter in his own tongue, I succeeded in digging it out -in five minutes. It was the only thing I’ve ever been -able to do to express the least gratitude,—and how -ridiculously inadequate.</p> - -<p>We spent the night in a hotel and caught the early -boat, horribly early. But it was worth it. We reached -London about two in the afternoon, a rainy, foggy, depressing -afternoon, but if it had snowed ink I shouldn’t -have minded. I was above mere weather, sailing in the -blue ether of radiant happiness. In this case the realisation -came up to and even exceeded the expectation. -Miserable-looking policemen in black waterproof capes -were things of beauty. The noise of the traffic was -sweetest music. The sight of dreary streets with soaked -pedestrians made one’s eyes brim with joy. The swish -of the taxi round abrupt corners made me burst with song. -I was glad of the rain and the sort of half-fog. It was -so typically London and when the taxi driver stopped at -my brother’s house and said to me as I got out, “Just -back from the front, chum?” I laughed madly and -scandalously overtipped him. No one else would ever -call me chum. That was done with. I was no longer -7205 Trooper A. H. Gibbs, 9th Lancers. I was Second -Lieutenant A. Hamilton Gibbs, R.F.A. and could feel the -stars sprouting.</p> - -<p>My brother wasn’t at home. He was looking like an -admiral still and working like the devil. But his wife -was and she most wisely lent me distant finger tips and -hurried me to a bath, what time she telephoned to my -brother.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span></p> - -<p>That bath! I hadn’t had all my clothes off more than -once in six weeks and had slept in them every night. -Ever tried it? Well, if you really want to know just how -I felt about that first bath, you try it.</p> - -<p>I stayed in it so long that my sister-in-law became -anxious and tapped at the door to know if I were all -right. All right! Before I was properly dressed—but -running about the house most shamelessly for all that—my -brother arrived.</p> - -<p>It was good to see him again,—very good. We -“foregathered,”—what?</p> - -<p>And the next morning scandalously early, the breakfast -things still on the table, found me face to face once -more with the woman who had brought me back to life. -All that nightmare was immediately washed away for -ever. It was past. The future was too vague for -imaginings but the present was the most golden thing -I had ever known.</p> - - -<hr class="p4 chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span><br /> - <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span><br /> -</p> - -<h2 class="p4 nobreak" id="PART_II">PART II<br /> - -<span class="fs90 lsp"><i lang="la" xml:lang="la">UBIQUE</i></span></h2> -</div> - - -<hr class="p6 chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span><br /> - <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<h3>1</h3> - -<p class="drop-capy">The Division of Field Artillery to which I was -posted by the War Office was training at Bulford -up to its neck in mud, but the brigade had moved to -Fleet two days before I joined. By that time—it was -a good fifteen days since I had come home—I had grown -accustomed to the feel and splendour of a Sam Browne -belt and field boots and the recurring joy of being saluted -not merely by Tommies but by exalted beings like -sergeants and sergeant-majors; and I felt mentally as -well as physically clean.</p> - -<p>At the same time I arrived at the Fleet Golf Club, -where most of the officers were billeted, feeling vastly -diffident. I’d never seen a gun, never given a command -in my life and hadn’t the first or foggiest idea of the sort -of things gunners did, and my only experience of an -officers’ mess was my dinner with the Major in France. -Vaguely I knew that there was a certain etiquette demanded. -It was rather like a boy going to a new school.</p> - -<p>It was tea time and dark when the cab dropped me -at the door and the place was practically empty. However, -an officer emerged, asked me if I’d come to join, and -led me in to tea. Presently, however, a crowd swarmed -in, flung wet mackintoshes and caps about the hall and -began devouring bread and jam in a way that more -and more resembled school. They looked me over with -the unintentional insolence of all Englishmen and one -or two spoke. They were a likely-looking lot, mostly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span> -amazingly young and full of a vitality that was like an -electric current. One, a fair willowy lad with one or two -golden fluffs that presumably did duty as a moustache, -took me in hand. He was somewhat fancifully called -Pot-face but he had undoubtedly bought the earth and -all things in it. Having asked and received my name -he informed me that I was posted to his battery and -introduced me to the other subaltern, also of his battery. -This was a pale, blue-eyed, head-on-one-side, sensitive -youth who was always just a moment too late with his -repartee. Pot-face, who possessed a nimble, sarcastic -tongue, took an infinite delight in baiting him to the -verge of tears. His nickname, to which incidentally -he refused to answer, was the Fluttering Palm.</p> - -<p>The others did not assume individualities till later. -It was an amusing tea and afterwards we adjourned to -the big club room with two fireplaces and straw armchairs -and golfing pictures. The senior officers were -there and before I could breathe Pot-face had introduced -me to the Colonel, the Adjutant, and the Captain commanding -our battery, a long, thin, dark man with India -stamped all over him and a sudden infectious laugh that -crinkled all his face. He turned out to be the owner of a -vitriolic tongue.</p> - -<p>A lecture followed, one of a series which took place two -or three evenings a week attended by all the officers in -the brigade, a good two thirds of whom were billeted in -the village and round about. Of technical benefit I don’t -think I derived any, because I knew no gunnery, but it -helped me to get to know everybody. A further help -in that respect was afforded by my Captain who on that -first evening proposed getting up a concert. Having had -two years on the stage in America I volunteered to -help and was at once made O. C. Concert. This gave -me a sort of standing, took away the awful newness<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span> -and entirely filled my spare time for two weeks. The -concert was a big success and from that night I felt at -home.</p> - -<p>To me, after my experience in the ranks, everything -was new and delightful. We were all learning, subalterns -as well as men. Only the Colonel and the Battery Commanders -were regulars and every single officer and man was -keen. The work therefore went with a will that surprised -me. The men were a different class altogether to -those with whom I had been associated. There were -miners, skilled men, clerks, people of some education and -distinct intelligence. Then too the officers came into -much closer contact with them than in the Cavalry. Our -training had been done solely under the sergeant-major. -Here in the Gunners the officers not only took every -parade and lecture and stable hour and knew every man -and horse by name, but played in all the inter-battery -football matches. It was a different world, much more -intimate and much better organised. We worked hard -and played hard. Riding was of course most popular -because each of us had a horse. But several had motor-bicycles -and went for joy-rides half over the south of -England between tattoo and reveille. Then the Golf -Club made us honorary members, and the Colonel and -I had many a match, and he almost invariably beat me -by one hole.</p> - -<p>My ignorance of gunnery was monumental and it was -a long time before I grasped even the first principles. -The driving drill part of it didn’t worry me. The Cavalry -had taught me to feel at home in the saddle and the -drawing of intricate patterns on the open country with -a battery of four guns was a delightful game soon learnt. -But once they were in action I was lost. It annoyed me -to listen helplessly while children of nineteen with squeaky -voices fired imaginary salvos on imaginary targets and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span> -got those gunners jumping. So I besought the Colonel -to send me on a course to Shoebury and he did.</p> - -<p>Work? I’d never known what it meant till I went -to Shoebury and put on a canvas duck suit. We paraded -at ungodly hours in the morning, wet or fine, took guns -to bits and with the instructor’s help put them together -again; did gun drill by the hour and learnt it by heart -from the handbook and shouted it at each other from a -distance; spent hours in the country doing map-reading -and re-section; sat through hours of gunnery lectures -where the mysteries of a magic triangle called T.O.B. -became more and more unfathomable; knocked out -countless churches on a miniature range with a precision -that was quite Boche-like; waded through a ghastly -tabloid book called F.A.T. and flung the thing in despair -at the wall half a dozen times a day; played billiards at -night when one had been clever enough to arrive first at the -table by means of infinite manœuvring; ate like a Trojan, -got dog-tired <ins class="corr" id="tn-78" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'by 9 P.M.'"> -by 9 p.m.</ins>, slept like a child; dashed up to -London every week-end and went to the theatre, and -became in fact the complete Shoeburyite.</p> - -<p>Finally I returned to the brigade extraordinarily fit, -very keen and with perhaps the first glimmerings of what -a gun was. A scourge of a mysterious skin disease ran -through the horses at that time. It looked like ringworm -and wasn’t,—according to the Vet. But we subalterns -vied with each other in curing our sections and worked -day and night on those unfortunate animals with tobacco -juice, sulphur and every unpleasant means available until -they looked the most wretched brutes in the world.</p> - -<p>Little by little the training built itself up. From -standing gun drill we crept to battery gun drill and -then took the battery out for the day and lost it round -Aldershot in that glorious pine country, coming into -action over and over again.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span></p> - -<p>The Colonel watched it all from a distance with a -knowledgeable eye and at last took a hand. Brigade -shows then took place, batteries working in conjunction -with each other and covering zones.</p> - -<p>Those were good days in the early spring with all the -birds in full chorus, clouds scudding across a blue sky, -and the young green feathering all the trees, days of hard -physical work with one’s blood running free and the companionship -of one’s own kind; inspired by a friendly -rivalry in doing a thing just a little bit better than the -other fellow—or trying to: with an occasional week-end -flung in like a sparkling jewel.</p> - -<p>And France? Did we think about it? Yes, when -the lights were turned out at night and only the point of -the final cigarette like a glowworm marked the passage -of hand to mouth. Then the talk ran on brothers “out -there” and the chances of our going soon. None of -them had been except me, but I could only give them -pictures of star-shell at night and the heart-breaking -mud, and they wanted gunner talk.</p> - -<p>It was extraordinary what a bond grew up between -us all in those days, shared, I think, by the senior officers. -We declared ourselves the first brigade in the Division, and -each battery was of course hotly the finest in the -brigade; our Colonel was miles above any other -Colonel in the Army and our Battery Commanders -the best fellows that ever stepped. By God, we’d -show Fritz!——</p> - - -<h3>2</h3> - -<p>We had left Fleet and the golf club and moved into -hutments at Deepcut about the time I returned from the -gunnery course. Now the talk centred round the firing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span> -practice when every man and officer would be put to the -test and one fine morning the order came to proceed to -Trawsfynydd, Wales.</p> - -<p>We “proceeded” by train, taking only guns, firing -battery wagons and teams and after long, long hours -found ourselves tucked away in a camp in the mountains -with great blankets of mist rolling down and blotting -everything out, the ground a squelching bog of tussocks -with outcrops of rock sprouting up everywhere. A -strange, hard, cold country, with unhappy houses, grey -tiled and lonely, and peasants whose faces seemed -marked by the desolation of it all.</p> - -<p>The range was a rolling stretch of country falling away -from a plateau high above us, reached by a corkscrew -path that tore the horses to pieces, and cut up by stone -walls and nullahs which after an hour’s rain foamed with -brown water. Through glasses we made out the targets—four -black dots representing a battery, a row of tiny -figures for infantry, and a series of lines indicating -trenches. For three days the weather prevented us from -shooting but at last came a morning when the fog blanket -rolled back and the guns were run up, and little puffs -of cotton wool appeared over the targets, the hills ringing -with countless echoes as though they would never tire -of the firing.</p> - -<p>Each subaltern was called up in turn and given a -target by the Colonel who, lying silently on his stomach, -watched results through his glasses and doubtless in his -mind summed each of us up from the methods of our orders -to the battery, the nimbleness and otherwise with which -we gauged and corrected them. A trying ordeal which -was, however, all too short. Sixteen rounds apiece were -all that we were allowed. We would have liked six -hundred, so fascinating and bewildering was the new -game. It seemed as if the guns took a malignant pleasure<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span> -in disobeying our orders, each gun having its own particular -devil to compete with.</p> - -<p>In the light of to-day the explanation is simple. There -was no such thing as calibration then, that exorciser of -the evil spirit in all guns.</p> - -<p>And so, having seen at last a practical demonstration -of what I had long considered a fact—that the Gunners’ -Bible F.A.T. (the handbook of Field Artillery Training) -was a complete waste of time, we all went back to Deepcut -even more than ever convinced that we were the finest -brigade in England. And all on the strength of sixteen -rounds apiece!</p> - -<p>Almost at once I was removed from the scientific -activities necessitated by being a battery subaltern. An -apparently new establishment was made, a being called -an Orderly Officer, whose job was to keep the Colonel in -order and remind the Adjutant of all the things he forgot. -In addition to those two matters of supreme moment -there were one or two minor duties like training the brigade -signallers to lay out cables and buzz messages, listen to -the domestic troubles of the regimental sergeant-major, -whose importance is second only to that of the Colonel, -look after some thirty men and horses and a cable wagon -and endeavour to keep in the good books of the Battery -Commanders.</p> - -<p>I got the job—and kept it for over a year.</p> - -<p>Colonel, didn’t I keep you in order?</p> - -<p>Adj, did I <em>ever</em> do any work for you?</p> - -<p>Battery Commanders, didn’t I come and cadge drinks -daily—and incidentally wasn’t that cable which I laid -from Valandovo to Kajali the last in use before the -Bulgar pushed us off the earth?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span></p> - - -<h3>3</h3> - -<p>So I forgot the little I ever knew about gunnery and -laid spiders’ webs from my cable wagon all over Deepcut, -and galloped for the Colonel on Divisional training -stunts with a bottle of beer and sandwiches in each wallet -against the hour when the General, feeling hungry, -should declare an armistice with the opposing force and -Colonels and their Orderly Officers might replenish their -inner men. Brave days of great lightheartedness, untouched -by the shadow of what was to come after.</p> - -<p>May had put leaves on all the trees and called forth -flowers in every garden. Then came June to perfect her -handiwork and with it the call to lay aside our golf clubs -and motor-cycles, to say good-bye to England in all her -beauty and go out once more to do our bit.</p> - -<p>There was much bustle and packing of kits and writing -of letters and heartburnings over last week-end leaves -refused and through it all a thirst for knowledge of where -we were going. Everything was secret, letters severely -censored. Rumour and counter-rumour chased each -other through the camp until, an hour before starting, the -Captain in whose battery I had begun appeared with a -motor car full of topees.</p> - -<p>Then all faces like true believers were turned towards -the East and on every tongue was the word Gallipoli.</p> - -<p>Avonmouth was the port of embarkation and there -we filled a mass of waiting boats, big and little.</p> - -<p>The Colonel, the Adjutant and I were on one of the -biggest. My horses had been handed over to a battery -for the voyage and I had only the signallers to look -after. Everything was complete by ten o’clock in the -morning. The convoy would not sail till midnight, so<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> -some of us got leave to explore and took train to Bristol, -lunching royally for the last time in a restaurant, buying -innumerable novels to read on board, sending final -telegrams home.</p> - -<p>How very different it was to the first going out! No -red lead. No mud. The reality had departed. It -seemed like going on a picnic, a merry outing with cheery -souls, a hot sun trickling down one’s back; and not -one of us but heard the East a-calling.</p> - -<p>A curious voyage that was when we had sorted ourselves -out. The mornings were taken up with a few -duties,—physical jerks, chin inspection and Grand -Rounds when we stood stiffly to attention, rocking with -the sway of the boat while the two commanders of the -sister services inspected the ship; life-boat drill, a little -signalling; and then long hours in scorching sunshine, -to lie in a deck chair gazing out from the saloon deck -upon the infinite blue, trying to find the answer to the -why of it all, arguing the alpha and omega with one’s -pals, reading the novels we had bought in Bristol, writing -home, sleeping. Torpedoes and mines? We never -thought about them.</p> - -<p>Boxing competitions and sports were organized for -the men and they hammered each other’s faces to pulp -with the utmost good fellowship.</p> - -<p>Then we passed The Rock and with our first glimpse -of the African coast—a low brown smudge—we began -to stir restlessly and think of terra firma. It broke the -spell of dreams which had filled the long days. Maps -were produced and conferences held, and we studied -eagerly the contours of Gallipoli, discussed the detail -of landings and battery positions, wagon lines and signalling -arrangements, even going so far as to work off our -bearing of the line of fire. Fragments of war news were -received by wireless and a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">communiqué</i> was posted daily,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> -but it all seemed extraordinarily unreal, as though it -were taking place in another world.</p> - -<p>One night we saw a fairyland of piled-up lights which -grew swiftly as we drew nearer and took shape in filigreed -terraces and arcades when our anchor at last dropped -with a mighty roar in Valetta harbour. Tiny boats -like gondolas were moored at the water’s edge in tight -rows, making in the moonlight a curious scalloped -fringe. People in odd garments passed in noiseless -swarms up and down the streets, cabs went by, shop -doors opened and shut, and behind all those lights -loomed the impenetrable blackness of the land towering -up like a mountain. From the distance at which we -were anchored no sound could be heard save that of -shipping, and those ant-sized people going about their -affairs, regardless of the thousands of eyes watching -them, gave one the effect of looking at a stage from the -gallery through the wrong end of an opera glass.</p> - -<p>Coaling began within an hour, and all that night -bronze figures naked to the waist and with bare feet -slithered up and down the swaying planks, tireless, -unceasing, glistening in the arc light which spluttered -from the mast of the coaling vessel; the grit of coal -dust made one’s shoes crunch as one walked the decks in -pyjamas, filled one’s hair and neck, and on that stifling -night became as one of the plagues of Pharaoh.</p> - -<p>A strange discordant chattering waked one next -morning as though a tribe of monkeys had besieged the -ship. Then one leaped to the port-hole to get a glimpse -of Malta, to us the first hint of the mysterious East. -There it was, glistening white against the turquoise blue, -built up in fascinating tiers with splashes of dark green -trees clinging here and there as though afraid of losing -their hold and toppling into the sea. All round the ship -the sea was dotted with boats and dark people yelling and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span> -shouting, all reds and blues and bright yellows; piles -of golden fruit and coloured shawls; big boats with high -snub noses, the oarsmen standing, showing rows of -gleaming teeth; baby boats the size of walnut shells -with naked brown babies uttering shrill cries and diving -like frogs for silver coins.</p> - -<p>Was it possible that just a little farther on we should -meet one end of the line of death that made a red gash -right across Europe?</p> - -<p>We laughed a little self-consciously under the unusual -feel of our topees and went ashore to try and get -some drill khaki. Finding none we drank cool drinks -and bought cigars and smiled at the milk sellers with -their flocks of goats and the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">café au lait</i> coloured girls, -some of whom moved with extraordinary grace and -looked very pretty under their black mantillas. The -banks distrusted us and would give us no money, and the -Base cashier refused to undo his purse strings. We -cursed him and tried unsuccessfully to borrow from -each other, having only a few pounds in our pockets. -Down a back street we found a Japanese tattooist and -in spite of the others’ ridicule I added a highly coloured -but pensive parrot to my collection. But the heat was -overwhelming and our puttees and tunics became -streaked with sweat. We were glad to get back to the -boat and lie in a cold bath and climb languidly into the -comparative coolness of slacks. The men had not been -allowed ashore but hundreds of them dived overboard -and swam round the boat, and the native fruit sellers -did a thriving trade.</p> - -<p>After dinner we went ashore again. It was not much -cooler. We wandered into various places of amusement. -They were all the same, large dirty halls with a small -stage and a piano and hundreds of marble-topped tables -where one sat and drank. Atrociously fat women<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> -appeared on the stage and sang four songs apiece in bad -French. It didn’t matter whether the first song was -greeted with stony silence or the damning praise of one -sarcastic laugh. Back came each one until she’d finished -her repertoire. Getting bored with that I collected a -fellow sufferer and together we went out and made our -way to the top of the ramparts. The sky looked as if a -giant had spilt all the diamonds in the world. They -glittered and changed colour. The sea was also powdered -as if little bits of diamond dust had dropped from the -sky. The air smelled sweet and a little strange, and in -that velvety darkness which one could almost touch -one’s imagination went rioting.</p> - -<p>As if that were not enough a guitar somewhere down -below was suddenly touched with magic fingers and a -little love song floated up in a soft lilting tenor.—We -were very silent on the old wall.</p> - - -<h3>4</h3> - -<p>The next morning on waking up, that song still echoing -in our ears, we were hull down. Only a vague disturbance -in the blue showed where Malta had been, and but -for the tattoo which irritated slightly, it might have been -one of the Thousand and One Nights. We arrived at -last at Alexandria instead of Gallipoli. The shore -authorities lived up to the best standards of the -Staff.</p> - -<p>They said, “Who the devil are you?”</p> - -<p>And we replied, “The —— Division.”</p> - -<p>And they said, “We’ve never heard of you, don’t -know where you come from, have no instructions about -you, and you’d better buzz off again.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span></p> - -<p>But we beamed at them and said, “To hell with you. -We’re going to land,”—and landed.</p> - -<p>There were no arrangements for horses or men; and -M.L.O.’s in all the glory of staff hats and armlets chattered -like impotent monkeys. We were busy, however, -improvising picketing-ropes from ships’ cables borrowed -from the amused ship’s commander and we smiled -politely and said, “Yes, it <em>is</em> hot,” and went on with -the work. Never heard of the —— Division? Well, well!</p> - -<p>Hot? We had never known what heat was before. -We thought we did lying about on deck, but when it -came to working for hours on end,—tunics disappeared -and collars and ties followed them. The horses looked -as if they had been out in the rain and left a watery trail -as we formed up and marched out of the harbour and -through the town. We bivouacked for the night in a -rest camp called Karaissi where there wasn’t enough -room and tempers ran high until a couple of horses broke -loose in the dark and charged the tent in which there -were two Colonels. The tent ropes went with a ping -and camp beds and clothing and Colonels were mixed -up in the sand. No one was hurt, so we emptied the -Colonels’ pyjamas, called their servants and went away -and laughed.</p> - -<p>Then we hooked in and marched again, and in the -middle of the afternoon found Mamoura—a village of -odd smells, naked children, filthy women and pariah -dogs—and pitched camp on the choking sand half a mile -from the seashore.</p> - -<p>By this time the horses were nearly dead and the only -water was a mile and a half away and full of sand. But -they drank it, poor brutes, by the gallon,—and two days -after we had our first case of sand colic.</p> - -<p>The Staff were in marquees on the seashore. Presumably -being bored, having nothing earthly to do,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span> -they began to exhibit a taste for design and each day the -camp was moved, twenty yards this way, fifteen that, -twelve and a half the other, until, thank God, the sun -became too much for them and they retired to suck cool -drinks through straws and think up a new game.</p> - -<p>By this time the Colonel had refused to play and removed -himself, lock, stock and barrel, to the hotel in -the village. The Adjutant was praying aloud for the mud -of Flanders. The Orderly Officer made himself scarce -and the Battery Commanders were telling Indian snake -stories at breakfast. The sergeants and the men, half -naked and with tongues hanging out, were searching for -beer.</p> - -<p>The days passed relentlessly, scorching hot, the only -work, watering the horses four times a day, leaving -everybody weak and exhausted. At night a damp breeze -sighed across the sand from the sea, soaking everything -as though it had rained. The busiest men in the camp -were the Vet. and the doctor.</p> - -<p>Sand colic ran through the Division like a scourge, -and dysentery began to reduce the personnel from day -to day. The flies bred in their billions, in spite of all -the doctor’s efforts, loyally backed up by us. The -subalterns’ method of checking flies was to catch salamanders -and walk about, holding them within range of -guy ropes and tent roofs where flies swarmed, and watch -their coiled tongues uncurl like a flash of lightning and -then trace the passage of the disgruntled fly down into -the salamander’s interior. Battery Commanders waking -from a fly-pestered siesta would lay their piastres eagerly -on “Archibald” versus “Yussuf.” Even Wendy would -have admitted that it was “frightfully fascinating.”</p> - -<p>Every morning there was a pyjama parade at six -o’clock when we all trooped across to the sea and went -in as nature made us. Or else we rode the horses with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> -snorts and splashings. The old hairy enjoyed it as much -as we did and, once in, it was difficult to get him out -again, even with bare heels drumming on his ribs.</p> - -<p>The infantry, instead of landing at Alexandria, had -gone straight to the Dardanelles, and after we had been -in camp about a fortnight the two senior brigades of -Gunners packed up and disappeared in the night, leaving -us grinding our teeth with envy and hoping that they -wouldn’t have licked the Turk until we got there too.</p> - -<p>Five full months and a half we stayed in that camp! -One went through two distinct phases.</p> - -<p>The first was good, when everything was new, different, -romantic, delightful, from the main streets of Alexandria -with European shops and Oriental people, the club with -its white-burnoused waiters with red sash and red fez, -down to the unutterable filth and foul smells of the back -streets where every disease lurked in the doorways. -There were early morning rides to sleepy villages across -the desert, pigeons fluttering round the delicate minarets, -one’s horse making scarcely any sound in the deep sand -until startled into a snort by a scuttling salamander -or iguana as long as one’s arm. Now and then one -watched breathless a string of camels on a distant skyline -disappearing into the vast silence. Then those dawns, -with opal colours like a rainbow that had broken open -and splashed itself across the world! What infinite joy -in all that riot of colour. The sunsets were too rapid: -one great splurge of blood and then darkness, followed -by a moonlight that was as hard as steel mirrors. Buildings -and trees were picked out in ghostly white but the -shadows by contrast were darker than the pit, made -gruesome by the howling of pariah dogs which flitted -silently like damned souls.</p> - -<p>The eternal mystery of the yashmak caught us all,—two -deep eyes behind that little veil, the lilting, sensuous<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span> -walk, the perfect balance and rhythm of those women -who worshipped other gods.</p> - -<p>Then there was the joy of mail day. Letters and -papers arrived regularly, thirteen days old but more -precious because of it. How one sprang to the mess-table -in the big marquee, open to whatever winds that -blew, when the letters were dumped on it, and danced -with impatience while they were being sorted, and retired -in triumph to one’s reed hut like a dog with a bone to -revel in all the little happenings at home that interested -us so vitally, to marvel at the amazingly different points -of view and to thank God that although thousands of -miles away one “belonged.”</p> - -<p>Then came the time when we had explored everything, -knew it all backwards, and the colours didn’t -seem so bright. The sun seemed hotter, the flies thicker -and the days longer. Restlessness attacked everybody -and the question “What the devil are we doing here?” -began to be asked, only to draw bitter answers. Humour -began to have a tinge of sarcasm, remarks tended to become -personal and people disappeared precipitately after -mess instead of playing the usual rubbers. The unfortunate -subaltern who was the butt of the mess—a -really excellent and clever fellow—relapsed into a morose -silence, and every one who had the least tendency to -dysentery went gladly to hospital. Even the brigade -laughter-maker lost his touch. It had its echo in the -ranks. Sergeants made more frequent arrests, courts-martial -cropped up and it was more difficult to get the -work done in spite of concerts, sports and boxing contests. -Interest flagged utterly. Mercifully the Staff held -aloof.</p> - -<p>The courts-martial seemed to me most Hogarthian -versions of justice, satirical and damnable. One in -particular was held on a poor little rat of an infantry<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span>man -who had missed the boat for Gallipoli and was -being tried for desertion. The reason of his missing -the boat was that she sailed before her time and he, -having had a glass or two—and why not?—found that -she had already gone when he arrived back in the harbour -five minutes before the official time for her departure. -He immediately reported to the police.</p> - -<p>I am convinced that she was the only boat who -ever sailed before her time during the course of the -war!</p> - -<p>However, I was under instruction—and learnt a great -deal. The heat was appalling. The poor little prisoner, -frightened out of his life, utterly lost his head, and the -Court, after hours of formal scribbling on blue paper, -brought him in guilty. Having obtained permission to -ask a question I requested to know whether the Court -was convinced that he had the intention of deserting.</p> - -<p>The Court was quite satisfied on that point and, besides, -there had been so many cases of desertion lately from -the drafts for Gallipoli that really it was time an example -was made of some one. He got three years!</p> - -<p>Supposing I’d hit that bullying sergeant in the eye in -Flanders?</p> - - -<h3>5</h3> - -<p>Two incidents occurred during that lugubrious period -that helped to break the dead monotony.</p> - -<p>The first was the sight of a real live eunuch according -to all the specifications of the Arabian Nights. We were -to give a horse show and as the flag of residence was -flying from the Sultan’s palace I asked the Colonel if -I might invite the Sultan. The Colonel was quite in -favour of it. So with an extra polish on my buttons<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span> -and saddlery I collected a pal and together we rode -through the great gateway into the grounds of the -palace, ablaze with tropical vegetation and blood-red -flowers. Camped among the trees on the right of the -drive was a native guard of about thirty men. They -rose as one man, jabbered at the sight of us but remained -stationary. We rode on at a walk with all the dignity -of the British Empire behind us. Then we saw a big -Arab come running towards us from the palace, uttering -shrill cries and waving his arms. We met him and would -have passed but he made as though to lay hands upon -our bits. So we halted and listened to a stream of Arabic -and gesticulation.</p> - -<p>Then the eunuch appeared, a little man of immense -shoulders and immense stomach, dressed in a black -frock coat and stiff white collar, yellow leather slippers -and red fez and sash. He was about five feet tall and -addressed us in a high squeaky voice like a fiddle string -out of tune. His dignity was surprising and he would -have done justice to the Court of Haroun al Raschid. -We were delighted with him and called him Morgiana.</p> - -<p>He didn’t understand that so I tried him in French, -whereupon he clapped his hands twice, and from an -engine room among the outbuildings came running an -Arab mechanic in blue jeans. He spoke a sort of hybrid -Levantine French and conveyed our invitation of the -Sultan to the eunuch who bowed and spoke again. The -desire to laugh was appalling.</p> - -<p>It appeared that the Sultan was absent in Alexandria -and only the Sultana and the ladies were here and it -was quite forbidden that we should approach nearer -the palace.</p> - -<p>Reluctantly, therefore, we saluted, which drew many -salaams and bowings in reply, and rode away, followed -by that unforgettable little man’s squeaks.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span></p> - -<p>The other incident covered a period of a week or so. -It was a question of spies.</p> - -<p>The village of Mamoura consisted of a railway terminus -and hotel round which sprawled a dark and smelly conglomeration -of hovels out of which sprouted the inevitable -minaret. The hotel was run by people who purported -to be French but who were of doubtful origin, ranging -from half-caste Arab to Turk by way of Greek and -Armenian Jew. But they provided dinner and cooling -drinks and it was pleasant to sit under the awninged -verandah and listen to the frogs and the sea or to play -their ramshackle piano and dance with the French residents -of Alexandria who came out for week-ends to -bathe.</p> - -<p>At night we used to mount donkeys about as big as -large beetles and have races across the sands back to -camp, from which one could see the lights of the hotel. -Indeed we thought we saw what they didn’t intend us -to see, for there were unmistakable Morse flashings out -at sea from that cool verandah. We took it with grim -seriousness and lay for hours on our stomachs with -field glasses glued to our eyes. I posted my signalling -corporal in a drinking house next door to the hotel, -gave him late leave and paid his beer so that he might -watch with pencil and notebook. But always he reported -in the morning that he’d seen nothing.</p> - -<p>The climax came when one night an orderly burst -into the hut which the Vet. and I shared and said, “Mr. -—— wants you to come over at once, sir. He’s taken -down half a message from the signalling at the hotel.”</p> - -<p>I leapt into gum boots, snatched my glasses and ran -across to the sand mound from where we had watched.</p> - -<p>The other subaltern was there in a great state of -excitement.</p> - -<p>“Look at it,” he said. “Morsing like mad.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span></p> - -<p>I looked,—and looked again.</p> - -<p>There was a good breeze blowing and the flag on the -verandah was exactly like the shutter of a signalling -lamp!</p> - - -<h3>6</h3> - -<p>Having sat there all those months, the order to move, -when it did finally come, was of the most urgent nature. -It was received one afternoon at tea time and the next -morning before dawn we were marching down the canal -road.</p> - -<p>Just before the end we had done a little training, -more to get the horses in draught than anything else. -With that and the horse shows it wasn’t at all a bad -turnout.</p> - -<p>Once more we didn’t know for certain where we were -bound for, but the betting was about five to four on -Greece. How these things leak out is always a puzzle, -but leak out they do. Sure enough we made another -little sea voyage and in about three days steamed up the -Ægean, passing many boats loaded with odd looking -soldiers in khaki who turned out to be Greek, and at last -anchored outside Salonica in a mass of shipping, French -and English troopships, destroyers and torpedo boats -and an American battleship with Eiffel-tower masts.</p> - -<p>From the sea Salonica was a flashing jewel in a perfect -setting. Minarets and mosques, white and red, sprouted -everywhere from the white, brown and green buildings. -Trees and gardens nestled within the crumbling old city -wall. Behind it ran a line of jagged peaks, merging -with the clouds, and here and there ran a little winding -ribbon of road, climbing up and up only to lose itself -suddenly by falling over a precipice.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span></p> - -<p>Here again the M.L.O. had not quite the Public School -and Varsity manner and we suffered accordingly. However, -they are a necessary evil presumably, these quayside -warriors. The proof undoubtedly lies in the number -of D.S.O.’s they muster,——but I don’t remember to have -seen any of them with wound stripes. Curious, that.</p> - -<p>We marched through mean streets, that smelled worse -than Egypt, and a dirty populace, poverty-stricken -and covered with sores; the soldiers in khaki that looked -like brown paper and leather equipments that were a -good imitation of cardboard. Most of the officers wore -spurs like the Three Musketeers and their little tin -swords looked as if they had come out of toy shops. -None of them were shaved. If first impressions count -for anything then God help the Greeks.</p> - -<p>Our camp was a large open field some miles to the -north-west of the town on the lower slopes of a jagged -peak. The tinkle of cow bells made soft music everywhere. -Of accommodation there was none of any sort, -no tents, nothing but what we could improvise. The -Colonel slept under the lee of the cook’s cart. The -Adjutant and the doctor shared the Maltese cart and the -Vet. and I crept under the forage tarpaulin, from which -we were awakened in the dark by an unrestrained cursing -and the noise of a violent rainfall.</p> - -<p>Needless to say everybody was soaked, fires wouldn’t -light, breakfast didn’t come, tempers as well as appetites -became extremely sharp and things were most unpleasant,—the -more so since it went on raining for three weeks -almost without stopping. Although we hadn’t seen -rain for half a year it didn’t take us five minutes to wish -we were back in Egypt. Fortunately we drew bell tents -within forty-eight hours and life became more bearable. -But once more we had to go through a sort of camp -drill by numbers,—odd numbers too, for the order<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> -came round that tents would be moved first, then vehicles, -and lastly the horses.</p> - -<p>Presumably we had to move the guns and wagons -with drag-ropes while the horses watched us, grinning -into their nose bags.</p> - -<p>Anyhow, there we were, half the artillery in Greece, -all eighteen-pounders, the other half and the infantry -somewhere in the Dardanelles. It appeared, however, -that the —— Division had quite a lot of perfectly good -infantry just up the road but their artillery hadn’t got -enough horses to go round. So we made a sort of Jack -Sprat and his wife arrangement and declared ourselves -mobile.</p> - -<p>About four days after we’d come into camp the <i>Marquette</i> -was wrecked some thirty miles off Salonica. It -had the —— Divisional Ammunition Column on board -and some nurses. They had an appalling time in the -water and many were lost. The surviving officers, -who came dressed in the most motley garments, poor -devils, were split up amongst the brigade.</p> - -<p>On the Headquarters Staff we took to our bosoms -a charming fellow who was almost immediately given -the name of Woodbine,—jolly old Woodbine, one of the -very best, whom we left behind with infinite regret while -we went up country. I’d like to know what his golf -handicap is these days.</p> - -<p>The political situation was apparently delicate. Greece -was still sitting on the fence, waiting to see which way -the cat would jump, and here were we and our Allies, -the French, marching through their neutral country.</p> - -<p>Slight evidences of the “delicacy” of the times were -afforded by the stabbing of some half dozen Tommies -in the dark streets of the town and by the fact that it -was only the goodly array of guns which prevented them -from interning us. I don’t think we had any ammuni<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span>tion -as yet, so we couldn’t have done very much. However -that may be and whatever the political reasons, -we sat on the roadside day after day, watching the French -streaming up country,—infantry, field guns, mountain -artillery and pack transport,—heedless of Tino and his -protests. Six months in Egypt, and now this! We -<em>were</em> annoyed.</p> - -<p>However, on about the twentieth day things really -happened. “Don” battery went off by train, their -destination being some unpronounceable village near the -firing line. We, the Headquarters Staff, and “AC” -battery followed the next day. The railway followed the -meanderings of the Vardar through fertile land of amazing -greenness and passed mountains of stark rock where -not even live oak grew. The weather was warm for -November, but that ceaseless rain put a damper on everything, -and when we finally arrived we found “Don” -battery sitting gloomily in a swamp on the side of the -road. We joined them.</p> - - -<h3>7</h3> - -<p>The weather changed in the night and we were greeted -with a glorious sunshine in the morning that not only -dried our clothes but filled us with optimism.</p> - -<p><ins class="corr" id="tn-97" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'Just as were were'"> -Just as we were</ins> about to start the pole of my G.S. -wagon broke. Everybody went on, leaving me in the -middle of nowhere with a broken wagon, no map, and -instructions to follow on to the “i” of Causli in a country -whose language I couldn’t speak and with no idea of the -distance. Fortunately I kept the brigade artificer with -me and a day’s bully beef and biscuits, for it was not till -two o’clock in the afternoon that we at last got that -wagon mended, having had to cut down a tree and make<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span> -a new pole and drive rivets. Then we set off into the -unknown through the most glorious countryside imaginable. -The autumn had stained all the trees red and the -fallen leaves made a royal carpet. Vaguely I knew -the direction was north by east and once having struck -the road out of the village which led in that direction I -found that it went straight on through beds of streams, -between fields of maize and plantations of mulberries -and tumbled villages tenanted only by starving dogs. -The doors of nearly every house were splashed with a -blue cross,—reminiscences of a plague of typhus. From -time to time we met refugees trudging behind ox-drawn -wagons laden with everything they possessed in the world, -including their babies,—sad-faced, wild-looking peasants, -clad in picturesque rags of all colours with eyes that had -looked upon fear. I confess to having kept my revolver -handy. For all I knew they might be Turks, Bulgars -or at least brigands.</p> - -<p>The sense of solitude was extraordinary. There was -no sign of an army on the march, not even a bully beef -tin to mark the route, nothing but the purple hills remaining -always far away and sending out a faint muttering -like the beating of drums heard in a dream. The road -ahead was always empty when I scanned it through -my glasses at hour intervals, the sun lower and lower -each time. Darkness came upon us as it did in Egypt, -as though some one had flicked off the switch. There -was no sign of the village which might be Causli and in -the dark the thought which had been uneasily twisting -in my brain for several hours suddenly found utterance -in the mouth of the artificer sergeant.</p> - -<p>“D’you think we’re on the right road, sir?”</p> - -<p>The only other road we could have taken was at the -very start. Ought I to have taken it? In any case there -was nothing to be done but go on until we met some<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> -one, French or English, but the feeling of uncertainty -was distinctly unpleasant. I sent the corporal on ahead -scouting and we followed silently, very stiff in the saddle.</p> - -<p>At last I heard a shout, “Brigade ’Eadquarters?” -I think both the team drivers and myself answered -“Yes” together.</p> - -<p>The corporal had found a guide sent out by the Adjutant, -who turned us off across fields and led us on to -another road, and round a bend we saw lights twinkling -and heard the stamp and movement of picketed horses -and answered the challenge of sentries. Dinner was -over, but the cook had kept some hot for me, and my -servant had rigged up my bivvy, a tiny canvas tent -just big enough to take a camp bed. As there was a -touch of frost I went to the bivvy to get a woollen scarf, -heard a scuffle, and saw two green eyes glaring at me.</p> - -<p>I whipped out my revolver and flicked on an electric -torch. Crouched down on the bed was a little tortoise-shell -kitten so thin that every rib stood out and even -more frightened than I was. I caught it after a minute. -It was ice cold so I tucked it against my chest under the -British warm and went to dinner. After about five -minutes it began to purr and I fed it with some bits of -meat which it bolted ravenously. It followed that up -by standing in a saucer of milk, growling furiously and -lapping for dear life. Friendship was established. It -slept in the British warm, purring savagely when I -stroked it, as though starved of affection as well as food; -followed close to my heels when I went out in the morning -but fled wildly back to the bivvy if any one came up to -me, emerging arched like a little caterpillar from under -the bed, uttering cries of joy when I lifted the bivvy flap.</p> - -<p>It was almost like finding a refugee child who had -got frightened and lost and trusted only the hand that -had done it a kindness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span></p> - - -<h3>8</h3> - -<p>The “i” of Causli showed itself in the morning to be -a stretch of turf in a broad green trough between two -rows of steep hills. Causli was somewhere tucked -behind the crest in our rear and the road on which I -had travelled ran back a couple of miles, doubled in a -hairpin twist and curved away on the other side of the -valley until it lost itself behind a belt of trees that leaped -out of the far hill. Forward the view was shut in by the -spur which sheltered us, but our horses were being saddled -and after breakfast the Colonel took me with him to -reconnoitre. Very soon the valley ceased and the road -became a mountain path with many stone bridges taking -it over precipitous drops. Looking over, one saw little -streams bubbling in the sunlight. After about three -miles of climbing we came upon a signal station on the -roadside with linesmen at work. It was the first sign -of any troops in all that country, but miles behind us, -right back to Salonica, the road was a long chain of troops -and transport. Our brigade was as yet the only one -up in action.</p> - -<p>The signal station proved to be infantry headquarters. -It was the summit of the pass, the mountains opening -like a great V in front through which further mountains -appeared, with that one endless road curling up -like a white snake. There was a considerable noise -of firing going on and we were just in time to see the -French take a steep crest,—an unbelievable sight. We -lay on our stomachs miles behind them and through -glasses watched puffs of cotton wool, black and white, -sprout out of a far-away hill, followed by a wavering line -of blue dots. Presently the cotton wool sprouted closer<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span> -to the crest and the blue dots climbed steadily. Then -the cotton wool disappeared over the top and the blue -dots gave chase. Now and then one stumbled and fell. -Breathless one watched to see if he would get up again. -Generally he didn’t, but the line didn’t stop and presently -the last of it had disappeared over the crest. The invisible -firing went on and the only proof that it wasn’t -a dream was the motionless bundles of blue that lay out -there in the sun.—</p> - -<p>It was the first time I’d seen men killed and it left -me silent, angry. Why “go out” like that on some -damned Serbian hill? What was it all about that -everybody was trying to kill everybody else? Wasn’t -the sun shining and the world beautiful? What was -this disease that had broken out like a scab over the -face of the world?—why did those particular dots have -to fall? Why not the ones a yard away? What -was the law of selection? Was there a law? <em>Did</em> -every bullet have its billet? Was there a bullet for the -Colonel?—For <em>me</em>?—No. It was impossible! But -then, why those others and which of us?—</p> - -<p>I think I’ve found the answer to some of those questions -now. But on that bright November day, 1915, I -was too young. It was all in the game although from -that moment there was a shadow on it.</p> - - -<h3>9</h3> - -<p>“Don” battery went into action first.</p> - -<p>The Headquarters moved up close to the signalling -station—and I lost my kitten—but “Don” went down -the pass to the very bottom and cross-country to the -east, and dug themselves in near a deserted farmhouse -on the outskirts of Valandovo. “Beer” and “C”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span> -batteries came up a day or two later and sat down -with “AC.” There seemed to be no hurry. Our own -infantry were not in the line. They were in support -of the French and with supine ignorance or amazing -pluck, but anyhow a total disregard of the laws of warfare, -proceeded to dig trenches of sorts in full daylight -and in full view of the Bulgar. We shouldn’t have -minded so much but our O.P. happened to be on the hill -where most of these heroes came to dig.</p> - -<p>The troops themselves were remarkably ill-chosen. -Most of those who were not Irish were flat-footed -“brickees” from Middlesex, Essex and the dead-level -east coast counties, so their own officers told me, where -they never raise one ankle above the other. Now they -were chosen to give imitations of chamois in these endless -hills. Why not send an aviator to command a tank? -Furthermore, the only guns were French 75’s and our -eighteen-pounders and, I think, a French brigade of -mountain artillery, when obviously howitzers were indicated. -And there were no recuperators in those days. -Put a quadrant angle of 28° and some minutes on an old -pattern eighteen-pounder and see how long you stay -in action,—with spare springs at a premium and the -nearest workshops sixty miles away. My own belief -is that a couple of handfuls of Gurkhas and French -Tirailleurs would have cleaned up Serbia in a couple of -months. As it was...—</p> - -<p>The French gave us the right of the line from north-west -of Valandovo to somewhere east of Kajali in the -blue hills, over which, said the Staff, neither man nor -beast could pass. We needn’t worry about our right, -they said. Nature was doing that for us. But apparently -Nature had allowed not less than eight Greek -divisions to march comfortably over that impassable -right flank of ours in the previous Græco-Bulgarian dust-up.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span> -Of course the Staff didn’t find it out till afterwards. -It only cost us a few thousand dead and the Staff were -all right in Salonica, so there was no great harm done! -Till then the thing was a picnic. On fine mornings -the Colonel and I rode down the pass to see Don battery, -climbed the mountain to the stone sangar which was -their O.P. and watched them shoot—they were a joyous -unshaven crowd—went on down the other side to the -French front line and reconnoitred the country for -advanced positions and generally got the hang of things.</p> - -<p>As I knew French there were occasions when I was -really useful, otherwise it was simply a joy-ride for me -until the rest of the batteries came into action. One -morning the Colonel and I were right forward watching -a heavy barrage on a village occupied by the Bulgar. -The place selected by the Colonel from which to enjoy -a really fine view was only ten yards from a dead Bulgar -who was in a kneeling position in a shallow trench with -his hands in his pockets, keeled over at an angle. He’d -been there many days and the wind blew our way. But -the Colonel had a cold. I fled to a flank. While we -watched, two enemy batteries opened. For a long time -we tried to locate their flash. Then we gave it up and -returned up the pass to where a French battery was -tucked miraculously among holly bushes just under the -crest. One of their officers was standing on the sky -line, also endeavouring to locate those new batteries. -So we said we’d have another try, climbed up off the road, -lay upon our stomachs and drew out our glasses. Immediately -a pip-squeak burst in the air about twenty -yards away. Another bracketed us and the empty shell -went whining down behind us. I thought it was rather -a joke and but for the Colonel would have stayed there.</p> - -<p>He, however, was a regular Gunner, thank God, and -slithered off the mound like an eel. I followed him like<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span> -his shadow and we tucked ourselves half crouching, -half sitting, under the ledge, with our feet on the road. -For four hours the Bulgar tried to get that French -battery. If he’d given five minutes more right he’d -have done it,—and left us alone. As it was he plastered -the place with battery fire every two seconds.—Shrapnel -made pockmarks in the road, percussion bursts filled our -necks with dirt from the ledge and ever the cases -whined angrily into the ravine. We smoked many -pipes.</p> - -<p>It was my first experience under shell fire. I found -it rather like what turning on the quarter current in -the electric chair must be,—most invigorating, but a -little jumpy. One never knew. Thank heaven they -were only pip-squeaks. During those crouching hours -two French poilus walked up the pass—it was impossible -to go quickly because it was so steep—and without -turning a hair or attempting to quicken or duck walked -through that barrage with a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">sangfroid</i> that left me gasping. -Although in a way I was enjoying it, I was mighty glad -to be under that ledge, and my heart thumped when the -Colonel decided to make a run for it and went on thumping -till we were a good thousand yards to a flank.</p> - -<p>The worst of it was, it was the only morning that -I hadn’t brought sandwiches.</p> - - -<h3>10</h3> - -<p>When the other three batteries went into action and -the ammunition column tucked itself into dry nullahs -along the road we moved up into Valandovo and established -Brigade Headquarters in a farmhouse and for many -days the signallers and I toiled up and down mountains, -laying air lines. It was an elementary sort of war.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span> -There were not balloons, no aeroplanes and camouflage -didn’t seem to matter. Infantry pack transport went -up and down all day long. It was only in the valley -that the infantry were able to dig shallow trenches. -On the hills they built sangars, stone breastwork affairs. -Barbed wire I don’t remember to have seen. There -were no gas shells, no 5.9’s, nothing bigger than pip-squeaks. -The biggest artillery the Allies possessed -were two 120-centimetre guns called respectively Crache -Mort and Chasse Boche. One morning two Heavy -Gunners blew in and introduced themselves as being -on the hunt for sixty-pounder positions. They were -burning to lob some over into Strumnitza. We assisted -them eagerly in their reconnaissance and they went -away delighted, promising to return within three days. -They were still cursing on the quayside when we came -limping back to Salonica. Apparently there was no -one qualified to give them the order to come up and -help. In those days Strumnitza was the Bulgar rail-head, -and they could have pounded it to bits.</p> - -<p>As it was, our brigade was the only English Gunner -unit in action, and the Battery Commanders proved -conclusively to the French (and the Bulgar) that the -eighteen-pounder was a handy little gun. The French -General ordered one of the 75 batteries to advance to -Kajali. They reconnoitred the hills and reported that -it was impossible without going ten miles round. The -General came along to see for himself and agreed. The -Captain of “C” battery, however, took a little walk -up there and offered to get up if the Colonel would lend -him a couple of hundred infantry. At the same time -he pointed out that coming down in a hurry was another -story, absolutely impossible. However, it was discussed -by the powers that were and the long and short -of it was that two of our batteries were ordered forward.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> -“C” was the pioneer; and with the two hundred -infantry,—horses were out of the question—and all -the gunners they laboured from 4.30 p.m. to 6 a.m. -the next morning, at which hour they reported themselves -in action again. It was a remarkable feat, brought about -by sheer muscle and will power, every inch of the way a -battle, up slopes that were almost vertical, over small -boulders, round big ones with straining drag ropes for -about two miles and a half. The 75’s refused to believe -it until they had visited the advanced positions. They -bowed and said “<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Touché!</span>”</p> - - -<h3>11</h3> - -<p>Then the snow came in blinding blizzards that blotted -out the whole world and everybody went underground -and lived in overcoats and stoked huge fires,—everybody -except the infantry whose rifle bolts froze stiff, -whose rations didn’t arrive and who could only crouch -behind their stone sangars. The cold was intense and -they suffered terribly. When the blizzard ceased after -about forty-eight hours the tracks had a foot of -snow over them and the drifts were over one’s -head.</p> - -<p>Even in our little farmhouse where the Colonel and I -played chess in front of a roaring fire, drinks froze solid -on the mantelpiece and we remained muffled to the eyes. -Thousands of rock pigeons appeared round the horse -lines, fighting for the dropped grain, and the starving -dogs became so fierce and bold that it was only wise to -carry a revolver in the deserted villages. Huge brutes -some of them, the size of Arab donkeys, a cross between -a mastiff and a great Dane. Under that clean garment -of snow which didn’t begin to melt for a fortnight, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> -country was of an indescribable beauty. Every leaf -on the trees bore its little white burden, firm and crisp, -and a cold sun appeared and threw most wonderful -lights and shadows. The mountains took on a virgin -purity.</p> - -<p>But to the unfortunate infantry it was one long stretch -of suffering. Hundreds a day came down on led mules -in an agonised string, their feet bound in straw, their -faces and hands blue like frozen meat. The hospitals -were full of frost-bite cases, and dysentery was not -unknown in the brigade. Pot-face in particular behaved -like a hero. He had dysentery very badly but absolutely -refused to let the doctor send him down.</p> - -<p>Our rations were none too good, and there were interminable -spells of bully beef, fried, hashed, boiled, rissoled, -<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">au naturel</i> with pickles, and bread became a luxury. -We reinforced this with young maize which grew everywhere -in the valley and had wonderful soup and corn -on the cob, boiled in tinned milk and then fried. Then -too the Vet. and I had a wonderful afternoon’s wild bull -hunting with revolvers. We filled the wretched animal -with lead before getting near enough to give the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">coup de -grâce</i> beside a little stream. The Vet. whipped off -his tunic, turned up his sleeves and with a long trench -knife conducted a masterly post mortem which resulted -in about forty pounds of filet mignon. The next morning -before dawn the carcase was brought in in the cook’s -cart and the Headquarters Staff lived on the fat of the -land and invited all the battery commanders to the -discussion of that excellent bull.</p> - -<p>From our point of view it wasn’t at all a bad sort of -war. We hadn’t had a single casualty. The few rounds -which ever came anywhere near the batteries were greeted -with ironic cheers and the only troubles with telephone -lines were brought about by our own infantry who re<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span>moved -lengths of five hundred yards or so presumably -to mend their bivvies with.</p> - -<p>But about the second week of December indications -<ins class="corr" id="tn-108" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'were not wanted'"> -were not wanting</ins> of hostile activity. Visibility was very -bad owing to early morning fogs, but odd rounds began -to fall in the valley behind us in the neighbourhood -of the advancing wagon lines, and we fired on infantry -concentrations and once even an S.O.S. Rifle fire began -to increase and stray bullets hummed like bees on the -mountain paths.</p> - -<p>In the middle of this I became ill with a temperature -which remained for four days in the neighbourhood -of 104°. The doctor talked of hospital but I’d never -seen the inside of one and didn’t want to.</p> - -<p>However, on the fourth day it was the Colonel’s order -that I should go. It transpired afterwards that the -doctor diagnosed enteric. So away I went labelled and -wrapped up in a four-mule ambulance wagon. The cold -was intense, the road appalling, the pip-squeaks not too -far away until we got out of the valley, and the agony -unprintable. That night was spent in a Casualty Clearing -Station in the company of half a dozen infantry -subalterns all splashed with blood.</p> - -<p>At dawn next morning when we were in a hospital -train on our way to Salonica, the attack began. The -unconsidered right flank was the trouble. Afterwards -I heard about a dozen versions of the show, all much the -same in substance. The Bulgars poured over the right -in thousands, threatening to surround us. Some of the -infantry put up a wonderful fight. Others—didn’t. -Our two advanced batteries fired over open sights into -the brown until they had exhausted their ammunition, -then removed breech blocks and dial sights, destroyed -the pieces and got out, arming themselves with rifles -and ammunition picked up <span lang="la" xml:lang="la">ad lib.</span> on the way down.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> -“Don” and “AC” went out of one end of the village -of Valandovo while the enemy were held up at the -other by the Gunners of the other two batteries. Then -two armies, the French and English, got tangled up in -the only road of retreat, engineers hastening the stragglers -and then blowing up bridges. “Don” and “AC” -filled up with ammunition and came into action in support -of the other brigades at Causli which now opened -fire while “Beer” and “C” got mounted and chased -those of our infantry who “didn’t,” rounded them up, -and marched them back to face the enemy. Meanwhile -I was tucked away in a hospital bed in a huge marquee, -trying to get news from every wounded officer who was -brought in. The wildest rumours were going about -but no one knew anything officially. I heard that the -infantry were wiped out, that the gunners had all been -killed or captured to a man, that the remnants of the -French were fighting desperately and that the whole -thing was a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">débâcle</i>.</p> - -<p>There we all were helpless in bed, with nurses looking -after us, splendid English girls, and all the time those -infernal guns coming nearer and nearer.—At night, -sleepless and in a fever, one could almost hear the rumble -of their wheels, and from the next tent where the wounded -Tommies lay in rows, one or two would suddenly scream -in their agony and try and stifle their sobs, calling on -Jesus Christ to kill them and put them out of their pain.—</p> - -<p>The brigade, when I rejoined, was in camp east of -Salonica, under the lee of Hortiac, knee-deep in mud and -somewhat short of kit. It was mighty good to get back -and see them in the flesh again, after all those rumours -which had made one sick with apprehension.</p> - -<p>Having pushed us out of Serbia into Greece the Bulgar -contented himself with sitting on the frontier and making -rude remarks. The Allies, however, silently dug them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span>selves -in and prepared for the defence of Salonica in -case he should decide to attack again. The Serbs retired -to Corfu to reform, and although Tino did a considerable -amount of spluttering at this time, the only sign of interest -the Greeks showed was to be more insolent in the -streets.</p> - -<p>We drew tents and moved up into the hills and Woodbine -joined us again, no longer a shipwrecked mariner -in clothes off the peg, but in all the glory of new uniform -and breeches out from home, a most awful duke. Pot-face -and the commander of “C” battery went to hospital -shortly afterwards and were sent home. Some of the -Brass Hats also changed rounds. One, riding forth from -a headquarters with cherry brandy and a fire in each -room, looked upon our harness immediately on our -return from the retreat and said genially that he’d heard -that we were a “rabble.” When, however, the commander -of “Don” battery asked him for the name and -regiment of his informant, the Brass Hat rode away -muttering uncomfortably. Things were a little strained!</p> - - -<h3>12</h3> - -<p>However, Christmas was upon us so we descended -upon the town with cook’s carts and visited the Base -cashier. Salonica was a modern Babel. The cobbles -of the Rue Venizelos rang with every tongue in the world,—Turkish, -Russian, Yiddish, Serbian, Spanish, Levantine, -Arabic, English, French, Italian, Greek and even -German. Little tin swords clattered everywhere and the -place was a riot of colour, the Jew women with green -pearl-sewn headdresses, the Greek peasants in their -floppy-seated trousers elbowing enormous Russian soldiers -in loose blouses and jack boots who in turn elbowed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span> -small-waisted Greek highlanders in kilts with puffballs -on their curly-toed shoes. There were black-robed -priests with long beards and high hats, young men in -red fezzes, civilians in bowlers, old hags who gobbled -like turkeys and snatched cigarette ends, all mixed up -in a kaleidoscopic jumble with officers of every country -and exuding a smell of garlic, fried fish, decaying vegetable -matter, and those aromatic eastern dishes which fall -into no known category of perfume. Fling into this -chaos numbers of street urchins of untold dirt chasing -turkeys and chickens between one’s legs and you get -a slight idea of what sort of place we came to to do our -Christmas shopping.</p> - -<p>The best known language among the shopkeepers was -Spanish, but French was useful and after hours of struggling -one forced a passage out of the crowd with barrels -of beer, turkey, geese, pigs, fruit and cigarettes for the -men, and cigars and chocolates, whisky, Grand Marnier -and Cointreau for the mess. Some fund or other had -decided that every man was to have a plum pudding, -and these we had drawn from the A.S.C. on Christmas -Eve.</p> - -<p>In Egypt letters had taken thirteen days to arrive. -Here they took from fifteen to seventeen, sometimes -twenty-one. Christmas Day, however, was one of the -occasions when nothing came at all and we cursed the -unfortunate post office in chorus. I suppose it’s the -streak of childhood in every man of us that makes us -want our letters <em>on</em> the day. So the morning was a little -chilly and lonely until we went round to see that the -men’s dinner was all right. It was, with lashings of beer.</p> - -<p>This second Christmas on active service was a tremendous -contrast to the first. Then there was the service -in the barn followed by that depressing lonely day in -the fog and flat filth of Flanders. Now there was a clear<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> -sunny air and a gorgeous view of purple mountains with -a glimpse of sea far off below.</p> - -<p>In place of Mass in the barn Woodbine and I went for -a walk and climbed up to the white Greek church above -the village, surrounded by cloisters in which shot up -cypress trees, the whole picked out in relief against the -brown hill. We went in. The church was empty -but for three priests, one on the altar behind the screen, -one in a pulpit on each side in the body of the church. -For a long time we stood there listening as they flung -prayers and responses from one to another in a high, -shrill, nasal minor key that had the wail of lost souls -in it. It was most un-Christmassy and we came out -with a shiver into the sun.</p> - -<p>Our guest at dinner that night was a Serbian liaison -officer from Divisional Headquarters. We stuffed him -with the usual British food and regaled him with many -songs to the accompaniment of the banjo and broke -up still singing in the small hours but not having quite -cured the ache in our hearts caused by “absent friends.”</p> - - -<h3>13</h3> - -<p>The second phase of the campaign was one of endless -boredom, filthy weather and the nuisance of changing -camp every other month. The boredom was only -slightly relieved by a few promotions, two or three full -lieutenants becoming captains and taking command -of the newly arranged sections of D.A.C., and a few second -lieutenants getting their second pip. I was one. The -weather was characteristic of the country, unexpected, -violent. About once a week the heavens opened themselves. -Thunder crashed round in circles in a black -sky at midday, great tongues of lightning lit the whole<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span> -world in shuddering flashes. The rain made every -nullah a roaring waterfall with three or four feet of muddy -water racing down it and washing away everything in -its path. The trenches round our bell tents were of -little avail against such violence. The trench sides -dissolved and the water poured in. These storms lasted -an hour or two and then the sky cleared almost as quickly -as it had darkened and the mountain peaks gradually -appeared again, clean and fresh. On one such occasion, -but much later in the year, the Adjutant was caught -riding up from Salonica on his horse and a thunderbolt -crashed to earth about thirty yards away from him. The -horse stood trembling for full two minutes and then -galloped home in a panic.</p> - -<p>The changing of camps seemed to spring from only -one reason,—the desire for “spit and polish” which -covers a multitude of sins. It doesn’t matter if your -gunners are not smart at gun drill or your subalterns -in utter ignorance of how to lay out lines of fire and -make a fighting map. So long as your gun park is -aligned to the centimetre, your horse lines supplied -conspicuously with the type of incinerator fancied by -your Brigadier-General and the whole camp liberally -and tastefully decorated with white stones,—then you -are a crack brigade, and Brass Hats ride round you with -oily smiles and pleasant remarks and recommend each -other for decorations.</p> - -<p>But adopt your own incinerator (infinitely more -practical as a rule than the Brigadier-General’s) and let -yourself be caught with an untidy gun park and your -life becomes a hell on earth. We learnt it bitterly, -until at last the Adjutant used to ride ahead with the -R.S.M., a large fatigue party and several miles of string -and mark the position of every gun muzzle and wagon -wheel in the brigade. And when the storms broke and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span> -washed away the white stones the Adjutant would dash -out of his tent immediately the rain ceased, calling upon -God piteously, the R.S.M. irritably, and every man in -the brigade would collect other stones for dear life.</p> - -<p>Time hung very heavy. The monotony of week -after week of brigade fatigues, standing gun drill, exercising -and walking horses, inspecting the men’s dinners, -with nothing to do afterwards except play cards, read, -write letters and curse the weather, and the war and -all Brass Hats. Hot baths in camp were, as usual, as -diamonds in oysters. Salonica was about twelve miles -away for a bath, a long weary ride mostly at a walk on -account of the going. But it was good to ride in past -the village we used to call Peacockville, for obvious -reasons, put the horses up in a Turkish stable in a back -street in Salonica, and bathe and feed at the “Tour -Blanche,” and watch the crowd. It was a change, at -least, from the eternal sameness of camp and the cramped -discomfort of bell tents, and there was always a touch -of mystery and charm in the ride back in the moonlight.</p> - -<p>The whole thing seemed so useless, such an utter -waste of life. There one sat in the mud doing nothing. -The war went on and we weren’t helping. All our civil -ambitions and hopes were withering under our very -eyes. One hopeless dawn succeeded another. I tried -to write, but my brain was like a sponge dipped into -khaki dye. One yearned for France, where at least -there was fighting and leave, or if not leave then the -hourly chance of a “blighty” wound.</p> - -<p>About April there came a welcome interlude. The -infantry had also chopped and changed, and been moved -about and in the intervals had been kept warm and -busy in digging a chain of defences in a giant hundred-mile -half-circle around Salonica, the hub of our existence. -The weather still didn’t seem to know quite what it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span> -wanted to do. There was a hint of spring but it varied -between blinding snow-storms, bursts of warm sun and -torrents of rain.</p> - -<p>“Don” battery had been moved to Stavros in the -defensive chain, and the Colonel was to go down and do -Group Commander. The Adjutant was left to look after -the rest of the brigade. I went with the Colonel to do -Adjutant in the new group. So we collected a handful -of signallers, a cart with our kits and servants, and set -out on a two-day trek due east along the line of lakes -to the other coast.</p> - -<p>The journey started badly in a howling snow-storm. -To reach the lake level there was a one-way pass that -took an hour to go down, and an hour and a half to -climb on the return trip. The Colonel went on ahead -to see the General. I stayed with the cart and fought -my way through the blizzard. At the top of the pass -was a mass of Indian transport. We all waited for -two hours, standing still in the storm, the mud belly-deep -because some unfortunate wagon had got stuck in -the ascent. I remember having words with a Captain -who sat hunched on his horse like a sack the whole two -hours and refused to give an order or lend a hand when -every one of his teams jibbed, when at last the pass was -declared open. God knows how he ever got promoted.</p> - -<p>However, we got down at last and the sun came out -and dried us. I reported to the Colonel, and we went -on in a warm golden afternoon along the lake shore -with ducks getting up out of the rushes in hundreds, -and, later, woodcock flashing over our heads on their -way to water. As far as I remember the western lake -is some eight miles long and about three wide at its widest -part, with fairy villages nestling against the purple -mountain background, the sun glistening on the -minarets and the faint sound of bells coming across the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span> -water. We spent the night as guests of a battery which -we found encamped on the shore, and on the following -morning trekked along the second lake, which is about -ten miles in length, ending at a jagged mass of rock and -thick undergrowth which had split open into a wild, -wooded ravine with a river winding its way through the -narrow neck to the sea, about five miles farther on.</p> - -<p>We camped in the narrow neck on a sandy bay by the -river, rock shooting up sheer from the back of the tents, -the horses hidden under the trees. The Colonel’s command -consisted of one 60-pounder—brought round by -sea and thrown into the shallows by the Navy, who said -to us, “Here you are, George. She’s on terra firma. -It’s up to you now”—two naval 6-inch, one eighteen-pounder -battery, “Don,” one 4.5 howitzer battery, and -a mountain battery, whose commander rode about on a -beautiful white mule with a tail trimmed like an hotel -bell pull. “AC” battery of ours came along a day or -two later to join the merry party, because, to use the -vulgar but expressive phrase, the Staff “got the wind -up,” and saw Bulgars behind every tree.</p> - - -<h3>14</h3> - -<p>In truth it was a comedy,—though there were elements -of tragedy in the utter inefficiency displayed. We rode -round to see the line of our zone. It took two days, -because, of course, the General had to get back to lunch. -Wherever it was possible to cut tracks, tracks had been -cut, beautiful wide ones, making an enemy advance easy. -They were guarded by isolated machine-gun posts at -certain strategic points, and in the nullahs was a little -barbed wire driven in on wooden stakes. Against the -barbed wire, however, were piled masses of dried thorn,—utterly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> -impassable but about as inflammable as gun-powder. -This was all up and down the wildest country. -If a massacre had gone on fifty yards to our right or left -at any time, we shouldn’t have been able to see it. And -the line of infantry was so placed that it was impossible -to put guns anywhere to assist them.</p> - -<p>It is to be remembered that although I have two eyes, -two ears, and a habit of looking and listening, I was only -a lieutenant with two pips in those days, and therefore -my opinion is not, of course, worth the paper it is written -on. Ask any Brass Hat!</p> - -<p>An incident comes back to me of the action before -the retreat. I had only one pip then. Two General -Staffs wished to make a reconnaissance. I went off at -3 a.m. to explore a short way, got back at eight o’clock, -after five hours on a cold and empty stomach, met the -Staffs glittering in the winter sun, and led them up a goat -track, ridable, of course. They left the horses eventually, -and I brought them to the foot of the crest, from which -the reconnaissance was desired. The party was some -twenty strong, and walked up on to the summit and -produced many white maps. I was glad to sit down, -and did so under the crest against a rock. Searching the -opposite sky line with my glasses, I saw several parties -of Bulgars watching us,—only recognisable as Bulgars -because the little of them that I could see moved from -time to time. The Colonel was near me and I told him. -He took a look and went up the crest and told the -Staffs. The Senior Brass Hat said, “Good God! What -are you all doing up here on the crest? Get under cover -at once,”—and he and they all hurried down. The -reconnaissance was over!</p> - -<p>On leading them a short way back to the horses (it -saved quite twenty minutes’ walk) it became necessary -to pass through a wet, boggy patch about four yards<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span> -across. The same Senior Brass Hat stopped at the edge -of it, and said to me, “What the devil did you bring us -this way for? You don’t expect me to get my boots -dirty, do you?—Good God!”</p> - -<p>I murmured something about active service,—but, -as I say, I had only one pip then.—</p> - -<p>It isn’t that one objects to being cursed. The thing -that rankles is to have to bend the knee to a system -whose slogan is efficiency, but which retains the doddering -and the effete in high commands simply because they -have a quarter of a century of service to their records. -The misguided efforts of these dodderers are counteracted -to a certain extent by the young, keen men under -them. But it is the dodderers who get the credit, while -the real men lick their boots and have to kowtow in the -most servile manner. Furthermore, it is no secret. -We know it and yet we let it go on: and if to-day there -are twenty thousand unnecessary corpses among our -million dead, after all, what are they among so many? -The dodderers have still got enough life to parade at -Buckingham Palace and receive another decoration, and -we stand in the crowd and clap our hands, and say, -“Look at old so-and-so! Isn’t he a grand old man? -Must be seventy-six if he’s a day!”</p> - -<p>So went the comedy at Stavros. One Brass Hat -dug a defence line at infinite expense and labour. Along -came another, just a pip senior, looked round and said, -“Good God! You’ve dug in the wrong place.—Must -be scrapped.” And at more expense and more labour -a new line was dug. And then a third Brass Hat came -along and it was all to do over again. Men filled the -base hospitals and died of dysentery; the national -debt added a few more insignificant millions,—and the -Brass Hats went on leave to Alexandria for a well-earned -rest.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span></p> - -<p>Not only at Stavros did this happen, but all round -the half circle in the increasingly hot weather, as the -year became older and disease more rampant.</p> - -<p>After we’d been down there a week and just got the -hang of the country another Colonel came and took over -the command of the group, so we packed up our traps -and having bagged many woodcock and duck, went away, -followed after a few days by “AC” and “Don.”</p> - -<p>About that time, to our lasting grief, we lost our -Colonel, who went home. It was a black day for the -brigade. His thoughtfulness for every officer under -him, his loyalty and unfailing cheeriness had made him -much loved. I, who had ridden with him daily, trekked -the snowy hills in his excellent company, played chess -with him, strummed the banjo while he chanted half-remembered -songs, shared the same tent with him on -occasions and appreciated to the full his unfailing kindness, -mourned him as my greatest friend. The day he -went I took my last ride with him down to the rest camp -just outside Salonica, a wild, threatening afternoon, -with a storm which burst on me in all its fury as -I rode back miserably, alone.</p> - -<p>In due course his successor came and we moved to -Yailajik—well called by the men, Yellow-Jack—and -the hot weather was occupied with training schemes at -dawn, officers’ rides and drills, examinations A and B -(unofficial, of course), horse shows and an eternity of -unnecessary work, while one gasped in shirt sleeves -and stupid felt hats after the Anzac pattern; long, -long weeks of appalling heat and petty worries, until it -became a toss-up between suicide or murder. The whole -spirit of the brigade changed. From having been a -happy family working together like a perfect team, the -spirit of discontent spread like a canker. The men looked -sullen and did their work grudgingly, going gladly to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span> -hospital at the first signs of dysentery. Subalterns put -in applications for the Flying Corps,—I was one of their -number,—and ceased to take an interest in their sections. -Battery Commanders raised sarcasm to a fine art, and -cursed the day that ever sent them to this ghastly back-water.</p> - -<p>I left the headquarters and sought relief in “C” -battery, where, encouraged by the sympathetic commanding -officer, I got nearer to the solution of the mysterious -triangle T.O.B. than I’d ever been before. He had a -way of talking about it that the least intelligent couldn’t -fail to grasp.</p> - -<p>At last I fell ill and with an extraordinary gladness -went down to the 5th Canadian hospital, on the eastern -outskirts of Salonica, on the seashore. The trouble -was an ear. Even the intensest pain, dulled by frequent -injections of morphia, did not affect my relief in getting -away from that brigade, where, up to the departure of -the Colonel, I had spent such a happy time. The pity -of it was that everybody envied me.</p> - -<p>They talked of an operation. Nothing would have -induced me to let them operate in that country where -the least scratch turned septic. After several weeks I -was sent to Malta, where I was treated for twenty-one -days. At the end of that time the specialist asked me -if my career would be interfered with if he sent me home -for consultation as to an operation. One reason he could -not do it was that it was a long business, six weeks in -bed, at least, and they were already overfull. The -prison door was about to open! I assured him that on -the contrary my career would benefit largely by a sight -of home, and to my eternal joy he then and there, in -rubber gloves, wrote a recommendation to send me -to England. His name stands out in my memory in -golden letters.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span></p> - -<p>Within twenty-four hours I was on board.</p> - -<p>The fact that all my kit was still with the battery was -a matter of complete indifference. I would have left -a thousand kits. At home all the leaves were turning, -blue smoke was filtering out of red chimneys against -the copper background of the beech woods—and they -would be waiting for me in the drive.</p> - - -<hr class="p4 chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span><br /> - <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span><br /> -</p> - -<h2 class="p4 nobreak" id="PART_III">PART III<br /> - -<span class="fs90 lsp"><em>THE WESTERN FRONT</em></span></h2> -</div> - - -<hr class="p6 chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span><br /> - <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<h3>1</h3> - -<p class="drop-capy">England had changed in the eighteen months -since we put out so joyously from Avonmouth. -Munition factories were in full blast, food restrictions -in force, women in all kinds of uniforms, London in -utter darkness at night, the country dotted with hutted -training camps. Everything was quiet. We had taken -a nasty knock or two and washed some of our dirty linen -in public, not too clean at that. My own lucky star -was in the ascendant. The voyage completely cured -me, and within a week I was given a month’s sick leave -by the Medical Board,—a month of heaven more nearly -describes it, for I passed my days in a state of bliss which -nothing could mar, except perhaps the realisation, <ins class="corr" id="tn-125" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'to-towards the end'"> -towards the end</ins>, of the fact that I had to go back and -settle into the collar again.</p> - -<p>My mental attitude towards the war had changed. -Whatever romance and glamour there may have been -had worn off. It was just one long bitter waste of time,—our -youth killed like flies by “dug-outs,” at the front, -so that old men and sick might carry on the race, while -profiteers drew bloated profits and politicians exuded -noxious gas in the House. Not a comforting point of -view to take back into harness. I was told on good -authority that to go out to France in a field battery -was a certain way of finding death. They were being -flung away in the open to take another thousand yards -of trench, so as to make a headline in the daily papers -which would stir the drooping spirits of the old, the sick, -and the profiteer over their breakfast egg. The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">embusqué</i><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span> -was enjoying those headlines too. The combing-out -process had not yet begun. The young men who had -never been out of England were Majors and Colonels -in training camps. It was the officers who returned to -duty from hospital, more or less cured of wounds or -sickness, who were the first to be sent out again. The -others knew a thing or two.</p> - -<p>That was how it struck me when I was posted to a -reserve brigade just outside London.</p> - -<p>Not having the least desire to be “flung away in the -open,” I did my best to get transferred to a 6-inch -battery. The Colonel of the reserve brigade did his -best, but it was queered at once, without argument or -appeal, by the nearest Brass Hat, in the following -manner. The Colonel having signed and recommended -the formal application, spoke to the General personally -on my behalf.</p> - -<p>“What sort of a fellow is he?” asked the General.</p> - -<p>“Seems a pretty useful man,” said the Colonel.</p> - -<p>“Then we’ll keep him,” said the General.</p> - -<p>“The pity of it is,” said the Colonel to me later, “that -if I’d said you were a hopeless damned fool, he would -have signed it.”</p> - -<p>On many subsequent occasions the Colonel flung -precisely that expression at me so he might just as well -have said it then.</p> - -<p>However, as it seemed that I was destined for a short -life, I determined to make it as merry as possible, and -in the company of a kindred spirit, who was posted from -hospital a couple of days after I was, and who is now a -Bimbashi in the Soudan, I went up to town about three -nights a week, danced and did a course of theatres. By -day there was no work to do as the brigade already had -far too many officers, none of whom had been out. The -battery to which we were both posted was composed of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> -category C1 men,—flat-footed unfortunates, unfit to -fight on medical grounds, not even strong enough to -groom horses properly.</p> - -<p>A futile existence in paths of unintelligence and -unendeavour worshipping perforce at the altar of -destruction, creating nothing, a slave to dishonesty and -jobbery,—a waste of life that made one mad with rage -in that everything beautiful in the world was snapped -in half and flung away because the social fabric which -we ourselves had made through the centuries, had at -last become rotten to the core and broken into flaming -slaughter, and was being fanned by yellow press hypocrisy. -Every ideal cried out against it. The sins of the fathers -upon the wilfully blind children. The Kaiser was only -the most pitch-covered torch chosen by Nemesis to set -the bonfire of civilisation ablaze. But for one branch -in the family tree he would have been England’s monarch, -and then——?</p> - -<p>There have been moments when I have regretted not -having sailed to New York in August, 1914,—bitter -moments when all the dishonesty has beaten upon one’s -brain, and one has envied the pluck of the honest conscientious -objector who has stood out against the ridicule -of the civilised world.</p> - -<p>The only thought that kept me going was “suppose -the Huns had landed in England and I had not been -fighting?” It was unanswerable,—as I thought then.</p> - -<p>Now I wish that the Hun had landed in England in -force and laid waste the East coast, as he has devastated -Belgium and the north of France. There would have -been English refugees with perambulators and babies, -profiteers crying “Kamerad!” politicians fleeing the -House. There would have been some hope of England’s -understanding. But she doesn’t even now. There were -in 1918, before the armistice, men—<span class="allsmcap">MEN!</span>—who, because<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> -their valets failed to put their cuff links in their shirts one -morning, were sarcastic to their war-working wives, and -talked of the sacrifices they had made for their country.</p> - -<p>How <em>dared</em> they have valets, while we were lousy and -unshaved, with rotting corpses round our gun wheels? -How <em>dared</em> they have wives, while we “unmarried and -without ties” were either driven in our weakness to -licensed women, or clung to our chastity because of the -one woman with us every hour in our hearts, whom we -meant to marry if ever we came whole out of that hell?</p> - - -<h3>2</h3> - -<p>Christmas came. They would not let me go down -to that little house among the pines and beeches, which -has ever been “home” to me. But the day was spent -quietly in London with my best pal. Seven days later -I was on my way to Ireland as one of the advance representatives -of the Division. The destination of my -brigade was Limerick, that place of pigs, and smells, -and pretty girls and schoolboy rebels, who chalked on -every barrack wall, “Long live the Kaiser! Down with -the King!” Have you ever been driven to the depths -of despair, seen your work go to pieces before your eyes, -and spent the dreadful days in dishonest idleness on the -barrack square, hating it all the while, but unable to -move hand or foot to get out of the mental morass? -That is what grew up in Limerick. Even now my mind -shivers in agony at the thought of it.</p> - -<p>Reinforcements had poured into the battery of cripples, -and the order came that from it a fighting battery should -be formed. As senior subaltern, who had been promised -a captaincy, I was given charge of them. The only other -officer with me was the loyalest pal a man ever had. -He had been promoted on the field for gallantry, having<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span> -served ten years in the ranks as trumpeter, gunner, -corporal and sergeant. Needless to say, he knew the -game backwards, and was the possessor of amazing -energy and efficiency. He really ought to have had the -command, for my gunnery was almost nil, but I had one -pip more than he, and so the system put him under my -orders. So we paraded the first men, and told them off -into sections and were given a horse or two, gradually -building up a battery as more reinforcements arrived.</p> - -<p>How we worked! The enthusiasm of a first command! -For a fortnight we never left the barracks,—drilling, -marching, clothing and feeding the fighting unit of which -we hoped such great things. All our hearts and souls -were in it, and the men themselves were keen and worked -cheerily and well. One shook off depressing philosophies -and got down to the solid reality of two hundred men. -The early enthusiasm returned, and Pip Don—as my -pal was called—and I were out for glory and killing Huns.</p> - -<p>The Colonel looked us over and was pleased. Life -wasn’t too bad, after all.</p> - -<p>And then the blight set in. An officer was posted to -the command of the little fighting unit.</p> - -<p>In a week all the fight had gone out of it. In another -week Pip Don and I declared ourselves beaten. All our -interest was killed. The sergeant-major, for whom I -have a lasting respect, was like Bruce’s spider. Every -time he fell, he at once started reclimbing. He alone was -responsible for whatever discipline remained. The captaincy -which I had been promised on certain conditions -was filled by some one else the very day I carried out -the conditions. It didn’t matter. Everything was so -hopeless that the only thing left was to get out,—and -that was the one thing we couldn’t do, because we were -more or less under orders for France. It reached such -a pitch that even the thought of being flung away in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> -open was welcome. At least it would end it all. There -was no secret about it. The Colonel knew. Didn’t he -come to my room one night, and say, “Look here, Gibbs, -what is the matter with your battery?” And didn’t -we have another try, and another?</p> - -<p>So for a time Pip Don and I smoked cigarettes on the -barrack square, strolling listlessly from parade to parade, -cursing the fate that should have brought us to such -dishonour. We went to every dance in Limerick, -organised concerts, patronised the theatre and filled our -lives as much as we could with outside interests until -such time as we should go to France. And then.—It -would be different when shells began to burst!</p> - - -<h3>3</h3> - -<p>In the ranks I first discovered that it was a struggle -to keep one’s soul alive. That struggle had proved -far more difficult as an officer in the later days of Salonica. -The bitterness of Limerick, together with the reason, as -I saw it, of the wholesale slaughter, made one’s whole -firmament tremble. Rough hands seemed to tear down -one’s ideals and fling then in the mud. One’s picture of -God and religion faded under the red light of war. One’s -brain flickered in the turmoil, seeking something to cling -to. What was there? Truth? There was none. -Duty? It was a farce. Honour? It was dead. There -was only one thing left, one thing which might give them -all back again,—Love.</p> - -<p>If there was not that in one’s heart to keep fragrant, -to cherish, to run to for help, to look forward to as the -sunshine at the end of a long and awful tunnel, then one’s -soul would have perished and a bullet been a merciful -thing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span></p> - -<p>I was all unconscious that it had been my salvation -in the ranks, in Salonica. Now, on the eve of going -out to the Western Front I recognized it for the first time -to the full. The effect of it was odd,—a passionate -longing to tear off one’s khaki and leave all this uncleanness, -and at the same time the certain knowledge that -one must go on to the very end, otherwise one would -lose it. If I had been offered a war job in New York, -how could I have taken it, unwounded, the game unfinished, -much as New York called me? So its third -effect was a fierce impatience to get to France, making at -least one more battery to help to end the war.</p> - -<p>The days dragged by, the longer from the new knowledge -within me. From time to time the Sinn Fein -gave signs of renewed activity, and either we were all -confined to barracks in consequence, presumably to -avoid street fighting, or else we hooked into the guns -and did route marches through and round about the -town. From time to time arrests were made, but no -open conflict recurred. Apart from our own presence -there was no sign of war in Ireland. Food of all kinds -was plentiful and cheap, restrictions nil. The streets -were well lit at night. Gaiety was the keynote. No -aeroplanes dropped bombs on that brilliant target. The -Hun and pro-Hun had spent too much money there.</p> - -<p>Finally our training was considered complete. The -Colonel had laboured personally with all the subalterns, -and we had benefited by his caustic method of imparting -knowledge. And so once more we sat stiffly to -attention while Generals rode round us, metaphorically -poking our ribs to see if we were fat enough for the -slaughter. Apparently we were, for the fighting units -said good-bye to their parent batteries—how gladly!—and -shipped across to England to do our firing -practice.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span></p> - -<p>The camp was at Heytesbury, on the other side of -the vast plain which I had learnt so well as a trooper. -We were a curious medley, several brigades being represented, -each battery a little distrustful of the next, a -little inclined to turn up its nose. Instead of being -“AC,” “Beer,” “C” and “Don,” as before, we were -given consecutive numbers, well into the hundreds, and -after a week or so of dislocation were formed into -brigades, and each put under the command of a Colonel. -Then the stiffness wore off in friendly competition of -trying to pick the best horses from the remounts. Our -men challenged each other to football, sergeant-majors -exchanged notes. Subalterns swapped lies about the -war and Battery Commanders stood each other drinks -in the mess. Within a fortnight we were all certain we’d -got the best Colonel in England, and congratulated ourselves -accordingly.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Pip Don and I were still outcasts in our -own battery, up against a policy of continual distrust, -suspicion, and scarcely veiled antagonism. It was at -the beginning of April, 1917, that we first got to Heytesbury, -and snow was thick upon the ground. Every day -we had the guns out behind the stables and jumped the -men about at quick, short series, getting them smart -and handy, keeping their interest and keeping them -warm. When the snow disappeared we took the battery -out mounted, taking turns in bringing it into action, -shooting over the sights on moving targets—other -batteries at work in the distance—or laying out lines -for indirect targets. We took the staff out on cross-country -rides, scouring the country for miles, and chasing -hares—it shook them down into the saddle—carrying out -little signalling schemes. In short, we had a final polish -up of all the knowledge we had so eagerly begun to teach -them when he and I had been in sole command. I don’t<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span> -think either of us can remember any single occasion on -which the commanding officer took a parade.</p> - -<p>Embarkation leave was in full swing, four days for -all ranks, and the brigade next to us was ordered to -shoot. Two range officers were appointed from our -brigade. I was one. It was good fun and extremely -useful. We took a party of signallers and all the rations -we could lay hands on, and occupied an old red farmhouse -tucked away in a fold of the plain, in the middle -of all the targets. An old man and his wife lived there, -a quaint old couple, toothless and irritable, well versed -in the ways of the army and expert in putting in claims -for fictitious damages. Our job was to observe and -register each round from splinter proofs, send in a signed -report of each series, stop the firing by signalling if any -stray shepherd or wanderer were seen on the range, -and to see that the targets for the following day’s shoot -had not been blown down or in any other way rendered -useless. It was a four-day affair, firing ending daily -between three and four p.m. This left us ample time -to canter to all the battery positions and work out ranges, -angle of sight and compass bearings for every target,—information -which would have been invaluable when -our turn to fire arrived. Unfortunately, however, -several slight alterations were intentionally made, and -all our labour was wasted. Still, it was a good four -days of bracing weather, with little clouds scudding across -a blue sky, never quite certain whether in ten minutes’ -time the whole world would be blotted out in a blizzard. -The turf was springy, miles upon endless miles, and we -had some most wonderful gallops and practised revolver -shooting on hares and rooks, going back to a huge tea -and a blazing wood fire in the old, draughty farmhouse.</p> - -<p>The practice over, we packed up and marched back<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span> -to our respective batteries. Events of a most cataclysmic -nature piled themselves one upon the other,—friction -between the commanding officer and myself, -orders to fire on a certain day, orders to proceed overseas -on a certain later day, and my dismissal from the -battery, owing to the aforesaid friction, on the opening -day of the firing. Pip Don was furious, the commanding -officer wasn’t, and I “pursued a policy of masterly -inactivity.” The outcome of the firing was not without -humour, and certainly altered the whole future career -of at least two of us. The Captain and the third subaltern -left the battery and became “details.” The commanding -officer became second in command under a new -Major, who dropped out of the blue, and I was posted -back to the battery, together with a new third subaltern, -who had just recovered from wounds.</p> - -<p>The business of getting ready was speeded up. The -Ordnance Department, hitherto of miserly reluctance, -gave us lavishly of their best. Gas masks were dished -out, and every man marched into a gas chamber,—there -either to get gassed or come out with the assurance that -the mask had no defects! Final issues of clothing and -equipment kept the Q.M.S. sweating from dawn to dusk, -and the Major signed countless pay books, indents and -documents generally.</p> - -<p>Thus we were ready and eager to go and strafe the Hun -in the merry month of May, 1917.</p> - - -<h3>4</h3> - -<p>The personnel of the battery was odd but extremely -interesting. Pip Don and myself knew every man, -bombardier, corporal and sergeant, what he had done,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span> -tried to do, or could do. In a word we knew the battery -inside out and exactly what it was worth. Not a man -of them had ever been on active service, but we felt -quite confident that the test of shell fire would not find -them wanting. The great majority of them were Scots, -and they were all as hard as nails.</p> - -<p>The third subaltern was an unknown quantity, but -all of us had been out. The Captain hadn’t.</p> - -<p>The Major had been in every battle in France since -1914, but he didn’t know us or the battery, and if we -felt supremely confident in him, it was, to say the least -of it, impossible for him to return the compliment. He -himself will tell you that he didn’t win the confidence of -the battery until after a bold and rapidly-decided move -in full light of day, which put us on the flank of a perfectly -hellish bombardment. That may be true of some -of the men, but as far as Pip Don and myself went, we -had adopted him after the first five minutes, and never -swerved,—having, incidentally, some wonderful arguments -about him in the sleeping quarters at Heytesbury -with the subalterns of other batteries.</p> - -<p>It is extraordinary how the man at the head of a little -show like that remains steadily in the lime-light. Everything -he does, says or looks is noted, commented on and -placed to either his credit or debit until the men have -finally decided that he’s all right or—not. If they come -to the first decision, then the Major’s life is not more of -a burden to him than Divisional and Corps Staffs and -the Hun can make it. The battery will do anything he -asks of it, at any hour of day or night, and will go on -shooting till the last man is knocked out. If, on the -other hand, they decide that he is not all right, God -help him. He gives orders. They are not carried out. -Why? An infinite variety of super-excellent excuses. -It is a sort of passive resistance, and he has got to be a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span> -mighty clever man to unearth the root of it and kill it -before it kills him.</p> - -<p>We went from Southampton to Havre—it looked -exactly the same as when I’d landed there three years -previously—and from Havre by train to Merville. There -a guide met us in the chilly dawn and we marched up to -Estaires, the guide halting us at a mud patch looking -like the abomination of desolation, which he said was our -wagon line. It was only about seven miles from the -place where I’d been in the cavalry, and just as muddy, -but somehow I was glad to be back. None of those -side shows at the other end of the map had meant anything. -France was obviously where the issue would -ultimately be decided, and, apart from the Dardanelles, -where the only real fighting was, or ever had been. Let -us, therefore, get on with the war with all speed. Every -year had brought talk of peace before Christmas, soon -dwindling into columns about preparations for another -winter campaign. Even our own men just landed -discussed the chances of being back in Scotland for the -New Year!</p> - -<p>We were an Army brigade,—one of a series of illegitimate -children working under Corps orders and lent -to Divisions who didn’t evince any friendliness when -it came to leave allotments, or withdrawn from our -Divisional area to be hurried to some other part of the -line and flung in in heaps to stiffen the barrage in some -big show. Nobody loved us. Divisions saved their -own people at our expense,—it was always an Army -brigade which hooked in at zero hour and advanced at -zero + 15, until after the Cambrai show. Ordnance -wanted to know who the hell we were and why our -indents had a Divisional signature and not a Corps one, -or why they hadn’t both, or neither; A.S.C. explained -with a straight face how we <em>always</em> got the best fresh<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> -meat ration; Corps couldn’t be bothered with us, until -there was a show brewing; Army were polite but incredulous.</p> - -<p>The immortal Pyecroft recommends the purchase -of a ham as a sure means of seeing life. As an alternative -I suggest joining an Army brigade.</p> - - -<h3>5</h3> - -<p>In the old days of trench warfare the Armentières -front was known as the peace sector. The town itself, -not more than three thousand yards from the Hun, -was full of happy money-grubbing civilians who served -you an excellent dinner and an equally excellent bottle -of wine, or, if it was clothes you sought, directed you to -Burberry’s, almost as well installed as in the Haymarket. -Divisional infantry used it as a rest billet. Many cook’s -carts ambled peacefully along the cobbled streets laden -with eggs, vegetables and drinks for officers’ messes. -Now and then a rifle was fired in the front line resulting, -almost, in a Court of Enquiry. Three shells in three -days was considered a good average, a trench mortar -a gross impertinence.</p> - -<p>Such was the delightful picture drawn for us by -veterans who heard we were going there.</p> - -<p>The first step was the attaching of so many officers -and N.C.O.’s to a Divisional battery in the line for -“instruction.” The Captain and Pip Don went up -first and had a merry week. The Major and I went -up next and heard the tale of their exploits. The battery -to which we were attached, in command of a shell-shocked -Major, was in a row of houses, in front of a -smashed church on the fringe of the town, and I learnt<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span> -to take cover or stand still at the blast of a whistle which -meant aeroplanes; saw a fighting map for the first time; -an S.O.S. board in a gun pit and the explanation of retaliation -targets; read the Divisional Defence Scheme -through all its countless pages and remained in <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">statu quo</i>; -went round the front-line trench and learned that a -liaison officer didn’t take his pyjamas on raid nights; -learned also that a trench mortar bombardment was a -messy, unpleasant business; climbed rung by rung -up a dark and sooty chimney, or was hauled up in a coffin-like -box, to a wooden deck fitted with seats and director -heads and telescopes and gazed down for the first time -on No Man’s Land and the Hun trench system and as -far as the eye could reach in his back areas, learning -somewhat of the difficulties of flank observation. Every -day of that week added depths to the conviction of my -exceeding ignorance. Serbia had been nothing like this. -It was elementary, child’s play. The Major too uttered -strange words like calibration, meteor corrections, charge -corrections. A memory of Salonica came back to me of -a huge marquee in which we had all sat and listened to -a gilded staff officer who had drawn diagrams on a blackboard -and juggled with just such expressions while we -tried hard not to go to sleep in the heat; and afterwards -the Battery Commanders had argued it and decided almost -unanimously that it was “all right for schools of gunnery -but not a damn bit o’ use in the field.” To the Major, -however, these things seemed as ordinary as whisky -and pickles.</p> - -<p>I came to the conclusion that the sooner I began -to learn something the better. It wasn’t easy because -young Pip Don had the hang of it all, so he and the Major -checked each other’s figures while I looked on, vainly -endeavouring to follow. There was never any question -as to which of us ought to have had the second pip. How<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span>ever -it worked itself out all right because, owing to the -Major, he got his captaincy before I did, which was -the best possible thing that could have happened, for I -then became the Major’s right-hand man and felt the -responsibility of it.</p> - -<p>At the end of our week of instruction the brigade -went into action, two batteries going to the right group, -two to the left. The group consisted of the Divisional -batteries, trench mortar batteries, the 60-pounders and -heavy guns attached like ourselves. We were on the -left, the position being just in front of a 4.5 howitzer battery -and near the Lunatic Asylum.</p> - -<p>It was an old one, four gun pits built up under a row -of huge elms, two being in a row of houses. The men -slept in bunks in the pits and houses; for a mess we -cleaned out a room in the château at the corner which -had been sadly knocked about, and slept in the houses -near the guns. The château garden was full of lilac -and roses, the beds all overgrown with weeds and the -grass a jungle, but still very beautiful. Our zone had -been allotted and our own private chimney O.P.—the -name of which I have forgotten—and we had a copy -of that marvellous defence scheme.</p> - -<p>Then for a little we found ourselves in the routine -of trench warfare,—tours of duty at the O.P. on alternate -days and keeping a detailed log book in its swaying -deck, taking our turn weekly to supply a liaison officer -with the infantry who went up at dark, dined in their -excellent mess, slept all night in the signalling officer’s -bunk, and returned for a shave and a wash after breakfast -next morning; firing retaliation salvos at the call -of either the O.P. or the infantry; getting up rations and -ammunition and letters at a regular hour every night; -sending off the countless “returns” which are the curse -of soldiering; and quietly feeling our feet.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span></p> - -<p>The O.P. was in an eastern suburb called Houplines, -some twenty minutes’ walk along the tram lines. At -dawn one had reached it with two signallers and was -looking out from the upper deck upon an apparently -peaceful countryside of green fields splashed yellow with -mustard patches, dotted with sleepy cottages, from whose -chimneys smoke never issued, woods and spinneys in -all the glory of their spring budding running up on to the -ridge, the Aubers ridge. The trenches were an intricate -series of gashes hidden by Nature with poppies and -weeds. Then came a grim brown space unmarked -by any trench, tangled with barbed wire, and then began -the repetition of it all except for the ridge at our own -trenches. The early hours were chilly and misty and -one entered in the log book, “6 a.m. Visibility nil.”</p> - -<p>But with the sun the mist rolled up like a blind at -one’s window and the larks rocketed into the clear blue -as though those trenches were indeed deserted. Away -on the left was a town, rising from the curling river in -terraces of battered ruins, an inexpressible desolation, -silent, empty, dead. Terrible to see that gaping skeleton -of a town in the flowering countryside. Far in the -distance, peeping above the ridge and visible only through -glasses, was a faint pencil against the sky—the great factory -chimney outside Lille.</p> - -<p>Peace seemed the keynote of it all in the soft perfumed -heat of that early summer. Yet eyes looked -steadily out from every chimney and other eyes from -the opposite ridge; and with just a word down the -wire trenches went in smoking heaps, houses fell like -packs of cards touched by a child’s finger, noise beat -upon the brain and Death was the master whom we -worshipped, upon whose altar we made bloody sacrifice.</p> - -<p>We hadn’t been there much more than a week when -we had our first hint of the hourly reality of it. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span> -third subaltern, who hadn’t properly recovered from the -effect of his wound, was on his way up to the O.P. one -morning and had a misadventure with a shell. He heard -it coming, a big one, and sought refuge in the nearest -house. The shell unfortunately selected the same house.</p> - -<p>When the dust had subsided and the ruins had assumed -their final shape the subaltern emerged, unwounded, -but unlike his former self.—The doctor diagnosed -shell shock and the work went on without him.</p> - -<p>It seemed as though that were the turning point in -the career of the peace sector.</p> - -<p>The Hun began a leisurely but persistent destruction -of chimneys with five-nines. One heard the gun in the -distance, not much more than the popping of a champagne -cork at the other end of the Carlton Grill. Some -seconds later you thought you heard the inner circle -train come in at Baker Street. Dust choked you, the -chimney rocked in the frightful rush of wind, followed -by a soul-shaking explosion,—and you looked through -the black aperture of the chimney to see a pillar of smoke -and falling earth spattering down in the sunshine. And -from the lower deck immediately beneath you came the -voice of the signaller, “They ought to give us sailor suits -up ’ere, sir!”</p> - -<p>And passing a finger round the inside of your sticky -collar which seemed suddenly a little tight, you sat down -firmly again and said, “Yes.—Is the steward about?”</p> - -<p>Within sixty seconds another champagne cork popped. -Curse the Carlton Grill!</p> - -<p>In addition to the delights of the O.P. the Hun “found” -the battery. It happened during the week that the -Captain came up to have a look round and in the middle -of the night. I was sleeping blissfully at liaison and -returned next morning to find a most unpleasant smell -of cordite hanging about, several houses lying on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span> -pavement, including the one Pip Don and I shared, great -branches all over the road and one gun pit looking somewhat -bent. It appeared that Pip Don had spent the -remainder of the night rounding up gunners in his pyjamas. -No one was hurt. The Captain returned to the wagon -line during the course of the morning.</p> - -<p>Having found us, the Hun put in a few hundred rounds -whenever he felt bored,—during the 9 a.m. parade, at -lunch time, before tea and at the crack of dawn. The -old red garden wall began to look like a Gruyère cheese, -the road was all pockmarked, the gun pits caught fire -and had to be put out, the houses began to fall even -when there was no shelling and it became a very unhealthy -corner. Through it all the Major was a tower -of strength. So long as he was there the shelling didn’t -seem to matter, but if he were absent one didn’t <em>quite</em> -know whether to give the order to clear for the time being -or stick it out. The Hun’s attentions were not by any -means confined to our position. The systematic bombardment -of the town had begun and it became the usual -thing to hear a horrible crackling at night and see the -whole sky red. The Major of one of our batteries was -killed, the senior subaltern badly wounded and several -of their guns knocked out by direct hits. We were lucky.</p> - - -<h3>6</h3> - -<p>Meanwhile the Right Group, who had been watching -this without envy from the undisturbed calm of the -countryside, decided to make a daylight raid by way -of counter-attraction and borrowed us for the occasion. -The Major and I went down to reconnoitre a battery position -and found a delightful spot behind a hedge under a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> -row of spreading elms. Between the two, camouflage -was unnecessary and, as a cobbled road ran immediately -in front of the hedge, there was no danger of making any -tracks. It was a delightful position with a farmhouse -two hundred yards along the road. The relief of getting -out of the burning city, of not having to dodge shells -at unexpected moments, of knowing that the rations -and ammunition could come up without taking a twenty -to one chance of being scuppered!</p> - -<p>The raid was just like any other raid, except that -it happened to be the first barrage we fired, the first -barrage table we worked out, the first time we used -the 106 fuse, and the first time that at the eleventh -hour we were given the task, in which someone else -had failed, of cutting the wire. I had been down with -the Major when he shot the battery in,—and hadn’t -liked it. In places there was no communication trench -at all and we had to crawl on our bellies over a chaos of -tumbled earth and revetments in full view of any sniper, -and having to make frequent stops because the infernal -signaller would lag behind and turn off. And a few hours -before the show the Major was called upon to go down there -and cut the wire at all costs. Pip Don was signalling -officer. He and every available signaller, stacks of -wire and lamps, spread themselves in a living chain -between the Major and the front-line trench and me at -the battery. Before going the Major asked me if I had -the barrage at my finger tips. I had. Then if he didn’t -get back in time, he said, I could carry out the show -all right? I could,—and watched him go with a mouth -full of bitter curses against the Battery Commander who -had failed to cut that wire. My brain drew lurid pictures -of stick-bombs, minnies, pineapples, pip-squeaks and -five-nines being the reason why the Major wouldn’t -get back “in time.” And I sat down by the telephonist,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span> -praying for the call that would indicate at least his safe -arrival in the front-line trench.</p> - -<p>Beside every gun lay a pile of 106 fuses ready. Orders -were to go on firing if every German plane in the entire -Vaterland came over.—Still they weren’t through on -the ’phone!</p> - -<p>I went along from gun to gun, making sure that everything -was all right and insisting on the necessity of the -most careful laying, stopping from time to time to yell -to the telephonist “Through yet?” and getting a “No, -sir” every time that almost made me hear those cursed -minnies dropping on the Major. At last he called up. -The tension was over. We had to add a little for <ins class="corr" id="tn-144" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'the 106 fuze'"> -the 106 fuse</ins> but each gun was registered on the wire within -four rounds. The Major was a marvel at that. Then the -shoot began.</p> - -<p>Aeroplanes came winging over, regardless of our -Archies. But we, regardless of the aeroplanes, were -doing “battery fire 3 secs.” as steadily as if we were -on Salisbury Plain, getting from time to time the order, -“Five minutes more right.” We had three hundred rounds -to do the job with and only about three per gun were left -when the order “Stop” arrived. I stopped and hung -on to the ’phone. The Major’s voice, coming as though -from a million miles away, said, “Napoo wire. How -many more rounds?”</p> - -<p>“Three per gun, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Right.—All guns five degrees more right for -the onlooker, add two hundred, three rounds gun fire.”</p> - -<p>I made it so, received the order to stand down, put -the fitter and the limber gunners on to sponging out,—and -tried to convince myself that all the noise down -in front was miles away from the Major and Pip Don.—It -seemed years before they strolled in, a little muddy -but as happy as lambs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span></p> - -<p>It occurred to me then that I knew something at -least of what our women endured at home every day -and all day,—just one long suspense, without even the -compensation of <em>doing</em> anything.</p> - -<p>The raid came off an hour or so later like clockwork, -without incident. Not a round came back at us and we -stood down eventually with the feeling of having put in -a good day’s work.</p> - -<p>We were a very happy family in those days. The -awful discouragement of Limerick had lifted. Bombardments -and discomforts were subjects for humour, -work became a joy, “crime” in the gun line disappeared -and when the time arrived for sending the gunners -down to the wagon line for a spell there wasn’t one who -didn’t ask if he might be allowed to stay on. It was due -entirely to the Major. For myself I can never be thankful -enough for having served under him. He came at a time -when one didn’t care a damn whether one were court-martialled -and publicly disgraced. One was “through” -with the Army and cared not a curse for discipline or -appearances. With his arrival all that was swept away -without a word being said. Unconsciously he set a -standard to which one did one’s utmost to live, and that -from the very moment of his arrival. One found that -there was honour in the world and loyalty, that duty -was not a farce. In some extraordinary way he embodied -them all, forcing upon one the desire for greater -self-respect; and the only method of acquiring it was -effort, physical and mental, in order to get somewhere -near his high standard. I gave him the best that was in -me. When he left the brigade, broken in health by the -ceaseless call upon his own effort, he wrote me a letter. -Of all that I shall take back with me to civil life from -the Army that letter is what I value most.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span></p> - - -<h3>7</h3> - -<p>We had all cherished the hope that we had seen the -last of the town; that Right Group, commanded by our -own colonel, would keep us in our present position.</p> - -<p>There was a distinct drop in the mental temperature -when, the raid over, we received the order to report -back to Left Group. But we still clung to the hope that -we might be allowed to choose a different gun position. -That avenue of trees was far too accurately pin-pointed -by the Hun. Given, indeed, that there were many other -places from which one could bring just as accurate and -concentrated fire to bear on our part of the zone, it was -criminal folly to order us back to the avenue. That, -however, was the order. It needed a big effort to find -any humour in it.</p> - -<p>We hooked in and pulled out of that peaceful raid -position with a sigh of regret and bumped our way back -over the cobbles through the burning town, keeping -a discreet distance between vehicles. The two houses -which had been the emplacements of the left section -were unrecognizable as gun pits, so we used the other -four pits and put the left section forward in front of the -Asylum under camouflage. Not less than ten balloons -looked straight down on the gun muzzles. The detachment -lived in a cellar under the Asylum baths.</p> - -<p>Then Pip Don got his captaincy and went to another -battery, to the safety and delights of the wagon line. -One missed him horribly. We got a new subaltern who -had never been out before but who was as stout as a lion. -Within a few days our Captain was sent back ill and I -followed Pip Don to the wagon lines as Captain in my -own battery, a most amazing stroke of luck. We fore<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span>gathered -in a restaurant at Estaires and held a celebration -dinner together, swearing that between us we -would show the finest teams and the best harness in -France, discussing the roads we meant to build through -the mud, the improvements we were instantly going to -start in the horse standings.</p> - -<p>Great dreams that lasted just three days! Then -his Major went on leave and he returned to command -the battery, within five hundred yards of ours. The -following day I was hurriedly sent for to find the whole -world reeking with gas, mustard gas. Everybody had -streaming eyes and noses. Within three minutes I was -as bad as the rest.</p> - -<p>How anybody got through the next days I don’t -know. Four days and nights it lasted, one curious -hissing rain of shells which didn’t burst with a crash -but just uttered a little pop, upon which the ground -became spattered with yellow liquid and a greyish fog -spread round about. Five-nines, seventeen-inch, high -explosive and incendiary shells were mixed in with the -gas. Communications went wholesale. Fires roared in -every quarter of the town. Hell was let loose and always -the gas choked and blinded. Hundreds of civilians died -of it although they had previously been warned repeatedly -to clear out. The conviction was so strong that Armentières -was the peace sector that the warnings were disregarded.</p> - -<p>The howitzer battery behind us had been reinforced -with ninety men and two officers the day before the show -started. After that first night one officer was left. -He had been up a chimney O.P. all night. The rest went -away again in ambulance wagons. It was a holocaust, -a shambles. A colossal attack was anticipated, and as all -communications had gone the signallers were out in gas -masks all over the town, endeavouring to repair lines<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span> -broken in a hundred places, and a constant look-out was -kept for S.O.S. signals from the infantry.</p> - -<p>Except when shooting all our men were kept underground -in gas masks, beating the gas away with “flappers.” -The shelling was so ceaseless and violent round -about the position that when men were sent from one section -to another with messages they went in couples, their -departure being telephoned to the section. If their -arrival was not reported within ten minutes a search -party was sent to find them. To put one’s head above -ground at any moment of day or night was to take one’s -life in one’s hands. Ammunition went up, and gun -pits caught fire and the rain of shells never ceased. To get -to the O.P. one had to fling oneself flat in a ditch countless -times, always with an ear stretched for the next shell. -From minute to minute it was a toss-up, and blackened -corpses and screaming, mangled wounded left a bloody -trail in the stinking, cobbled streets. The peace -sector!</p> - -<p>Was it just a Boche measure to prevent us from -using the town as billets any more? Or was it a retaliation -for the taking of the Messines Ridge which we had -watched from our chimney not many weeks before, -watched in awe and wonder, thanking God we were not -taking part in that carnage? The unhealthy life and -the unceasing strain told even on the Major. We were -forced to live by the light of candles in a filthy cellar -beneath the château, snatching uneasy periods of rest -when one lay on a bunk with goggles on one’s smarting -eyes, breathing with labour, listening to the heavy thud -of shells up above and the wheezing and sneezing of the -unfortunate signallers, getting up and going about -one’s work in a sort of stupor, dodging shells rather -by instinct than reason and tying up wounded with a -dull sickness at the pit of one’s stomach.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span></p> - -<p>But through it all one’s thoughts of home intertwined -with the reek of death like honeysuckle with deadly -nightshade, as though one’s body were imprisoned in that -foul underground hole while one’s mind soared away and -refused to come back. It was all a strange dream, a -clammy nightmare. Letters came, filled with all the -delicious everyday doings of another world, filling one’s -brain with a scent of verbena and briar rose, like the cool -touch of a woman’s hands on the forehead of a man in -delirium.</p> - - -<h3>8</h3> - -<p>On the morning of the fifth day the gas shelling ceased -and the big stuff became spasmodic,—concentrations of -twenty minutes’ duration.</p> - -<p>One emerged into the sun, sniffing carefully. The -place was even more unrecognizable than one had imagined -possible. The château still stood but many direct -hits had filled the garden with blocks of stone. The -Asylum was a mass of ruins, the grounds pitted with shell -holes. The town itself was no longer a place to dine and -shop. A few draggled inhabitants slunk timidly about -like rats, probing the debris of what had once been their -homes. The cobbled streets were great pits where seventeen-inch -shells had landed, half filled again with the -houses which had toppled over on either side. The -hotels, church and shops in the big square were gutted -by fire, great beams and house fronts blocking the roadway. -Cellars were blown in and every house yawned open -to the sky. In place of the infantry units and transports -clattering about the streets was a desolate silent emptiness -punctuated by further bombardments and the -echoing crash of falling walls. And, over all, that sickly -smell of mustard.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span></p> - -<p>It was then that the Left Group Commander had -a brain wave and ordered a trial barrage on the river -Lys in front of Frelinghein. It was about as mad a thing -as making rude noises at a wounded rhinoceros, given that -every time a battery fired the Boche opened a concentration.</p> - -<p>Pip Don had had three seventeen-inch in the middle -of his position. Nothing much was found of one gun -and its detachment except a head and a boot containing -a human foot.</p> - -<p>The Group Commander had given the order, however, -and there was nothing to do but to get on with -it.—</p> - -<p>The barrage was duly worked out. It was to last -eighteen minutes with a certain number of lifts and -switches. The Group Commander was going to observe it -from one of the chimneys.</p> - -<p>My job was to look after the left section in the open -in front of the Asylum. Ten minutes before zero I dived -into the cellar under the baths breathless, having dodged -three five-nines. There I collected the men and gathered -them under cover of the doorway. There we waited -for a minute to see where the next would burst. It hit -a building twenty-five yards away.</p> - -<p>“Now!” said I, “double!” and we ran, jumping -shell holes and flinging ourselves flat for one more five-nine. -The guns were reached all right, the camouflage -pulled back and everything made ready for action. Five -Hun balloons gazed down at us straight in front, and three -of his aeroplanes came and circled low over our heads, -and about every minute the deafening crash of that most -demoralizing five-nine burst just behind us. I lay -down on the grass between the two guns and gazed -steadfastly at my wrist watch.</p> - -<p>“Stand by!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span></p> - -<p>The hands of the Numbers 3 stole out to the handles -of the firing lever.</p> - -<p>“Fire!”</p> - -<p>The whole of Armentières seemed to fire at once. -The Group Commander up in his chimney ought to -have been rather pleased. Four rounds per gun per -minute was the rate. Then at zero plus one I heard -that distant pop of Hun artillery and with the usual -noise the ground heaved skyward between the two -guns just in front. It wasn’t more than twelve and a -half yards away. The temptation to run made me itch -all over.</p> - -<p>Pop! it went again. My forehead sank on to my -wrist watch.</p> - -<p>A good bracket, twelve and a half yards behind, and -again lumps of earth spattered on to my back. The itch -became a disease. The next round, according to all -the laws of gunnery, ought to fall between my collar and -my waist.—</p> - -<p>I gave the order to lift, straining my ears.</p> - -<p>There came no pop. I held my breath so that I might -hear better,—and only heard the thumping of my heart. -We lifted again and again.—</p> - -<p>I kept them firing for three full seconds after the -allotted time before I gave the order to cease fire. The -eighteen minutes—lifetimes—were over and that third -pop didn’t come till we had stopped. Then having -covered the guns we ran helter-skelter, each man finding -his own way to the cellar through the most juicy bombardment -we’d heard for quite twenty-four hours.</p> - -<p>Every man answered to his name in the cellar darkness -and there was much laughter and tobacco smoke while -we got back our breath.</p> - -<p>Half an hour later their bombardment ceased. The -sergeant and I went back to have a look at the guns.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> -Number 5 was all right. Number 6, however, had had -a direct hit, one wheel had burnt away and she lay on -her side, looking very tired.</p> - -<p>I don’t know how many other guns had been knocked -out in the batteries taking part, but, over and above -the value of the ammunition, that trial barrage cost at -least one eighteen-pounder! And but for a bit of luck -would have cost the lives of the detachment.</p> - - -<h3>9</h3> - -<p>The Major decided to move the battery and gained -the reluctant consent of the Group Commander who -refused to believe that there had been any shelling -there till he saw the gun lying burnt and smashed and -the pits burnt and battered. The Hun seemed to take -a permanent dislike to the Asylum and its neighbourhood. -It may have been coincidence but any time a man showed -there a rain of shells chivvied him away. It took the fitter -and the detachment about seven trips before they got a new -wheel on, and at any hour of day or night you could bet -on at least a handful of four-twos. The gas was intermittent.</p> - -<p>At four o’clock in the morning after a worrying night -when I had gone out twice to extinguish gun pits reported -on fire, the Major announced that he was going to get the -gun out and disappeared out of the cellar into the shell-lit -darkness.</p> - -<p>Two hours later he called up from Group Headquarters -and told me to get the other out and take her to Archie -Square, a square near the station, so-called because a -couple of anti-aircraft guns had used it as an emplacement -in the peace days. With one detachment on each<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span> -drag rope we ran the gauntlet in full daylight of a four-two -bombardment, rushing shell holes and what had -once been flower beds, keeping at a steady trot, the sweat -pouring off us.</p> - -<p>The Major met us in Archie Square and we went -back to our cellar for breakfast together.</p> - -<p>Of the alternative positions one section was in Chapelle -d’Armentières. We hoped great things of it. It looked -all right, pits being built in the back yards of a row of -small houses, with plenty of trees for cover and lots of -fruit for the men,—raspberries, plums, and red currants. -Furthermore the shell holes were all old. The only crab -about it was getting there. Between us and it were two -much-shelled spots called Sandbag Corner and Snow -Corner. Transports used to canter past them at night -and the Hun had an offensive habit of dropping barrages -on both of them any time after dark. But there was a -place called Crown Prince House at Sandbag Corner -and I fancy he used this as a datum point. While the -left section went straight on to the Chapelle the other -two turned to the right at Snow Corner and were to -occupy some houses just along the road and a garden -next to them under camouflage.</p> - -<p>I shall not forget the night of that move in a hurry. -In the afternoon the Major returned to the battery at -tea time. There was no shelling save our own anti-aircraft, -and perfect sunshine.</p> - -<p>“The teams are due at ten o’clock,” said he. “The -Hun will start shelling precisely at that time. We will -therefore move <em>now</em>. Let us function.” We functioned!</p> - -<p>The battery was called together and the nature of the -business explained. Each detachment pulled down the -parados in the rear of the gun pits and such part of the -pit itself as was necessary to allow the gun to come out,—no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> -light task because the pits had been built to admit -the gun from the front. As soon as each reported ready -double detachments were told off to the drag ropes and -the gun, camouflaged with branches, was run out and -along the lane and round the corner of the château. -There they were all parked, one by one. Then the -ammunition was brought, piles of it. Then all the -gun stores and kits.</p> - -<p>At ten o’clock the teams were heard at the other -end of the cobbled street. A moment later shells began -to burst on the position, gun fire. From the cover -afforded by the château and the wall we loaded up -without casualty and hooked in, bits of shell and wall -flying over our heads viciously.</p> - -<p>I took charge of the left section in Archie Square. -The vehicles were packed, dixies tied on underneath. -The Major was to follow with the four guns and the -other subaltern at ten minutes’ interval.</p> - -<p>Keeping fifty yards between vehicles I set off, walking -in front of the leading gun team. We clattered along the -cobbled streets, rattling and banging. The station was -being bombarded. We had to go over the level crossing -a hundred yards or so in rear of it. I gave the order to -trot. A piece of shell sent up a shower of sparks in front -of the rear gun team. The horses bucked violently -and various dixies fell off, but I kept on until some -distance to a flank under the houses. The dixies were -rescued and re-tied. There was Sandbag Corner to navigate -yet, <em>and</em> Snow Corner. It was horribly dark, impossible -to see shell holes until you were into them, and -all the time shells were bursting in every direction. The -road up to the two Corners ran straight towards the Hun, -directly enfiladed by him. We turned into it at a walk -and were half-way along when a salvo fell round Crown -Prince House just ahead. I halted immediately, won<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span>dering -where in heaven’s name the next would fall, -the horses snorting and prancing at my back. For -a couple of minutes there was a ragged burst of gun -fire while we stood with the bits missing us. Then -I gave the order to trot. The horses needed no encouragement. -I could only just keep in front, carrying -maps and a torch and with most of my equipment on. -We carried on past Crown Prince House, past Sandbag -Corner and walked again, blown and tottering, towards -Snow Corner, and only just got past it when a barrage -dropped right on the cross-roads. It was there that the -Major would have to turn to the right with his four guns -presently. Please God it would stop before he came -along.</p> - -<p>We weren’t very far behind the support lines now -and the pop-pop-pop, pop-pop-pop of machine guns -was followed by the whistling patter of bullets. I -kept the teams as close under the houses as I dared. -There was every kind of devilment to bring a horse -down, open drains, coils of tangled wire, loose debris. -Eventually we reached the Chapelle and the teams -went off at the trot as soon as the ammunition was -dumped and the kits were off.</p> - -<p>Then in the black night we heaved and hauled the -guns into their respective pits and got them on to their -aiming posts and S.O.S. lines.</p> - -<p>It was 3 a.m. before I got back to the new headquarters, -a house in an orchard, and found the Major safe and sound.</p> - -<p>A couple of days later the Major was ordered to a rest -camp and at a moment’s notice I found myself in command -of the battery. It was one of the biggest moments -of my life. Although I had gone down to take the Captain’s -place my promotion hadn’t actually gone through -and I was still a subaltern, faced with the handling of six -guns at an extremely difficult moment and with the lives<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span> -of some fifty men in my hands, to say nothing of the -perpetual responsibility to the infantry in the front line.</p> - -<p>It was only when the Major had said good-bye and -I was left that I began to realize just how greatly one -had depended on him. All the internal arrangements -which he had handled so easily that they seemed no -trouble loomed up as insurmountable difficulties—returns, -ammunition, rations, relieving the personnel—all -over and above the constant worry of gun detachments -being shelled out, lines being cut, casualties being got -away. It was only then that I realized what a frightful -strain he must have endured during those days of continual -gas and bombardment, the feeling of personal -responsibility towards every single man, the vital necessity -through it all of absolute accuracy of every angle and -range, lest by being flustered or careless one should shoot -one’s own infantry, the nights spent with one ear eternally -on the telephone and the added strain of sleeplessness.—A -lonely job, Battery Commander.</p> - -<p>I realized, too, what little use I had been to him. -Carrying out orders, yes, but not really taking any of the -weight off his shoulders.</p> - -<p>The insignificance of self was never so evident as that -first night with my ear to the ’phone, all the night noises -accentuated in the darkness, the increasing machine-gun -fire which might mean an attack, the crashing of shells -which might get my supply wagons on their way back, -the jump when the ’phone buzzed suddenly, making my -heart leap against my ribs, only to put me through to -Group for an order to send over thirty rounds on a minnie -firing in C 16 d o 4.—It was good to see the blackness -turn to grey and recognize objects once more in the room, -to know that at last the infantry were standing down -and to sink at last into deep sleep as the grey became -rose and the sun awoke.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span></p> - -<p>Do the men ever realize, I wonder, that the Major -who snaps out orders, who curses so freely, who gives -them extra guards and docks their pay, can be a human -being like themselves whose one idea is <em>their</em> comfort -and safety, that they may strafe the Hun and not get -strafed?</p> - -<p>It was my first experience in handling subalterns, -too, and I came to see them from a new point of view. -Hitherto one’s estimation of them had been limited -by their being good fellows or not. The question of -their knowledge or ignorance hadn’t mattered. One -could always give them a hand or do the thing oneself. -Now it was reversed. Their knowledge, working capabilities -and stout-heartedness came first. Their being -good fellows was secondary, but helpful. The most ignorant -will learn more in a week in the line than in ten -weeks in a gunnery school.</p> - - -<h3>10</h3> - -<p>The first few days in the new position were calm. -It gave one time to settle down. We did a lot of shooting -and apart from a spare round or two in our direction -nothing came back in return. The Hun was still plastering -the Asylum and the avenue at all times of day, to -our intense joy. The more he shelled it the more we -chuckled. One felt that the Major had done Fritz in -the eye. So we gathered plums and raspberries in the -warm sun, rejoicing that the horrible smell of mustard -gas was no more. There was a fly in the ointment, of -course. It consisted of several thousand rounds of ammunition -in the Asylum which we were ordered to salvage. -The battery clerk, a corporal of astounding stout-hearted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span>ness -who had had countless escapes by an inch already -in the handling of it, and who subsequently became one -of the best sergeants in the battery, undertook to go and -see what could be done. He took with him the fitter, -a lean Scot, who was broken-hearted because he had left -a file there and who wanted to go and scratch about the -ruins to try and recover it. These two disappeared into -the Asylum during a momentary lull. Before they returned -the Hun must have sent in about another fifteen -hundred rounds, all big stuff. They came in hot and -covered with brick dust. The fitter had got his file and -showed it with joy and affection. The corporal had made -a rough count of the rounds and estimated that at least -a couple of hundred had “gone up” or were otherwise -rendered useless.</p> - -<p>To my way of thinking it would have been manslaughter -to have sent teams to get the stuff away, so -I decided to let time solve the problem and leave well -alone. Eventually it did solve itself. Many weeks later -another battery occupied the position (Poor devils. It -still reeked of gas) and I had the pleasure of showing -the Battery Commander where the ammunition was and -handing it over.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the Boche had “found” the left and centre -sections. In addition to that the Group Commander -conceived a passion to experiment with guns in the front-line -trenches, to enfilade the enemy over open sights -at night and generally to put the fear of God into him. -Who more suitable than the Army brigade battery commanded -by that subaltern?</p> - -<p>I was sent for and told all about it, and sent to reconnoitre -suitable positions. Seeing that the enemy -had all the observation and a vast preponderance of -artillery I did all in my power to dissuade the Commander. -He had been on active service, however, before<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span> -I was born—he told me so—and had forgotten more -things than I should ever know. He had, indeed, -forgotten them.</p> - -<p>The long and short of it was that I took a subaltern -with me, and armed with compasses and trench maps, -we studied the whole zone at distances varying from -three to five hundred yards from the enemy front-line -trench. The best place of all happened to be near -Battalion Headquarters. Needless to say, the Colonel -ordered me off.</p> - -<p>“You keep your damn things away. There’s quite -enough shelling here without your planting a gun. Come -and have a drink.”</p> - -<p>Eventually, however, we got two guns “planted” -with cover for the detachments. It was an absolute -waste of guns. The orders were only to fire if the enemy -came over the top by day and on special targets by night. -The difficulty of rationing them was extreme, it made -control impossible from battery headquarters, because -the lines went half a dozen times a day and left me only -two sections to do all the work with.</p> - -<p>The only thing they ever fired at was a very near -balloon one afternoon. Who gave the order to fire -remains a mystery. The sergeant swore the infantry -Colonel gave it.</p> - -<p>My own belief is that it was a joy shoot on the sergeant’s -part. He was heartily cursed for his pains, didn’t hit -the balloon, and within twenty-four hours the gun was -knocked out. The area was liberally shelled, to the -discomfort of the infantry, so if the Colonel did give the -order, he had only himself to thank for the result.</p> - -<p>The headquarters during this time was an odd round -brick building, like a pagoda in the middle of a narrow -orchard. A high red brick wall surrounded the orchard -which ran down to the road. At the road edge were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span> -two houses completely annihilated. Plums, greengages, -raspberries and red currants were in abundance. The -signallers and servants were in dug-outs outside the wall. -Curiously enough, this place was not marked on the -map. Nor did the Hun seem to have it on his aeroplane -photographs. In any case, although he shelled round -about, I can only remember one which actually burst -inside the walls.</p> - -<p>Up at Chapelle d’Armentières the left section was -almost unrecognizable. Five-nines had thumped it out -of all shape, smashed down the trees, ploughed up the -garden and scattered the houses into the street. The -detachment spent its time day and night in clearing out -into neighbouring ditches and dug-outs, and coming -back again. They shot between whiles, neither of the -guns having been touched, and I don’t think they slept -at all. None of them had shaved for days.</p> - -<p>As regards casualties we were extraordinarily lucky. -Since leaving the town not a man had been hit or gassed. -For the transport at night I had reconnoitred a road -which avoided the town entirely and those dangerous -cross-roads, and took them right through the support -line, within a quarter of a mile of the Boche. The road -was unshelled, and only a few machine-gun bullets spat -on it from time to time. So they used it nightly, and -not a horse or driver was touched.</p> - -<p>Then the Right Group had another raid and borrowed -us again. The white house and the orchard which we -had used before were unoccupied. I decided to squeeze -up a bit and get all six guns in. The night of the move -was a colossal undertaking. The teams were late, and -the Hun chose to drop a gas barrage round us. More -than that, in the afternoon I had judged my time and -dodged in between two bombardments to visit the left -section. They were absolutely done in, so tired that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span> -they could hardly keep their eyes open. The others -were little better, having been doing all the shooting for -days. However, I ordered them to vacate the left -section and come along to me at Battery Headquarters -for a rest before the night’s work. They dragged themselves -there, and fell asleep in heaps in the orchard in -the wet. The subaltern and the sergeant came into the -building, drank a cup of tea each and filled the place -with their snores. So I sent for another sergeant and -suggested that he and his men, who had had a brief -rest that day, should go and get the left section guns -out while these people handled his as best they could. -He jumped at it and swore he’d get the guns out, begging -me to keep my teams well to the side of the road. If he -had to canter they were coming out, and he was going -to ride the lead horse himself,—splendid fellow.</p> - -<p>Then I collected the subalterns and detailed them -for the plan of campaign. The left section man said he -was going with his guns. So I detailed the junior to -see the guns into the new positions, and send me back the -ammunition wagons as he emptied them. The third I kept -with the centre section. The corporal clerk was to look -after the headquarters. I was to function between the lot.</p> - -<p>The teams should have been up at 9 p.m. They -didn’t arrive till ten, by which time the gas hung about -thick, and people were sneezing right and left. Then -they hung up again because of a heavy shelling at the -corner on the way to the left section. However, they got -through at last, and after an endless wait, that excellent -sergeant came trotting back with both guns intact. We -had, meanwhile yanked out the centre section and sent -them back. The forward guns came back all right -from the trenches, but no ammunition wagons or G.S. -returned from the position, although filled by us ages -before and sent off.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span></p> - -<p>So I got on a bicycle and rode along to see what the -trouble was. It was a poisonous road, pitch dark, very -wet and full of shell holes. I got there to find a column -of vehicles standing waiting all mixed up, jerked the -bicycle into a hedge and went downstairs to find the -subaltern.</p> - -<p>There was the Major! Was I pleased?—I felt years -younger. However, this was his night off. I was -running the show. “Carry on, Old Thing,” said he.</p> - -<p>So I went out into the chaotic darkness and began -sorting things out. Putting the subaltern in charge -of the ammunition I took the guns. It was a herculean -task to get those six bundooks through the wet and -spongy orchard with men who were fresh. With these -men it was asking the impossible. But they did it, at -the trot.</p> - -<p>You know the sort of thing—“Take the strain—together—heave! -Together—heave! Now keep her -going! Once more—heave! Together—heave! and -again—heave! Easy all! Have a blow—Now look -here, you fellows, you <em>must</em> wait for the word and put -your weight on <em>together</em>. Heels into the mud and lean -on it, but lean together, all at the same moment, and -she’ll go like a baby’s pram. Now then, come on and -I’ll bet you a bottle of Bass all round that you get her -going at a canter if only you’ll heave together—Take -the strain—<em>together</em>—heave! Ter-rot! Canter! Come -on now, like that—splendid,—and you owe me a bottle -of Bass all round.”</p> - -<p>Sounds easy, doesn’t it? but oh, my God, to see -those poor devils, dropping with fatigue, putting their -last grunting ounce on to it, with always just one more -heave left! Magnificent fellows, who worked till they -dropped, and then staggered up again, in the face of gas -and five-nines, and went on shooting till they were dead,—<em>they’ve</em><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> -won this war for us if anybody has, these -Tommies who don’t know when they’re beaten, these -“simple soldiers,” as the French call them, who grouse -like hell but go on working whether the rations come -up or whether they don’t, until they’re senseless from -gas or stop a shell and get dropped into a hole in an army -blanket. These are the men who have saved England -and the world, these,—and not the gentlemen at home -who make fortunes out of munitions and “war work,” -and strike for more pay, not the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">embusqué</i> who cannot -leave England because he’s “indispensable” to his job, -not the politicians and vote-seekers, who bolster up their -parties with comfortable lies more dangerous than -mustard gas, not the M.L.O.’s and R.T.O.’s and the -rest of the alphabetic fraternity and Brass Hats, who live -in comfort in back areas, doing a lot of brain work and -filling the Staff leave boat,—not any of these, but the -cursing, spitting, lousy Tommy, God save him!</p> - - -<h3>11</h3> - -<p>The last of the guns was in by three o’clock in the -morning, but there wasn’t a stitch of camouflage in the -battery. However, I sent every last man to bed, having -my own ideas on the question of camouflage. The -subaltern and I went back to the house. The ammunition -was also unloaded and the last wagon just about -to depart. The servants had tea and sandwiches waiting, -a perfect godsend.</p> - -<p>“What about tracks?” The Major cocked an eye -in my direction. He was fully dressed, lying on his -valise. I stifled a million yawns, and spoke round a -sandwich. “Old Thing and I are looking after that -when it gets light.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span></p> - -<p>“Old Thing” was the centre section commander, -blinking like a tired owl, a far-away expression on his -face.</p> - -<p>“And camouflage?” said the Major.</p> - -<p>“Ditto,” said I.</p> - -<p>The servants were told to call us in an hour’s time. -I was asleep before I’d put my empty tea-cup on the -ground. A thin grey light was creeping up when I was -roughly shaken. I put out a boot and woke Old Thing. -Speechless, we got up shivering, and went out. The -tracks through the orchard were feet deep.</p> - -<p>We planted irregular branches and broke up the -wheel tracks. Over the guns was a roof of wire netting -which I’d had put up a day previously. Into these we -stuck trailing vine branches one by one, wet and cold. -The Major appeared in the middle of the operation and -silently joined forces. By half-past four the camouflage -was complete. Then the Major broke the silence.</p> - -<p>“I’m going up to shoot ’em in,” he said.</p> - -<p>Old Thing, dozing on a gun seat, woke with a start -and stared. He hadn’t been with the Major as long as I -had.</p> - -<p>“D’you mind if one detachment does the whole -thing?” said I. “They’re all just about dead, but C’s -got a kick left.”</p> - -<p>The Major nodded. Old Thing staggered away, -collected two signallers who looked like nothing human, -and woke up C sub-section. They came one by one, -like silent ghosts through the orchard, tripping over -stumps and branches, sightless with sleep denied.</p> - -<p>The Major took a signaller and went away. Old Thing -and I checked aiming posts over the compass.</p> - -<p>Fifteen minutes later the O.P. rang through, and I -reported ready.</p> - -<p>The sun came out warm and bright, and at nine o’clock<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> -we “stood down.” Old Thing and I supported each -other into the house and fell on our valises with a laugh. -Some one pulled off our gum boots. It must have been -a servant but I don’t know. I was asleep before they -were off.</p> - -<p>The raid came off at one o’clock that night in a pouring -rain. The gunners had been carrying ammunition all -day after about four hours’ sleep. Old Thing and I had -one. The Major didn’t have any. The barrage lasted an -hour and a half, during which one sub-section made a -ghastly mistake and shot for five full minutes on a wrong -switch.</p> - -<p>A raid of any size is not just a matter of saying, “Let’s -go over the top to-night, and nobble a few of ’em! -Shall us?”</p> - -<p>And the other fellow in the orthodox manner says, -“Let’s”—and over they go with a lot of doughty -bombers, and do a lot of dirty work. I wish it were.</p> - -<p>What really happens is this. First, the Brigade Major, -quite a long way back, undergoes a brain-storm which -sends showers of typewritten sheets to all sorts of -Adjutants, who immediately talk of transferring to the -Anti-Aircraft. Other sheets follow in due course, contradicting -the first and giving also a long list of code words -of a domestic nature usually, with their key. These are -hotly pursued by maps on tracing paper, looking as -though drawn by an imaginative child.</p> - -<p>At this point Group Commanders, Battalion Commanders, -and Battery Commanders join in the game, -taking sides. Battery Commanders walk miles and -miles daily along duck boards, and shoot wire in all sorts -of odd places on the enemy front trench, and work out -an exhaustive barrage.</p> - -<p>Then comes a booklet, which is a sort of revision of all -that has gone before, and alters the task of every battery.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span> -A new barrage table is worked out. Follows a single -sheet giving zero day.</p> - -<p>The raiders begin cutting off their buttons and blacking -their faces and putting oil drums in position.</p> - -<p>Battery wagon lines toil all night, bringing up countless -extra rounds. The trench mortar people then try and -cut the real bit of wire, at which the raiders will enter -the enemy front line. As a rule they are unsuccessful, -and only provoke a furious retaliatory bombardment -along the whole sector.</p> - -<p>Then Division begins to get excited and talks rudely -to Group. Group passes it on. Next a field battery is -ordered to cut that adjective wire and does.</p> - -<p>A Gunner officer is detailed to go over the top with the -raid commander. He writes last letters to his family, -drinks a last whisky, puts on all his Christmas-tree, and -says, “Cheero” as though going to his own funeral. It -may be.</p> - -<p>Then telephones buzz furiously in every brigade, and -everybody says “Carrots” in a whisper.</p> - -<p>You look up “Carrots” in the code book, and find -it means “raid postponed 24 hours.” Everybody sits -down and curses.</p> - -<p>Another paper comes round saying that the infantry -have changed the colours of all the signal rockets to be -used. All gunners go on cursing.</p> - -<p>Then comes the night! Come up to the O.P. and -have a dekko with me, but don’t forget to bring your -gas mask.</p> - -<p>Single file we zigzag down the communication trenches. -The O.P. is a farmhouse, or was, in which the sappers -have built a brick chamber just under the roof. You -climb up a ladder to get to it, and find room for just the -signaller and ourselves, with a long slit through which -you can watch Germany. The Hun knows it’s an O.P.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span> -He’s got a similar one facing you, only built of concrete, -and if you don’t shell him he won’t shell you. But if -you do shell him with a futile 18-pounder H.E. or so, he -turns on a section of five-nines, and the best thing you -can do is to report that it’s “snowing,” clear out quick -and look for a new O.P. The chances are you won’t -find one that’s any good.</p> - -<p>It’s frightfully dark; can’t see a yard. If you want -to smoke, for any sake don’t strike matches. Use a -tinder. See that sort of extra dark lump, just behind -those two trees—all right, poles if you like. They -<em>were</em> trees!—Well, that’s where they’re going over.</p> - -<p>Not a sound anywhere except the rumble of a battle -away up north. Hell of a strafe apparently.</p> - -<p>Hullo! What’s the light behind that bank of trees?—Fritz -started a fire in his own lines? Doesn’t look -like a fire.—It’s the moon coming up, moon, moon, so -brightly shining. Pity old Pelissier turned up his toes.—Ever -heard the second verse of “<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Au Clair de la Lune</span>?”</p> - -<p class="noindent">(singing)</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Au clair de la lune</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Pierrot répondit,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">“Je n’ai pas de plume,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Je suis dans mon lit.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Si tu es donc couché,”</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Chuchotta Pierrette,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">“Ouvre-moi ta porte</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Pour que je m’y mette.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><em>’Tis</em> the moon all right, a corker too.—What do you -make the time?—A minute to go, eh? Got your gas -mask at the alert?</p> - -<p>The moon came out above the trees and shed a cold -white light on the countryside. On our side, at least, -the ground was alive with men, although there wasn’t a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span> -sound or a movement. Tree stumps, blasted by shell -fire, stood out stark naked. The woods on the opposite -ridge threw a deep belt of black shadow. The trenches -were vague uneven lines, camouflaging themselves -naturally with the torn ground.</p> - -<p>Then a mighty roar that rocked the O.P., made the -ground tremble and set one’s heart thumping, and the -peaceful moonlight was defiled. Bursts of flame and a -thick cloud of smoke broke out on the enemy trenches. -Great red flares shot up, the oil drums, staining all the -sky the colour of blood. Rifle and machine-gun fire -pattered like the chattering of a thousand monkeys, -as an accompaniment to the roaring of lions. Things -zipped past or struck the O.P. The smoke out there -was so thick that the pin-points of red fire made by the -bursting shells could hardly be seen. The raiders were -entirely invisible.</p> - -<p>Then the noise increased steadily as the German sky -was splashed with all-coloured rockets and Verey lights -and star shells, and their S.O.S. was answered. There’s -a gun flash! What’s the bearing? Quick.—There -she goes again!—Nine-two magnetic, that’s eighty -true. Signaller! Group.—There’s another! By God, -that’s some gun. Get it while I bung this through.—Hullo! -Hullo, Group! O.P. speaking. Flash of enemy -gun eight—0 degrees true. Another flash, a hell of a -big one, what is it?—One, one, two degrees,—Yes, that’s -correct. Good-bye.</p> - -<p>Then a mighty crash sent earth and duckboards -spattering on to the roof of the O.P., most unpleasantly -near. The signaller put his mouth to my ear and -shouted, “Brigade reports gas, sir.” Curse the gas. -You can’t see anything in a mask.—Don’t smell it yet, -anyhow.</p> - -<p>Crash again, and the O.P. rocked. Damn that five-nine.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span> -Was he shooting us or just searching? Anyhow, -the line of the two bursts doesn’t look <em>quite</em> right for us, -do you think? If it hits the place, there’s not an earthly. -Tiles begin rattling down off the roof most suggestively. -It’s a good twenty-foot drop down that miserable ladder. -Do you think his line.—Look out! She’s coming.—Crash!</p> - -<p>God, not more than twenty yards away! However, -we’re all right. He’s searching to the left of us. Where -<em>is</em> the blighter? Can you see his flash? Wonder how -our battery’s getting on?—</p> - -<p>Our people were on the protective barrage now, much -slower. The infantry had either done their job or not. -Anyhow they were getting back. The noise was distinctly -tailing off. The five-nine was searching farther -and farther behind to our left. The smell of gas was -very faint. The smoke was clearing. Not a sign of -life in the trenches. Our people had ceased fire.</p> - -<p>The Hun was still doing a ragged gun fire. Then he -stopped.</p> - -<p>A Verey light or two went sailing over in a big arc.</p> - -<p>The moon was just a little higher, still smiling inscrutably. -Silence, but for that sustained rumble up -north. How many men were lying crumpled in that -cold white light?</p> - -<p>Division reported “Enemy front line was found to be -unoccupied. On penetrating his second line slight -resistance was encountered. One prisoner taken. Five -of the enemy were killed in trying to escape. Our -<ins class="corr" id="tn-169" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'causalties slight'"> -casualties slight</ins>.”</p> - -<p>At the end of our barrage I called that detachment up, -reduced three of them to tears and in awful gloom of -spirit reported the catastrophe to the Major. He passed -it on to Brigade who said they would investigate.</p> - -<p>A day later Division sent round a report of the “highly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span> -successful raid which from the adverse weather conditions -owed its success to the brilliance of the artillery -barrage....”</p> - -<p>That same morning the Colonel went to Division, the -General was on leave. The Major was sent for to command -the Group, and my secret hopes of the wagon line -were dashed to the ground. I was a Battery Commander -again in deed if not in rank.</p> - - -<h3>12</h3> - -<p>The wagon line all this while had, in the charge of the -sergeant-major, been cursed most bitterly by horse -masters and A.D.V.S.’s who could not understand how -a sergeant-major, aged perhaps thirty-nine, could -possibly know as much about horse management as a -new-fledged subaltern anywhere between nineteen and -twenty-one.</p> - -<p>From time to time I pottered down on a bicycle for -the purpose of strafing criminals and came away each -time with a prayer of thanks that there was no new-fledged -infant to interfere with the sergeant-major’s -methods.</p> - -<p>On one occasion he begged me to wait and see an -A.D.V.S. of sorts who was due at two o’clock that -afternoon and who on his previous tour of inspection -had been just about as nasty as he could be. I -waited.</p> - -<p>Let it be granted as our old enemy Euclid says that -the horse standings were the worst in France—the -Division of course had the decent ones—and that every -effort was being made to repair them. The number of -shelled houses removed bodily from the firing line to -make brick standings and pathways through the mud<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> -would have built a model village. The horses were -doing this work in addition to ammunition fatigues, -brigade fatigues and every other sort of affliction. -Assuming too that a sergeant-major doesn’t carry as -much weight as a Captain (I’d got my third pip) in confronting -an A.S.C. forage merchant with his iniquities, -and I think every knowledgeable person admitted that -our wagon line was as good as, if not better than, shall -we say, any Divisional battery. Yet the veterinary -expert (?) crabbed my very loyal supporter, the sergeant-major, -who worked his head and his hands off day in, -day out. It was displeasing,—more, childish.</p> - -<p>In due course he arrived,—in a motor car. True, it -wasn’t a Rolls-Royce, but then he was only a Colonel. -But he wore a fur coat just as if it had been a Rolls-Royce. -He stepped delicately into the mud, and left his temper -in the car. To the man who travels in motors, a splash -of mud on the boots is as offensive as the sight of a man -smoking a pipe in Bond Street at eleven o’clock in the -morning. It isn’t done.</p> - -<p>I saluted and gave him good morning. He grunted -and flicked a finger. Amicable relations were established.</p> - -<p>“Are you in charge of these wagon lines?” said he.</p> - -<p>“In theory, yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>He didn’t quite understand, and cocked a doubtful -eye at me.</p> - -<p>I explained. “You see, sir, the B.C. and I are carrying -on the war. He’s commanding Group and I’m -commanding the battery. But we’ve got the fullest -confidence in the sergeant-maj.—”</p> - -<p>Was it an oath he swallowed? Anyhow, it went -down like an oyster.</p> - -<p>The Colonel moved thus expressing his desire to look -round.</p> - -<p>I fell into step.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span></p> - -<p>“Have you got a hay sieve?” said he.</p> - -<p>“Sergeant-Major, where’s the hay sieve?” said I.</p> - -<p>“This way, sir,” said the sergeant-major.</p> - -<p>Two drivers were busily passing hay through it. The -Colonel told them how to do it.</p> - -<p>“Have you got wire hay racks above the horses?”</p> - -<p>“Sergeant-Major,” said I, “have we got wire hay -racks?”</p> - -<p>“This way, sir,” said the sergeant-major.</p> - -<p>Two drivers were stretching pieces of bale wire from -pole to pole.</p> - -<p>The Colonel asked them if they knew how to do it.</p> - -<p>“How many horses have you got for casting?” said -the Colonel.</p> - -<p>“Do we want to cast any horses, Sergeant-Major?” -said I.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said the Sergeant-Major. “We’ve got -six.”</p> - -<p>It was a delightful morning. Every question that -the Colonel asked I passed on to the sergeant-major, -whose answer was ever ready. Wherever the Colonel -wished to explore, there were men working.</p> - -<p>Could a new-fledged infant unversed in the ways of -the Army have accomplished it?</p> - -<p>One of the sections was down the road, quite five -minutes away. During the walk we exchanged views -about the war. He confided to me that the ideal was -to have in each wagon line an officer who knew no more -about gunnery than that turnip, but who knew enough -about horses to take advice from veterinary officers.</p> - -<p>In return I told him that there ought not to be any -wagon lines, that the horse was effete in a war of this -nature, that over half the man-power of the country was -employed in grooming and cleaning harness, half the -tonnage of the shipping taken up in fetching forage, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span> -that there was more strafing over a bad turn-out than if -a battery had shot its own infantry for four days -running.</p> - -<p>The outcome of it all was pure farce. He inspected -the remaining section and then told me he was immensely -pleased with the marked improvement in the condition -of the animals and the horse management generally -(nothing had been altered), and that if I found myself -short of labour when it came to building a new wagon -line, he thought he knew where he could put his hand on -a dozen useful men. Furthermore, he was going to write -and tell my Colonel how pleased he was.</p> - -<p>The sergeant-major’s face was a study!</p> - -<p>The psychology of it is presumably the same that -brings promotion to the officer who, smartly and with -well-polished buttons, in reply to a question from the -General, “What colour is black?” whips out like a -flash, “White, sir!”</p> - -<p>And the General nods and says, “Of course!—Smart -young officer that! What’s his name?”</p> - -<p>Infallible!</p> - - -<h3>13</h3> - -<p>It is difficult to mark the exact beginnings of mental -attitudes when time out there is one long action of nights -and days without names. One keeps the date, because -of the orders issued. For the rest it is all one. One can -only trace points of view, feelings, call them what you -will, as dating before or after certain outstanding events. -Thus I had no idea of war until the gas bombardment in -Armentières, no idea that human nature could go through -such experiences and emotions and remain sane. So, -once in action, I had not bothered to find the reason of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span> -it all, contenting myself merely with the profound conviction -that the world was mad, that it was against -human nature,—but that to-morrow we should want a -full <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">échelon</span> of ammunition. Even the times when one -had seen death only gave one a momentary shock. One -such incident will never leave me, but I cannot feel now -anything of the horror I experienced at the moment.</p> - -<p>It was at lunch one day before we had left the château. -A trickle of sun filtered down into the cellar where the -Major, one other subaltern and myself were lunching off -bully beef and ration pickles. Every now and again an -H.E. shell exploded outside, in the road along which -infantry were constantly passing. One burst was -followed by piercing screams. My heart gave a leap -and I sprang for the stairs and out. Across the way -lay three bodies, a great purple stain on the pavement, -the mark of a direct hit on the wall against which one -was huddled. I ran across. Their eyes were glassy, -their faces black. Grey fingers curled upwards from a -hand that lay back down. Then the screams came -again from the corner house. I dashed in. Our corporal -signaller was trying to bandage a man whose right leg -was smashed and torn open, blood and loose flesh everywhere. -He lay on his back, screaming. Other screams -came from round the corner. I went out again and -down the passage saw a man, his hands to his face, swaying -backwards and forwards.</p> - -<p>I ran to him. “Are you hit?”</p> - -<p>He fell on to me. “My foot! Oh, my foot! -Christ!”</p> - -<p>Another officer, from the howitzer battery, came -running. We formed a bandy chair and began to carry -him up towards the road.</p> - -<p>“Don’t take me up there,” he blubbered. “Don’t -take me there!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span></p> - -<p>We had to. It was the only way, to step over those -three black-faced corpses and into that house, where -there was water and bandages. There was a padre -there now and another man. I left them and returned -to the cellar to telephone for an ambulance. I was cold, -sick. But they weren’t <em>our</em> dead. They weren’t our -gunners with whose faces one was familiar, who were -part of our daily life. The feeling passed, and I was -able to go on with the bully beef and pickles and the -war.</p> - -<p>During the weeks that followed the last raid I was to -learn differently. They were harassing weeks with -guns dotted all over the zone. The luck seemed to have -turned, and it was next to impossible to find a place for -a gun which the Hun didn’t immediately shell violently. -Every gun had, of course, a different pin-point, and map -work became a labour, map work and the difficulty of -battery control and rationing. One’s brain was keyed -incessantly up to concert pitch.</p> - -<p>Various changes had taken place. We had been -taken into Right Group and headquarters was established -in a practically unshelled farm with one section beside it. -Another section was right forward in the Brickstack. -The third was away on the other side of the zone, an -enfilade section which I handed over, lock, stock and -barrel, to the section commander, who had his own O.P. -in Moat Farm, and took on his own targets. We were -<ins class="corr" id="tn-175" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'all extremly happy'"> -all extremely happy</ins>, doing a lot of shooting.</p> - -<p>One morning, hot and sunny, I had to meet the Major -to reconnoitre an alternative gun position. So I sent -for the enfilade section commander to come and take -charge, and set out in shorts and shirt sleeves on a bicycle. -The Major, another Headquarters officer and myself had -finished reconnoitring, and were eating plums, when a -heavy bombardment began in the direction of the battery<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span> -farm. Five-nines they were in section salvos, and the -earth went up in spouts, not on the farm, but mighty -close. I didn’t feel anxious at first, for that subaltern -had been in charge of the Chapelle section and knew all -about clearing out. But the bombardment went on. -The Major and the other left me, advising me to “give -it a chance” before I went back.</p> - -<p>So I rode along to an O.P. and tried to get through -to the battery on the ’phone. The line was gone.</p> - -<p>Through glasses I could see no signs of life round -about the farm. They must have cleared, I thought. -However, I had to get back some time or other, so I rode -slowly back along the road. A track led between open -fields to the farm. I walked the bicycle along this until -bits of shell began flying. I lay flat. Then the bombardment -slackened. I got up and walked on. Again -they opened, so I lay flat again.</p> - -<p>For perhaps half an hour bits came zooming like -great stagbeetles all round, while I lay and watched.</p> - -<p>They were on the gun position, not the farm, but -somehow my anxiety wouldn’t go. After all, I was in -charge of the battery, and here I was, while God knew -what might have happened in the farm. So I decided -to make a dash for it, and timed the bursts. At the end -of five minutes they slackened and I thought I could do -it. Two more crashed. I jumped on the bike, pedalled -hard down the track until it was blotted out by an -enormous shell hole into which I went, left the bike -lying and ran to the farm gate, just as two pip-squeaks -burst in the yard. I fell into the door, covered with -brick dust and tiles, but unhurt.</p> - -<p>The sound of singing came from the cellar. I called -down, “Who’s there?” The servants and the corporal -clerk were there. And the officer? Oh, he’d gone over -to the guns to see if everybody had cleared the position.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span> -He’d given the order as soon as the bombardment -began. But over at the guns the place was being chewed -up.</p> - -<p>Had he gone alone? No. One of the servants had -gone with him. How long ago? Perhaps twenty -minutes. Meanwhile, during question and answer, four -more pip-squeaks had landed, two at the farm gate, one -in the yard, one just over.</p> - -<p>It was getting altogether too hot. I decided to clear -the farm first. Two at a time, taking the word from -me, they made a dash for it through the garden and the -hedge to a flank, till only the corporal clerk and myself -were left. We gathered the secret papers the “wind -gadget,” my compass and the telephone and ran for it -in our turn.</p> - -<p>We caught the others who were waiting round the -corner well to a flank. I handed the things we’d brought -to the mess cook, and asked the corporal clerk if he’d -come with me to make sure that the subaltern and the -gunners had got away all right.</p> - -<p>We went wide and got round to the rear of the position. -Not a sign of any of the detachments in any houses round -about. Then we worked our way up a hedge which led -to the rear of the guns, dropping flat for shells to burst. -They were more on the farm now than the guns. We -reached the signal pit,—a sort of dug-out with a roof -of pit props, and earth and a trench dug to the entrance.</p> - -<p>The corporal went along the trench. “Christ!” he -said, and came blindly back.</p> - -<p>For an instant the world spun. Without seeing I saw. -Then I climbed along the broken trench. A five-nine -had landed on the roof of the pit and crashed everything -in.</p> - -<p>A pair of boots was sticking out of the earth.—</p> - -<p>He had been in charge of the battery for <em>me</em>. From<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span> -the safety of the cellar he had gone out to see if the men -were all right. He had done <em>my</em> job!</p> - -<p>Gunners came with shovels. In five minutes we had -him out. He was still warm. The doctor was on his -way. We carried him out of the shelling on a duck -board. Some of the gunners went on digging for the -other boy. The doctor was there by the time we’d -carried him to the road. He was dead.</p> - - -<h3>14</h3> - -<p>A pair of boots sticking out of the earth.</p> - -<p>For days I saw nothing else. That jolly fellow whom -I’d left laughing, sitting down to write a letter to his -wife,—a pair of boots sticking out. Why? Why?</p> - -<p>We had laid him in a cottage. The sergeant and I -went back, and by the light of a candle which flickered -horribly, emptied his pockets and took off his ring. How -cold Death was. It made him look ten years younger.</p> - -<p>Then we put him into an army blanket with his boots -on and all his clothes. The only string we had was -knotted. It took a long time to untie it. At last it -was done.</p> - -<p>A cigarette holder, a penknife, a handkerchief, the -ring. I took them out with me into the moonlight, all -that King and country had left of him.</p> - -<p>What had this youngster been born for, sent to a -Public School, earned his own living and married the -pretty girl whose photo I had seen in the dug-out? -To die like a rat in a trap, to have his name one day in -the Roll of Honour and so break two hearts, and then be -forgotten by his country because he was no more use to -it. What was the worth of Public School education<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span> -if it gave the country no higher ideal than war?—to -kill or be killed. Were there no brains in England big -enough to avert it? He hadn’t wanted it. He was a -representative specimen. What had he joined for? -Because all his pals had. He didn’t want them to call -him coward. For that he had left his wife and his home, -and to-morrow he would be dropped into a hole in the -ground and a parson would utter words about God and -eternal life.</p> - -<p>What did it all mean? Why, because it was the -“thing to do,” did we all join up like sheep in a Chicago -packing yard? What right had our country—the -“free country”—to compel us to live this life of filth -and agony?</p> - -<p>The men who made the law that sent us out, <ins class="corr" id="tn-179" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'they dind’t come'"> -they didn’t come</ins> too. They were the “rudder of the nation,” -steering the “Ship of State.” They’d never seen a pair -of boots sticking out of the earth. Why did we bow -the neck and obey other men’s wills?</p> - -<p>Surely these conscientious objectors had a greater -courage in withstanding our ridicule than we in wishing -to prove our possession of courage by coming out. What -was the root of this war,—honour? How can honour -be at the root of dishonour, and wholesale manslaughter? -What kind of honour was it that smashed up homesteads, -raped women, crucified soldiers, bombed hospitals, -bayoneted wounded? What idealism was ours if we -took an eye for an eye? What was our civilization, twenty -centuries of it, if we hadn’t reached even to the barbaric -standards,—for no barbarian could have invented -these atrocities. What was the festering pit on which -our social system was built?</p> - -<p>And the parson who talked of God,—is there more -than one God, then, for the Germans quoted him as being -on their side with as much fervour and sincerity as the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> -parson? How reconcile any God with this devastation -and deliberate killing? This war was the proof of the -failure of Christ, the proof of our own failure, the failure -of the civilized world. For twenty centuries the world -had turned a blind eye to the foulness stirring inside it, -insinuating itself into the main arteries; and now the lid -was wrenched off and all the foul stench of a humbug -Christian civilization floated over the poisoned world.</p> - -<p>One man had said he was too proud to fight. We, -filled with the lust of slaughter, jeered him as we had -jeered the conscientious objectors. But wasn’t there -in our hearts, in saner moments, a respect which we were -ashamed to admit,—because we in our turn would have -been jeered at? Therein lay our cowardice. Death -we faced daily, hourly, with a laugh. But the ridicule -of our fellow cowards, that was worse than death. And -yet in our knowledge we cried aloud for Peace, who in -our ignorance had cried for War. Children of impulse -satiated with new toys and calling for the old ones! We -would set back the clock and in our helplessness called -upon the Christ whom we had crucified.</p> - -<p>And back at home the law-makers and the old men -shouted patriotically from their club fenders, “We will -fight to the last man!”</p> - -<p>The utter waste of the brown-blanketed bundle in the -cottage room!</p> - -<p>What would I not have given for the one woman -to put her arms round me and hide my face against -her breast and let me sob out all the bitterness in my -heart?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span></p> - - -<h3>15</h3> - -<p>From that moment I became a conscientious objector, -a pacifist, a most bitter hater of the Boche whose hand -it was that had wrenched the lid off the European cesspit. -Illogical? If you like, but what is logic? Logically -the war was justified. We crucified Christ logically and -would do so again.</p> - -<p>From that moment my mind turned and twisted -like a compass needle that had lost its sense of the -north. The days were an endless burden blackened -by the shadow of death, filled with emptiness, bitterness -and despair.</p> - -<p>The day’s work went on as if nothing had happened. -A new face took his place at the mess table, the routine -was exactly the same. Only a rough wooden cross -showed that he had ever been with us. And all the time -we went on shooting, killing just as good fellows as he, -perhaps, doing our best to do so at least. Was it honest, -thinking as I did? Is it honest for a convict who doesn’t -believe in prisons to go on serving his time? There was -nothing to be done but go on shooting and try and -forget.</p> - -<p>But war isn’t like that. It doesn’t let you forget. -It gives you a few days, or weeks, and then takes some -one else. “Old Thing” was the next, in the middle -of a shoot in a front line O.P.</p> - -<p>I was lying on my bed playing with a tiny kitten -while the third subaltern at the ’phone passed on the -corrections to the battery. Suddenly, instead of saying -“Five minutes more right,” he said, “<em>What’s</em> that?—Badly -wounded?” and the line went.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span></p> - -<p>I was on the ’phone in a flash, calling up battalion -for stretcher bearers and doctors.</p> - -<p>They brought me his small change and pencil-ends -and pocketbook,—and the kitten came climbing up my -leg.</p> - -<p>The Major came back from leave—which he had got -on the Colonel’s return—in time to attend Old Thing’s -funeral with the Colonel and myself. Outside the cemetery -a football match was going on all the time. They -didn’t stop their game. Why should they? They were -too used to funerals,—and it might be their turn in a -day or two.</p> - -<p>Thanks to the Major my leave came through within -a week. It was like the answer to a prayer. At any -price I wanted to get away from the responsibility, away -from the sight of khaki, away from everything to do with -war.</p> - -<p>London was too full of it, of immaculate men and filmy -girls who giggled. I couldn’t face that.</p> - -<p>I went straight down to the little house among the -beeches and pines,—an uneasy guest of long silences, -staring into the fire, of bursts of violent argument, of -rebellion against all existing institutions.</p> - -<p>But it was good to watch the river flowing by, to -hear it lapping against the white yacht, to hear the -echo of rowlocks, flung back by the beech woods, and -the wonderful whir! whir! whir! of swans as they -flew down and down and away; to see little cottages -with wisps of blue smoke against the brown and purple -of the distant woods, not lonely ruins and sticks; to -see the feathery green moss and the watery rays of a -furtive sun through the pines, not smashed and torn by -shells; at night to watch the friendly lights in the curtained -windows and hear the owls hooting to each other -unafraid and let the rest and peace sink into one’s soul;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span> -to shirk even the responsibility of deciding whether one -should go for a walk or out in the dinghy, or stay indoors, -but just to agree to anything that was suggested.</p> - -<p>To decide anything was for out there, not here where -war did not enter in.</p> - -<p>Fifteen dream days, like a sudden strong whiff of -verbena or honeysuckle coming out of an envelope. -For the moment one shuts one’s eyes,—and opens -them again to find it isn’t true. The sound of guns -is everywhere.</p> - -<p>So with that leave. I found myself in France again, -trotting up in the mud and rain to report my arrival as -though I’d never been away. It was all just a dream to -try and call back.</p> - - -<h3>16</h3> - -<p>Everything was well with the battery. My job was -to function with all speed at the building of the new -horse lines. Before going on leave I had drawn a map -to scale of the field in which they were to be. This had -been submitted to Corps and approved, and work had -started on it during my leave.</p> - -<p>My kit followed me and I installed myself in a small -canvas hut with the acting-Captain of another of our -batteries whose lines were belly deep in the next field. -He had succeeded Pip Don who went home gassed after -the Armentières shelling and <ins class="corr" id="tn-183" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'who, on rcovering'"> -who, on recovering</ins>, had been sent out to Mesopotamia.</p> - -<p>The work was being handled under rather adverse -conditions. Some of the men were from our own battery, -others from the Brigade Ammunition Column, more -from a Labour Company, and there was a full-blown -Sapper private doing the scientific part. They were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span> -all at loggerheads; none of the N.C.O.’s would take -orders from the Sapper private, and the Labour Company -worked Trades Union hours, although dressed in khaki -and calling themselves soldiers. The subaltern in -charge was on the verge of putting every one of them -under arrest,—not a bad idea, but what about the -standings?</p> - -<p>By the time I’d had a look round tea was ready. -At least there seemed to be plenty of material.</p> - -<p>At seven next morning I was out. No one else was. -So I took another look round, did a little thinking, and -came and had breakfast. By nine o’clock there seemed -to be a lot of cigarette smoke in the direction of the works.</p> - -<p>I began functioning. My servant summoned all the -heads of departments and they appeared before me in -a sullen row. At my suggestion tongues wagged freely -for about half an hour. I addressed them in their own -language and then, metaphorically speaking, we shook -hands all round, sang hymn number 44 and standings -suddenly began to spring up like mushrooms.</p> - -<p>It was really extraordinary how those fellows worked -once they’d got the hang of the thing. It left me free -to go joy-riding with my stable companion in the afternoons. -We carried mackintoshes on the saddle and -scoured the country, splashing into Bailleul—it was odd -to revisit the scene of my trooper days after three years—for -gramophone records, smokes, stomachic delicacies -and books. We also sunk a lot of francs in a series of -highly artistic picture postcards which, pinned all round -the hut at eye level, were a constant source of admiration -and delight to the servants and furnished us with a splash -of colour which at least broke the monotony of khaki -canvas. These were—it goes without saying—supplemented -from time to time with the more reticent efforts -of <cite lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">La Vie Parisienne</cite>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span></p> - -<p>All things being equal we were extremely comfortable, -and, although the stove was full of surprises, quite sufficiently -frowzy during the long evenings, which were filled -with argument, invention, music and much tobacco. -The invention part of the programme was supplied by -my stable companion who had his own theories concerning -acetylene lamps, and who, with the aid of a couple -of shell cases and a little carbide nearly wrecked the -happy home. Inventions were therefore suppressed.</p> - -<p>They were tranquil days, in which we built not only -book shelves, stoves and horse standings but a great -friendship,—ended only by his death on the battlefield. -He was all for the gun line and its greater strenuousness.</p> - -<p>As for me, then, at least, I was content to lie fallow. -I had seen too much of the guns, thanked God for the -opportunity of doing something utterly different for a -time and tried to conduct a mental spring-clean and rearrangement. -As a means to this I found myself putting -ideas on paper in verse—a thing I’d never done <ins class="corr" id="tn-185" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'in all my live'"> -in all my life</ins>—bad stuff but horribly real. One’s mind was tied -to war, like a horse on a picketing rope, and could only -go round and round in a narrow circle. To break away -was impossible. One was saturated with it as the country -was with blood. Every cog in the machinery of war -was like a magnet which held one in spite of all one’s -struggles, giddy with the noise, dazed by its enormity, -nauseated by its results.</p> - -<p>The work provided one with a certain amount of comic -relief. Timber ran short and it seemed as if the standings -would be denied completion. Stones, gravel and cinders -had been already a difficulty, settled only by much importuning. -Bricks had been brought from the gun line. -But asking for timber was like trying to steal the chair -from under the General. I went to Division and was -promptly referred to Corps, who were handling the job.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span> -Corps said, “You’ve had all that’s allowed in the R.E. -handbook. Good morning.” I explained that I wanted -it for wind screens. They smiled politely and suggested -my getting some ladies’ fans from any deserted village. -On returning to Division they said, “If Corps can’t help -you, how the devil can you expect us to?”</p> - -<p>I went to Army. They looked me over and asked -me where I came from and who I was, and what I was -doing, and what for and on what authority, and why -I came to them instead of going to Division and Corps? -To all of which I replied patiently. Their ultimate answer -was a smile of regret. There wasn’t any in the country, -they said.</p> - -<p>So I prevailed upon my brother who, as War Correspondent, -ran a big car and no questions asked about petrol, -to come over and lunch with me. To him I put the -case and was immediately whisked off to O.C. Forests, -the Timber King. At the lift of his little finger down -came thousands of great oaks. Surely a few branches -were going begging?</p> - -<p>He heard my story with interest. His answer threw -beams of light. “Why the devil don’t Division and Corps -and all the rest of them <em>ask</em> for it if they want it? I’ve -got tons of stuff here. How much do you want?”</p> - -<p>I told him the cubic stature of the standings.</p> - -<p>He jotted abstruse calculations for a moment. -“Twenty tons,” said he. “Are you anywhere <ins class="corr" id="tn-186" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'near he river'"> -near the river</ins>”?</p> - -<p>The river flowed at the bottom of the lines.</p> - -<p>“Right. I’ll send you a barge. To-day’s Monday. -Should be with you by Wednesday. Name? Unit?”</p> - -<p>He ought to have been commanding an army, that man.</p> - -<p>We lunched most triumphantly in Hazebrouck, <ins class="corr" id="tn-186a" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'had ea and dinner'"> -had tea and dinner</ins> at Cassel and I was dropped on my own -doorstep well before midnight.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span></p> - -<p>It was not unpleasing to let drop, quite casually of -course, to Division and Corps and Army, that twenty -tons of timber were being delivered at my lines in three -days and that there was more where that came from. If -they wanted any, they had only to come and ask <em>me</em> -about it.</p> - - -<h3>17</h3> - -<p>During this period the Major had handed over the -eighteen-pounders, receiving 4.5 howitzers in exchange, -nice little cannons, but apparently in perpetual need of -calibration. None of the gunners had ever handled them -before but they picked up the new drill with extraordinary -aptitude, taking the most unholy delight in firing gas -shells. They hadn’t forgotten Armentières either.</p> - -<p>My wagon line repose was roughly broken into by an -order one afternoon to come up immediately. The -Colonel was elsewhere and the Major had taken his place -once more.</p> - -<p>Furthermore, a raid was to take place the same night -and I hadn’t the foggiest idea of the numberless 4.5 -differences. However we did our share in the raid and -at the end of a couple of days I began to hope we should -stick to howitzers. The reasons were many,—a bigger -shell with more satisfactory results, gas as well as H.E., -four guns to control instead of six, far greater ease in -finding positions and a longer range. This was in October, -’17. Things have changed since then. The air recuperator -with the new range drum and fuse indicator -have made the 18-pounder a new thing.</p> - -<p>Two days after my going up the Hun found us. Between -11 a.m. and 4 p.m. he sent over three hundred -five-nines, but as they fell between two of the guns and -the billet, and he didn’t bother to switch, we were per<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span>fectly -happy. To my way of thinking his lack of imagination -in gunnery is one of the factors which has helped him -to lose the war. He is consistent, amazingly thorough -and amazingly accurate. We have those qualities too, -not quite so marked perhaps, but it is the added touch of -imagination, of sportingness, which has beaten him. -What English subaltern for instance up in that Hun -O.P. wouldn’t have given her five minutes more right for -luck,—and got the farm and the gun and the ammunition? -But because the Boche had been allotted a -definite target and a definite number of rounds he just -went on according to orders and never thought of budging -off his line. We all knew it and remained in the farm -although the M.P.I. was only fifty yards to a flank.</p> - -<p>The morning after the raid I went the round of the -guns. One of them had a loose breechblock. When fired -the back flash was right across the gun pit. I put the -gun out of action, the chances being that very soon she -would blow out her breech and kill every man in the -detachment.</p> - -<p>As my knowledge was limited to eighteen-pounders, -however, I sent for the brigade artificer. His opinion -confirmed mine.</p> - -<p>That night she went down on the tail of a wagon. -The next night she came back again, the breech just as -loose. Nothing had been done. The Ordnance workshop -sent a chit with her to say she’d got to fire so many -hundred more rounds at 4th charge before she could be -condemned.</p> - -<p>What was the idea? Surely to God the Hun killed -enough gunners without our trying to kill them ourselves? -Assuming that a 4.5 cost fifteen hundred -pounds in round figures, four gunners and a sergeant -at an average of two shillings a day were worth economising, -to say nothing of the fact that they were all<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span> -trained men and experienced soldiers, or to mention -that they were human beings with wives and families. -It cannot have been the difficulty of getting another -gun. The country was stiff with guns and it only takes -a busy day to fire four hundred rounds.</p> - -<p>It was just the good old system again! I left the -gun out of action.</p> - -<p>Within a couple of days we had to hand over again. -We were leaving that front to go up into the salient, -Ypres. But I didn’t forget to tell the in-coming Battery -Commander all about that particular gun.</p> - -<p>Ypres! One mentions it quite casually but I don’t -think there was an officer or man who didn’t draw a deep -breath when the order came. It was a death trap.</p> - -<p>There was a month’s course of gunnery in England -about to take place,—the Overseas Course for Battery -Commanders. My name had been sent in. It was at -once cancelled so that the Ypres move was a double -disappointment.</p> - -<p>So the battery went down to the wagon line and -prepared for the worst. For a couple of days we hung -about uneasily. Then the Major departed for the north -in a motor lorry to take over positions. Having seen him -off we foregathered with the officers of the Brigade Ammunition -Column, cursed with uneasy laughter and turned -the rum-specialist on to brewing flaming toddy.</p> - -<p>The next day brought a telegram from the Major -of which two words at least will never die: “Move -cancelled.”</p> - -<p>We had dinner in Estaires that night!</p> - -<p>But the brigade was going to move, although none -of us knew where. The day before they took the road -I left for England in a hurry to attend the Overseas -Course. How little did I guess what changes were destined -to take place before I saw them again!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span></p> - - -<h3>18</h3> - -<p>The course was a godsend in that it broke the back -of the winter. A month in England, sleeping between -sheets, with a hot bath every day and brief week-ends -with one’s people was a distinct improvement on France, -although the first half of the course was dull to desperation. -The chief interest, in fact, of the whole course -was to see the fight between the two schools of gunners,—the -theoretical and the practical. Shoebury was the -home of the theoretical. We filled all the Westcliff hotels -and went in daily by train to the school of gunnery, there -to imbibe drafts of statistics—not excluding our old -friend T.O.B.—and to relearn all the stuff we had been -doing every day in France in face of the Hun, a sort of -revised up-to-date version, including witty remarks -at the expense of Salisbury which left one with the idea, -“Well, if this is the last word of <em>the</em> School of Gunnery, -I’m a damned sight better gunner than I thought I was.”</p> - -<p>Many of the officers had brought their wives down. -Apart from them the hotels were filled with indescribable -people,—dear old ladies in eighteenth-century garments -who knitted and talked scandal and allowed their giggling -daughters to flirt and dance with all and sundry. One -or two of the more advanced damsels had left their parents -behind and were staying there with “uncles,”—rather -lascivious-looking old men, rapidly going bald. Where -they all came from is a mystery. One didn’t think -England contained such people, and the thought that one -was fighting for them was intolerable.</p> - -<p>After a written examination which was somewhat -of a farce at the end of the first fortnight, we all trooped -down to Salisbury to see the proof of the pudding in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span> -shooting. Shoebury was routed. A couple of hundred -bursting shells duly corrected for temperature, barometer, -wind and the various other disabilities attaching to -exterior ballistics will disprove the most likely-sounding -theory.</p> - -<p>Salisbury said, “Of course they will tell you <em>this</em> -at Shoebury. They may be perfectly right. I don’t -deny it for a moment, but I’ll show you what the ruddy -bundook says about it.” And at the end of half an hour’s -shooting the “ruddy bundook” behind us had entirely -disposed of the argument. We had calibrated that unfortunate -battery to within half a foot a second, fired it -with a field clinometer, put it through its paces in snow-storms -and every kind of filthy weather and went away -impressed. The gun does not lie. Salisbury won hands -down.</p> - -<p>The verdict of the respective schools upon my work -was amusing and showed that at least they had fathomed -the psychology of me.</p> - -<p>Shoebury said, “Fair. A good second in command.” -Salisbury said, “Sound practical work. A good Battery -Commander.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the papers every day had been ringing -with the Cambrai show. November, ’17, was a memorable -month for many others besides the brigade. Of course -I didn’t know for certain that we were in it, but it wasn’t -a very difficult guess. The news became more and more -anxious reading, especially when I received a letter from -the Major who said laconically that he had lost all his -kit; would I please collect some more that he had ordered -and bring it out with me?</p> - -<p>This was countermanded by a telegram saying he was -coming home on leave. I met him in London and in -the luxury of the Carlton Grill he told me the amazing -story of Cambrai.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span></p> - -<p>The net result to the brigade was the loss of the guns -and many officers and men, and the acquiring of one -D.S.O. which should have been a V.C., and a handful -of M.C.’s, Military Medals, and Croix de Guerre.</p> - -<p>I found them sitting down, very merry and bright, -at a place called Poix in the Lines of Communication, -and there I listened to stories of Huns shot with rifles -at one yard, of days in trenches fighting as infantry, of -barrages that passed conception, of the amazing feats -of my own Major who was the only officer who got nothing -out of it,—through some gross miscarriage of justice and -to my helpless fury.</p> - -<p>There was a new Captain commanding my battery -in the absence of the Major. But I was informed that I -had been promoted Major and was taking over another -battery whose commander had been wounded in the -recent show. Somehow it had happened that that battery -and ours had always worked together, had almost always -played each other in the finals of brigade football matches -and there was as a result a strong liking between the two. -It was good therefore to have the luck to go to them instead -of one of the others. It completed the entente between -the two of us.</p> - -<p>Only the Brigade Headquarters was in Poix. The -batteries and the Ammunition Column had a village each -in the neighbourhood. My new battery, my first command, -was at Bergicourt, some three miles away, and -thither I went in the brigade trap, a little shy and overwhelmed -at this entirely unexpected promotion, not quite -sure of my reception. The Captain was an older man -than I, and he and some of the subalterns had all been -lieutenants together with me in the Heytesbury days.</p> - -<p>From the moment of getting out of the trap, as midday -stables was being dismissed, the Captain’s loyalty -to me was of the most exceptional kind. He did every<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span>thing -in his power to help me the whole time I remained -in command, and I owe him more gratitude and thanks -than I can ever hope to repay. The subalterns too -worked like niggers, and I was immensely proud of being -in command of such a splendid fighting battery.</p> - -<p>Bergicourt was a picturesque little place that had -sprung up in a hillside cup. A tiny river ran at the -bottom of the hill, the cottages were dotted with charming -irregularity up and down its flank and the surrounding -woody hills protected it a little from the biting winter -winds. The men and horses were billeted among the -cottages. The battery office was in the Mairie, and the -mess was in the presbytery. The Abbé was a diminutive, -round-faced, blue-chinned little man with a black -skull cap, whose simplicity was altogether exceptional. -He had once been on a Cook’s tour to Greece, Egypt -and Italy but for all the knowledge of the world he got -from it he might as well have remained in Bergicourt. -He shaved on Sundays and insinuated himself humbly -into the mess room—his best parlour—with an invariable -“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Bonjour, mon commandant!</i>” and a “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">je vous remerc—ie</i>,” -that became the passwords of the battery. The -S sound in <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">remercie</i> lasted a full minute to a sort of splashing -accompaniment emerging from the teeth. We used -to invite him in to coffee and liqueurs after dinner and -his round-eyed amazement when the Captain and one -of the subalterns did elementary conjuring tricks, producing -cards from the least expected portions of his -anatomy and so on as he sat there in front of the fire -with a drink in his hand and a cigarette smouldering in -his fingers, used to send us into helpless shrieks of laughter.</p> - -<p>He bestowed on me in official moments the most -wonderful title, that even Haig might have been proud of. -He called me “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur le Commandant des armées -anglaises à Bergicourt</i>,”—a First Command indeed!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span></p> - -<p>Christmas Day was a foot deep in snow, wonderfully -beautiful and silent with an almost canny stillness. The -Colonel and the Intelligence Officer came and had dinner -with us in the middle of the day, after the Colonel had -made a little speech to the men, who were sitting down -to theirs, and been cheered to the echo.</p> - -<p>At night there was a concert and the battery got royally -tight. It was the first time they’d been out of action -for eight months and it probably did them a power of -good.</p> - -<p>Four Christmases back I had been in Florida splashing -about in the sea, revelling in being care free, deep in the -writing of a novel. It was amazing how much water -had flowed under the bridges since then,—one in Fontainehouck, -one in Salonica, one in London, and now this one -at Bergicourt with six guns and a couple of hundred men -under me. I wondered where the next would be and -thought of New York with a sigh. If anyone had told -me in Florida that I should ever be a Major in the British -Army I should have thought he’d gone mad.</p> - - -<h3>19</h3> - -<p>The time was spent in Poix in completing ourselves -with all the things of which the batteries were short—technical -stores—in making rings in the snow and exercising -the horses, in trying to get frost nails without -success, in a comic <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chasse au sanglier</i> organised by a local -sportsman in which we saw nothing but a big red fox -and a hare and bagged neither, in endeavouring to camouflage -the fuel stolen by the men, in wondering what 1918 -would bring forth.</p> - -<p>The bitter cold lasted day after day without any<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span> -sign of a break and in the middle of it came the order -to move. We were wanted back in the line again.</p> - -<p>I suppose there is always one second of apprehension -on receiving that order, of looking round with the -thought, “Whose turn this time?” There seemed to -be no hope or sign of peace. The very idea was so -remote as to be stillborn. Almost it seemed as if one -would have to go on and on for ever. The machine -had run away with us and there was no stopping it. -Every calendar that ran out was another year of one’s -youth burnt on the altar of war. There was no future. -How could there be when men were falling like leaves in -autumn?</p> - -<p>One put up a notice board on the edge of the future. -It said, “Trespassers will be pip-squeaked.” The present -was the antithesis of everything one had ever dreamed, -a ghastly slavery to be borne as best one could. One -sought distractions to stop one’s thinking. Work was -insufficient. One developed a literary gluttony, devouring -cannibalistically all the fiction writers, the war poets, -everything that one could lay hands on, developing unconsciously -a higher criticism, judging by the new standards -set by three years of war—that school of post-impressionism -that rubs out so ruthlessly the essential, -leaving the unessential crowing on its dunghill. It only -left one the past as a mental playground and even there -the values had altered. One looked back with a different -eye from that with which one had looked forward only -four years ago. One had seen Death now and heard -Fear whispering, and felt the pulse of a world upheaved -by passions.</p> - -<p>The war itself had taken on a different aspect. The -period of peace sectors was over. Russia had had enough. -Any day now would see the released German divisions -back on the western front. It seemed that the new year<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span> -must inevitably be one of cataclysmic events. It was -not so much “can we attack?” as “will they break -through?” And yet trench warfare had been a stalemate -for so long that it didn’t seem possible that they could. -But whatever happened it was not going to be a joy-ride.</p> - -<p>We were going to another army. That at least was -a point of interest. The batteries, being scattered over -half a dozen miles of country, were to march independently -to their destinations. So upon the appointed day -we packed up and said good-bye to the little priest and -interviewed the mayor and haggled over exorbitant claims -for damages and impossible thefts of wood and potatoes, -wondering all the while how the horses would ever -stand up on the frozen roads without a single frost nail -in the battery. It was like a vast skating rink and the -farrier had been tearing his hair for days.</p> - -<p>But finally the last team had slithered down to the gun -park, hooked in and everything was reported ready. -Billeting parties had gone on ahead.</p> - -<p>It is difficult to convey just what that march meant. -It lasted four days, once the blizzard being so thick and -blinding that the march was abandoned, the whole -brigade remaining in temporary billets. The pace was a -crawl. The team horses slid into each other and fell, -the leads bringing the centres down, at every twenty -yards or so. The least rise had to be navigated by improvising -means of foothold—scattering a near manure -heap, getting gunners up with picks and shovels and -hacking at the road surface, assisting the horses with -drag-ropes—and all the time the wind was like a razor -on one’s face, and the drivers up on the staggering horses -beat their chests with both arms and changed over with -the gunners when all feeling had gone from their limbs. -Hour after hour one trekked through the blinding white, -silent country, stamping up and down at the halts with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> -an anxious eye on the teams, chewing bully beef and -biscuits and thanking God for coffee piping hot out of a -thermos in the middle of the day. Then on again in the -afternoon while the light grew less and dropped finally -to an inky grey and the wind grew colder,—hoping that the -G.S. wagons, long since miles behind, would catch up. -Hour after hour stiff in the saddle with icy hands and feet, -one’s neck cricked to dodge the wind, or sliding off -stiffly to walk and get some warmth into one’s aching -limbs, the straps and weight of one’s equipment becoming -more and more irksome and heavy with every step forward -that slipped two back. To reach the destination -at all was lucky. To get there by ten o’clock at night -was a godsend, although watering the horses and feeding -them in the darkness with frozen fingers that burned on -straps and buckles drew strange Scotch oaths. For the -men, shelter of sorts, something at least with a roof -where a fire was lit at risk of burning the whole place -down. For the officers sometimes a peasant’s bed, or -valises spread on the floor, unpacking as little as possible -for the early start on the morning, the servants cooking -some sort of a meal, either on the peasant’s stove or over -a fire of sticks.</p> - -<p>The snow came again and one went on next day, -blinded by the feathery touch of flakes that closed one’s -eyes so gently, crept down one’s neck and pockets, -lodged heavily in one’s lap when mounted, clung in a -frozen garment to one’s coat when walking, hissed softly -on one’s pipe and made one giddy with the silent, whirling, -endless pattern which blotted out the landscape, great -flakes like white butterflies, soft, velvety, beautiful but -also like little hands that sought to stop one persistently, -insidiously. “Go back,” said their owner, “go back. -We have hidden the road and the ditches and all the -country. We have closed your eyelids and you cannot<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span> -see. Go back before you reach that mad place where -we have covered over silent things that once were men, -trying to give back beauty to the ugliness that you -have made. Why do you march on in spite of us? -Do you seek to become as they? Go back. Go back,” -they whispered.</p> - -<p>But we pushed blindly through, stumbling to another -billet to hear that the snow had stalled the motor lorries -and therefore there were no rations for the men and that -the next day’s march was twenty miles.</p> - -<p>During the night a thaw set in. Snowflakes turned -to cold rain and in the dawn the men splashed, shivering, -and harnessed the shivering horses. One or two may -have drunk a cup of coffee given them by the villagers. -The rest knew empty stomachs as well as shivering. The -village had once been in the war zone and only old women -and children clung precariously to life. They had no -food to give or sell. The parade was ordered for six o’clock. -Some of the rear wagons, in difficulties with teams, had -not come in till the dawn, the Captain and all of them -having shared a biscuit or two since breakfast. But at -six the battery was reported ready and not a man was -late or sick. The horses had been in the open all night.</p> - -<p>So on we went again with pools of water on the icy -crust of the road, the rain dripping off our caps. Would -there be food at the other end? Our stomachs cried out -for it.</p> - -<p>And back in England full-fed fathers hearing the -rain splashing against the windows put an extra coal -on the fire, crying again, “We will fight to the last man!”; -railway men and munitioners yelled, “Down tools! -We need more pay!” and the Government flung our purses -to them and said, “Help yourselves—of course we shall -count on you to keep us in power at the next election.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span></p> - - -<h3>20</h3> - -<p>The village of Chuignolles, ice-bound, desolate, wood-patched -was our destination. The battles of the Somme -had passed that way, wiping everything out. Old shell -holes were softened with growing vegetation. Farm -cottages were held together by bits of corrugated iron. -The wind whistled through them, playing ghostly tunes -on splintered trunks that once had been a wood.</p> - -<p>Two prison camps full of Germans, who in some -mysterious way knew that we had been in the Cambrai -push and commented about it as we marched in, were -the only human beings, save the village schoolmaster -and his wife and child, in whose cottage we shared a billet -with a Canadian forester. The schoolmaster was minus -one arm, the wife had survived the German occupation, -and the child was a golden-haired boy full of laughter, -with tiny teeth, blue eyes and chubby fingers that curled -round his mother’s heart. The men were lodged under -bits of brick wall and felting that constituted at least -shelter, and warmed themselves with the timber that the -Canadian let them remove from his Deccaville train which -screamed past the horse lines about four or five times a -day. They had stood the march in some marvellous way -that filled me with speechless admiration. Never a -grouse about the lack of rations, or the awful cold and wet, -always with a song on their lips they had paraded to time -daily, looked after the horses with a care that was almost -brotherly, put up with filthy billets and the extremes of -discomfort with a readiness that made me proud. What -kept them going? Was it that vague thing patriotism, -the more vague because the war wasn’t in their own -country? Was it the ultimate hope of getting back to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span> -their Flos and Lucys, although leave, for them, was -practically non-existent? What had they to look -forward to but endless work in filth and danger, heaving -guns, grooming horses, cleaning harness eternally? -And yet their obedience and readiness and courage were -limitless, wonderful.</p> - -<p>We settled down to training and football and did our -best to acquire the methods of the new army. My -Major, who had been in command of the brigade, had -fallen ill on the march and had been sent to England. -The doctor was of opinion that he wouldn’t be coming -out again. He was worn out. How characteristic of the -wilfully blind system which insists that square pegs -shall be made to fit round holes! There was a man who -should have been commanding an army, wasted in the -command of a battery, while old men without a millionth -part of his personality, magnetism or knowledge recklessly -flung away lives in the endeavour to justify their positions. -In the Boer War if a General lost three hundred men -there was an inquiry into the circumstances. Now if he -didn’t lose three hundred thousand he was a bad General. -There were very few bad ones apparently!</p> - -<p>At least one could thank God that the Major was out -of it with a whole skin, although physically a wreck.</p> - -<p>The guns we drew from Ordnance at Poix and Chuignolles -were not calibrated, but there was a range half a -day’s march distant and we were ordered to fire there -in readiness for going back into the line. So one morning -before dawn we set out to find the pin-point given us on -the map. Dawn found us on a road which led through a -worse hell than even Dante visited. Endless desolation -spread away on every side, empty, flat, filled with an -infinite melancholy. No part of the earth’s surface -remained intact. One shell hole merged into another in -an endless pattern of pockmarks, unexploded duds lying<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span> -in hundreds in every direction. Bits of wreckage lay -scattered, shell baskets, vague shapes of iron and metal -which bespoke the one-time presence of man. Here and -there steam rollers, broken and riddled, stuck up like -the bones of camels in the desert. A few wooden crosses -marked the wayside graves, very few. For the most -part the dead had lain where they fell, trodden into the -earth. Everywhere one almost saw a hand sticking up, -a foot that had worked up to the surface again. A few -bricks half overgrown marked where once maidens had -been courted by their lovers. The quiet lane ringing with -the songs of birds where they had met in the summer -evenings at the stroke of the Angelus was now one jagged -stump, knee-high, from which the birds had long since -fled. The spirits of a million dead wailed over that ghastly -graveyard, unconsecrated by the priests of God. In -the grey light one could nearly see the corpses sit up in their -countless hundreds at the noise of the horses’ feet, and -point with long fingers, screaming bitter ridicule through -their shapeless gaping jaws. And when at last we found -the range and the guns broke the eerie stillness the echo -in the hills was like bursts of horrible laughter.</p> - -<p>And on the edge of all this death was that little sturdy -boy with the golden hair, bubbling with life, who played -with the empty sleeve of his young father spewed out of -the carnage, mutilated, broken in this game of fools.</p> - - -<h3>21</h3> - -<p>February found us far from Chuignolles. Our road -south had taken us through a country of optimism where -filled-in trenches were being cultivated once more by old -women and boys, barbed wire had been gathered in like<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span> -an iron harvest and life was trying to creep back again -like sap up the stem of a bruised flower. Their homes were -made of empty petrol tins, bits of corrugated iron, the -wreckage of the battlefield,—these strange persistent old -people, clinging desperately to their clod of earth, bent -by the storm but far from being broken, ploughing round -the lonely graves of the unknown dead, sparing a moment -to drop a bunch of green stuff on them. Perhaps some -one was doing the same to their son’s grave.</p> - -<p>We came to Jussy and Flavy-le-Martel, an undulating -country of once-wooded hillsides now stamped under the -Hun’s heel and where even then the spiteful long-range -shell came raking in the neatly swept muck heaps that -once had been villages. The French were there, those -blue-clad, unshaven poilus who, having seen their land -laid waste, turned their eyes steadily towards Germany -with the gleam of faith in them that moves mountains, -officered by men who called them “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mes enfants</i>” and -addressed each one as “thou.”</p> - -<p>We had reached the southern end of the British line -and were to take over the extra bit down to Barisis. Our -own zone was between Essigny and Benay and in a -morning of thick fog the Divisional Battery Commanders -and ourselves went up to the gun positions held by the -slim French 75’s. They welcomed us politely, bowing us -into scratches in the earth and offering sausages and red -wine and cigarettes of Caporal. It appeared that peace -reigned on that front. Not a shell fell, hardly was a -round ever fired. Then followed maps and technical -details of pin-points and zero lines and O.P.’s and the -colour of S.O.S. rockets. We visited the guns and -watched them fire a round or two and discussed the -differences between them and our eighteen-pounders -and at last after much shaking of hands bade them -<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">au revoir</span> and left them in the fog.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span></p> - -<p>The relief took place under cover of night without a -hitch, in a silence unbroken by any gun, and finally, -after having journeyed to the O.P. with the French -Battery Commander, up to our thighs in mud, fired on -the zero point to check the line, reported ourselves ready -to take on an S.O.S. and watched the French officer disappear -in the direction of his wagon line, we found ourselves -masters of the position.</p> - -<p>The fog did eventually lift, revealing the least hopeful -of any gun positions it has ever been my lot to occupy. -The whole country was green, a sort of turf. In this were -three great white gashes of upturned chalk visible to the -meanest intelligence as being the three battery positions. -True, they were under the crest from any Hun O.P., but -that didn’t minimize the absurdity. There were such -things as balloons and aeroplanes. Further inspection -revealed shell holes neatly bracketing the guns, not many, -but quite sufficient to prove that Fritz had done his job -well. Beside each gun pit was a good deep dugout for -the detachment and we had sleeping quarters that would -stop at least a four-two. The mess was a quaint little -hut of hooped iron above ground, camouflaged with -chalky earth, big enough to hold a table and four officers, -if arranged carefully. We rigged up shelves and hung -new fighting maps and Kirchners and got the stove to -burn and declared ourselves ready for the war again. -We spent long mornings exploring the trenches, calling -on a rather peevish infantry whose manners left much to -be desired, and found that as usual the enemy had all -the observation on the opposite ridge. Behind the -trench system we came upon old gun positions shelled out -of all recognition, and looked back over an empty countryside -with rather a gloomy eye. It was distinctly unprepossessing. -If there were ever a show——</p> - -<p>So we played the gramophone by night and invented a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span> -knife-throwing game in the door of the hut and waited -for whatever Fate might have in store for us. The -Captain had gone on leave from Chuignolles. The night -after his return he came up to the guns as my own leave -was due again. So having initiated him into the defence -scheme and the S.O.S. rules I packed up my traps and -departed,—as it turned out for good.</p> - -<p>Fate decreed that my fighting was to be done with the -battery which I had helped to make and whose dead I -had buried.</p> - -<p>On my return from leave fourteen days later, towards -the end of February, I was posted back to them. The -end of February,—a curious period of mental tightening -up, of expectation of some colossal push received with a -certain incredulity. He’d push all right, but not here. -And yet, in the depths of one’s being, there formed a -vague apprehension that made one restless and took the -taste out of everything. The work seemed unsatisfactory -in the new battle positions to which we were moved, a -side-step north, seven thousand yards from the front line, -just behind Essigny which peeped over a million trenches -to St. Quentin. The men didn’t seem to have their -hearts in it and one found fault in everything. The new -mess, a wooden hut under trees on a hilltop with a deep -dugout in it, was very nice, allowing us to bask in the -sun whenever it shone and giving a wonderful view over -the whole zone, but seemed to lack privacy. One -yearned to be alone sometimes and always there was some -one there. The subalterns were practically new to me, -and although one laughed and talked one couldn’t settle -down as in the old days with the Major and Pip Don. -The Scots Captain was also occupying the hilltop. It -was good to go off on long reconnaissances with him and -argue violently on all the known philosophies and literatures, -to challenge him to revolver shooting competitions<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span> -and try and escape the eternal obsession that clouded one’s -brain, an uneasiness that one couldn’t place, like the -feeling that makes one cold in the pit of the stomach -before going down to get ready for a boxing competition, -magnified a million times.</p> - -<p>The weather was warm and sunny after misty dawns -and the whole country was white with floating cobwebs. -The last touches were being put to the gun position and a -narrow deep trench ran behind the guns which were a -quarter of a mile beyond the hilltop, down beyond the -railway line under camouflage in the open. Word came -round that “The Attack,” was for this day, then that, -then the other, and the heavy guns behind us made the -night tremble with their counter-preparation work, -until at last one said, “Please God, they’ll get on with it, -and let’s get it over!” The constant cry of “Wolf! -Wolf!” was trying.</p> - -<p>Everybody knew about it and all arrangements were -made, extra ammunition, and extra gunners at the positions, -details notified as to manning O.P.’s, the probable -time at which we should have to open fire being given as -ten o’clock at night at extreme range.</p> - -<p>My Captain, a bloodthirsty Canadian, had gone on -leave to the south of France, which meant leaving a -subaltern in the wagon line while I had three with me.</p> - -<p>The days became an endless tension, the nights a -jumpy stretch of darkness, listening for the unknown. -Matters were not helped by my brother’s rolling up one -day and giving out the date definitely as the twenty-first. -It was on the ninth that he arrived and took me for a joy-ride -to Barisis to have a look at the Hun in the Forêt de -St. Gobain, so deeply wooded that the car could run to -within a hundred yards of the front-line trench. We -dined at the charming old town of Noyon on the way -back and bought English books in a shop there, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span> -stayed the night in a little inn just off the market square. -The next morning he dropped me at the battery and I -watched him roll away in the car, feeling an accentuated -loneliness, a yearning to go with him and get out of the -damned firing line, to escape the responsibility that rode -one like an Old Man from the Sea.</p> - -<p>In war there is only one escape.</p> - -<p>The nights of the eighteenth and nineteenth were a -continuous roll of heavy guns, lasting till just before the -dawn, the days comparatively quiet. Raids had taken -place all along the front on both sides and identifications -made which admitted of no argument.</p> - -<p>On the night of the twentieth we turned in as usual -about midnight with the blackness punctuated by flashes -and the deep-voiced rumble of big guns a sort of comfort -in the background. If Brother Fritz was massing anywhere -for the attack at least he was having an unpleasant -time. We were unable to join in because we were in -battle positions seven thousand yards behind the front -line. The other eighteen-pounders in front of us were -busy, however, and if the show didn’t come off we were -going up to relieve them in a week’s time. So we played -our goodnight tune on the gramophone, the junior -subaltern waiting in his pyjamas while the last notes were -sung. Then he flicked out the light and hopped into bed, -and presently the hut was filled by his ungentle snores. -Then one rang through a final message to the signaller -on duty at the guns and closed one’s eyes.</p> - - -<h3>22</h3> - -<p>The twenty-first of March, 1918, has passed into -history now, a page of disaster, blood and prisoners, a -turning point in the biggest war in history, a day which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span> -broke more hearts than any other day in the whole four -and a half years; and yet to some of us it brought an -infinite relief. The tension was released. The fight -was on to the death.</p> - -<p>We were jerked awake in the darkness by a noise -which beat upon the brain, made the hill tremble and -shiver, which seemed to fill the world and all time with -its awful threat.</p> - -<p>I looked at my watch,—4 a.m.</p> - -<p>The subaltern who lay on the bed beside mine said, -“She’s off!” and lit a candle with a laugh. He was dead -within six hours. We put coats over our pyjamas and -went out of the hut. Through the fog there seemed to -be a sort of glow along the whole front right and left, -like one continuous gun flash. The Scots Captain came -round with his subalterns and joined us, and two “Archie” -gunners who shared a tent under the trees and messed -with us. We stood in a group, talking loudly to make -ourselves heard. There was nothing to be done but to -stand by. According to plan we should not come into -action until about 10 p.m. that night to cover the retreat, -if necessary, of the gunners and infantry in the line. Our -range to start with would be six thousand yards.</p> - -<p>So we dressed and talked to Brigade, who had no information. -At six o’clock Brigade issued an order, -“Man O.P.’s at once.” The fog still hung like a blanket, -and no news had come through from the front line. The -barrage was reported thick in front of and in Essigny with -gas.</p> - -<p>The signallers were ready, three of them. The subaltern -detailed had only to fill his pockets with food.</p> - -<p>The subaltern detailed! It sounds easy, doesn’t -it? But it isn’t any fun detailing a man to go out into -a gas barrage in any sort of a show, and this was bigger -than the wildest imagination could conceive. I won<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span>dered, -while giving him instructions, whether I should -ever see him again. I never did. He was taken prisoner, -and the signallers too.</p> - -<p>They went out into the fog while the servants lit the -fire and bustled about, getting us an early breakfast. -The Anti-Aircraft discussed the advisability of withdrawing -immediately or waiting to see what the barrage would -do. They waited till about 9 a.m. and then got out. -The Scots Captain and I wished them luck and looked at -each other silently and refilled pipes.</p> - -<p>There was a hint of sun behind the fog now, but -visibility only carried about two hundred yards. The -Guns reported that the barrage was coming towards -them. The Orderly Officer had been down and found -all things in readiness for any emergency. None of the -O.P.’s answered. Somewhere in that mist they were -dodging the barrage while we sat and waited, an eye on -the weather, an eye on the time, an ear always for the -buzz of the telephone; box respirators in the alert position, -the guns laid on the S.O.S. loaded with H.E.</p> - -<p>Does one think in times like that? I don’t know. -Only little details stand out in the brain like odd features -revealed in a flash of lightning during a storm. I remember -putting a drawing-pin into the corner of a -Kirchner picture and seeing the headlines of the next -day’s paper at home; I saw the faces of my people as -they read them. I saw them just coming down to -breakfast at the precise moment that I was sticking in -the drawing-pin, the door open on to the lawn—in -America, still asleep, as they were six hours behind, or -possibly only just turning in after a dance—in Etaples, -where perhaps the noise had already reached one of them. -When would they hear from me again? They would be -worrying horribly.</p> - -<p>The ’phone buzzed. “Brigade, sir!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span></p> - -<p>“Right. Yes?—S.O.S. 3000! <em>Three</em> thousand?—Right! -Battery! Drop to <em>three</em> thousand, S.O.S.—Three -rounds per gun per minute till I come down.”</p> - -<p>It was 10 a.m. and that was the range, when according -to plan it shouldn’t have come till 10 p.m. at double the -range.</p> - -<p>The subalterns were already out, running down to the -guns as I snatched the map and followed after, to hear -the battery open fire as I left the hut.</p> - -<p>The greater significance of this S.O.S. came to me before -I’d left the hut. At that range our shells would fall -just the other side of Essigny, still a vague blur in the -mist. What had happened to the infantry three thousand -yards beyond? What had become of the gunners? -There were no signs of our people coming back. The -country, as far as one could see in the fog, was empty save -for the bursting shells which were spread about between -Essigny and the railway, with the battery in the barrage. -The noise was still so universal that it was impossible to -know if any of our guns farther forward were still in action. -They couldn’t be if we were firing. It meant—God knew -what it meant!</p> - -<p>The subalterns went on to the guns while I stopped in -the control dug into the side of the railway and shed my -coat, sweating after the quarter-mile run. Five-nines -and pip-squeaks were bursting on the railway and it -seemed as if they had the battery taped.</p> - -<p>To get off my coat was a matter of less than half a -minute. It had only just dropped to the ground when -the signaller held me the instrument. “Will you speak -here, sir?”</p> - -<p>I took it.</p> - -<p>“Is that the Major?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Will you come, sir? Mr. B.’s badly wounded.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span> -Sergeant —— has lost an eye and there’s no one here -to——”</p> - -<p>“Go on firing. I’m coming over.” Badly wounded?</p> - -<p>I leaped up out of the dugout and ran. There was -no shell with my name on it that morning. The ground -went up a yard away from me half a dozen times but I -reached the guns and dived under the camouflage into -the trench almost on top of poor old B. who was lying -motionless, one arm almost smashed off, blood everywhere. -It was he who had said “She’s off!” and lit the candle -with a laugh. A man was endeavouring to tie him up. -Behind him knelt a sergeant with his face in his hands. -As I jumped down into the trench he raised it. “I’m -blind, sir,” he said. His right eye was shot away.</p> - -<p>The others were all right. I went from gun to gun and -found them firing steadily.</p> - -<p>Somehow or other we tied up the subaltern and carried -him along the narrow trench. Mercifully he was unconscious. -We got him out at last on to a stretcher. -Four men went away with it, the sergeant stumbling -after. The subaltern was dead before they reached a -dressing station. He left a wife and child.</p> - -<p>There were only the junior subaltern and myself left -to fight the battery. He was twenty last birthday and -young at that. If I stopped anything there was only that -boy between King and country and the Hun. Is <em>any</em> -reward big enough for these babes of ours?</p> - -<p>Perhaps God will give it. King and country won’t.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Vague forms of moving groups of men could be seen -through my glasses in the neighbourhood of Essigny -impossible to say whether British or German. The sun -was struggling to pierce the mist. The distance was about -a thousand yards. We were still firing on the S.O.S. -range, as ordered.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span></p> - -<p>I became aware of a strange subaltern grinning up at -me out of the trench.</p> - -<p>“Where the devil do you spring from?” said I.</p> - -<p>He climbed out and joined me on the top, hatless, -minus box respirator, cheery. Another babe.</p> - -<p>“I’m from the six-inch section straight in front, sir,” -he said. “They’ve captured my guns. Do you think -you could take ’em on?”</p> - -<p>They <em>were</em> Germans, then, those moving forms!</p> - -<p>I swept the glasses round once more anxiously. There -were six, seven, ten, creeping up the railway embankment -on the left flank <em>behind</em> the battery. Where the hell -were our infantry reinforcements? My Babe sent the -news back to Brigade while I got a gun on top and fired -at the six-inch battery in front over open sights at a -thousand yards with fuse 4. The Hun was there all right. -He ran at the third round. Then we switched and took -on individual groups as they appeared.</p> - -<p>The party on the railway worried me. It was improper -to have the enemy behind one’s battery. So I got on the -’phone to the Scots Captain and explained the position. -It looked as if the Hun had established himself with -machine guns in the signal box. The skipper took it -on over open sights with H.E. At the fourth round there -was only a settling mass of red brick dust. I felt easier -in my mind and continued sniping groups of two or three -with an added zest and most satisfactory results. The -Hun didn’t seem to want to advance beyond Essigny. -He hung about the outskirts and, when he showed, -ran, crouching low. From his appearance it looked -as if he had come to stay. Each of them had a complete -pack strapped on to his back with a new pair of boots -attached. The rest of the battery dropped their range -and searched and swept from the pits. The Skipper -joined in the sniping.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span></p> - -<p>A half platoon of infantry came marching at a snail’s -pace along the railway behind me,—on the top of course, -in full view! I wanted to make sure of those Huns on -the embankment, so I whistled to the infantry officer and -began semaphoring, a method of signalling at which I -rather fancied myself.</p> - -<p>It seemed to frighten that infantry lad. At the first -waggle he stopped his men and turned them about. In -twenty leaps I covered the hundred yards or so between -us, screaming curses, and brought him to a halt. He -wore glasses and looked like a sucking curate. He may -have been in private life but I gave tongue at high -pressure, regardless of his feelings, and it was a very red-faced -platoon that presently doubled along the other side -of the railway under cover towards the embankment, -thirsting for blood, mine for choice, Fritz’s from <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">embarras -de richesse</i>.</p> - -<p>I returned to my sniping, feeling distinctly better, -as the little groups were no longer advancing but going -back,—and there was that ferocious platoon chivvying -them in the rear!</p> - -<p>Things might have been much worse.</p> - -<p>A megaphone’s all right, but scream down it for three -hours and see what happens to your voice. Mine -sounded much like a key in a rusty lock. Hunger too -was no longer to be denied about three o’clock in the -afternoon after breakfast at cock-crow. The six-inch -subaltern had tried unsuccessfully to get back to his -guns. The Hun, however, had established a machine-gun -well the other side of them and approach single-handed -was useless. Lord knew where his gunners were! -Prisoners, probably. So he returned and asked if I had -any use for him. Stout lads of his kidney are not met -with every day. So I sent him up the hill to get food and -a box respirator. He returned, grinning more cheerily<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span> -than before, so I left him and the Babe to fight the good -fight and went to get a fresh point of view from the tree -O.P. up the hill. They seemed to be doing useful work -between them by the time I got up the tree, so I left them -to it and went to the mess to get some food.</p> - -<p>It seemed curiously empty. Kits, half-packed, lay -about the floor. The breakfast plates, dirty, were still -on the table. I called each servant by name. No -answer.</p> - -<p>The other battery’s servants were round the corner. -I interviewed them. They had seen nothing of my -people for hours. They thought that they had gone -down to the wagon line. In other words it meant that -while we were stopping the Hun, with poor old B. killed -and the sergeant with an eye blown out, those dirty -servants had run away!</p> - -<p>It came over me with something of a shock that if I -put them under arrest the inevitable sentence was -death.</p> - -<p>I had already sent one officer and three men to their -death, or worse, at the O.P. and seen another killed at -the guns. Now these four! Who would be a Battery -Commander?</p> - -<p>However, food was the immediate requirement. The -other battery helped and I fed largely, eased my raw -throat with pints of water and drank a tot of rum for luck. -Those precious servants had left my even more precious -cigars unpacked. If the Hun was coming I’d see him -elsewhere before he got those smokes. So I lit one and -filled my pockets with the rest, and laden with food and a -flask of rum went back to the guns and fed my subaltern. -The men’s rations had been carried over from the cook -house.</p> - -<p>A few more infantry went forward on the right and -started a bit of a counter-attack but there was no weight<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span> -behind it. They did retake Essigny or some parts of it, -but as the light began to fail they came back again, and -the Hun infantry hung about the village without advancing.</p> - -<p>With the darkness we received the order to retire to -Flavy as soon as the teams came up. The barrage had -long since dropped to desultory fire on the Hun side, -and as we were running short of ammunition, we only -fired as targets offered. On returning up the hill I found -it strongly held by our infantry, some of whom incidentally -stole my trench coat.</p> - -<p>The question of teams became an acute worry as time -went on. The Hun wasn’t too remote and one never -knew what he might be up to in the dark, and our infantry -were no use because the line they held was a quarter of a -mile behind the nearest battery. The skipper and I sent -off men on bicycles to hurry the teams, while the gunners -got the guns out of the pits in the darkness ready to hook -in and move off at a moment’s notice.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile we ate again and smoked and summoned -what patience we could, endeavouring to snatch a sleep. -It wasn’t till ten o’clock that at last we heard wheels,—the -gun limbers, cooks’ cart and a G.S. wagon came up -with the wagon line officer who had brought the servants -back with him. There was no time to deal with them. -The officer went down to hook in to the guns and I saw to -the secret papers, money, maps and office documents -which are the curse of all batteries. The whole business -of packing up had to be done in pitch darkness, in all the -confusion of the other battery’s vehicles and personnel, -to say nothing of the infantry. We didn’t bother about -the Hun. Silence reigned.</p> - -<p>It was not till midnight that the last of the guns was -up and the last of the vehicles packed, and then I heard -the voice of the Babe calling for me. He crashed up on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span> -a white horse in the darkness and said with a sob, -“Dickie’s wounded!”</p> - -<p>“Dickie” was the wagon line subaltern, a second -lieutenant who had got the D.S.O. in the Cambrai show, -one of the stoutest lads God ever made. In my mind I -had been relying on him enormously for the morrow.</p> - -<p>“Is he bad? Where is he?”</p> - -<p>“Just behind, sir,” said the Babe. “I don’t know how -bad it is.”</p> - -<p>Dickie came up on a horse. There was blood down -the horse’s shoulder and he went lame slightly.</p> - -<p>“Where is it, Dickie, Old Thing?”</p> - -<p>His voice came from between his teeth. “A shrapnel -bullet through the foot,” he said. “I’m damn sorry -Major.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s have a look.” I flashed a torch on it. The -spur was bent into his foot just behind the ankle, broken, -the point sticking in.</p> - -<p>There was no doctor, no stretcher, no means of getting -the spur out.</p> - -<p>“Can you stick it? The wagon is piled mountains -high. I can’t shove you on that. Do you think you can -hang on till we get down to Flavy?”</p> - -<p>“I think so,” he said.</p> - -<p>He had a drink of rum and lit a cigarette and the -battery got mounted. I kept him in front with me -and we moved off in the dark, the poor little horse, -wounded also, stumbling now and again. What that boy -must have suffered I don’t know. It was nearly three -hours later before the battery got near its destination -and all that time he remained in the saddle, lighting -one cigarette from another and telling me he was “damn -sorry.” I expected him to faint every moment and stood -by to grab him as he fell.</p> - -<p>At last we came to a crossroads at which the battery<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span> -had to turn off to reach the rendezvous. There was a -large casualty clearing station about half a mile on.</p> - -<p>So I left the battery in charge of the Babe and took -Dickie straight on, praying for a sight of lights.</p> - -<p>The place was in utter darkness when we reached it, -the hut doors yawning open, everything empty. They -had cleared out!</p> - -<p>Then round a corner I heard a motor lorry starting -up. They told me they were going to Ham. There was -a hospital there.</p> - -<p>So Dickie slid off his horse and was lifted into the lorry.</p> - -<p>As my trench coat had been stolen by one of the -infantry he insisted that I should take his British warm, -as within an hour he would be between blankets in a -hospital.</p> - -<p>I accepted his offer gladly,—little knowing that I was -not to take it off again for another nine days or so!</p> - -<p>Dickie went off and I mounted my horse again, cursing -the war and everything to do with it, and led his horse, -dead lame now, in search of the battery. It took me an -hour to find them, parked in a field, the gunners rolled -up in blankets under the wagons.</p> - -<p>The 21st of March was over. The battery had lost -three subalterns, a sergeant, three signallers and a -gunner.</p> - -<p>France lost her temper with England.</p> - -<p>Germany, if she only knew it, had lost the war.</p> - - -<h3>23</h3> - -<p>The new line of defence was to be the canal at Flavy.</p> - -<p>After two hours’ sleep in boots, spurs and Dickie’s -coat, a servant called me with tea and bacon. Washing -or shaving was out of the question. The horses<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span> -were waiting—poor brutes, how they were worked those -days—and the Quartermaster-sergeant and I got mounted -and rode away into the unknown dark, flickering a torch -from time to time on to the map and finding our way by it.</p> - -<p>With the Captain on leave, one subaltern dead, another -left behind in Germany, a third wounded, one good sergeant -and my corporal signaller away on a course, it -didn’t look like a very hopeful start for fighting an indefinite -rearguard action.</p> - -<p>I was left with the Babe, keen but not very knowledgeable, -and one other subaltern who became a stand-by. -They two were coming with me and the guns; the -sergeant-major would be left with the wagon line. Furthermore -I had absolutely no voice and couldn’t speak -above a whisper.</p> - -<p>Of what had happened on the flanks of our army and -along the whole front, there was absolutely no news. -The Divisional infantry and gunners were mostly killed -or captured in the mist. We never saw anything of them -again but heard amazing tales of German officers walking -into the backs of batteries in the fog and saying, “Will -you cease fire, please? You are my prisoners,” as polite -as you please.</p> - -<p>What infantry were holding the canal, I don’t know,—presumably -those who had held our hilltop overnight. -All we knew was that our immediate job was to meet the -Colonel in Flavy and get a position in the Riez de Cugny -just behind and pump shells into the Germans as they -advanced on the canal. The Babe and the Stand-by -were to bring the battery to a given rendezvous. Meanwhile -the Colonel and all of us foregathered in a wrecked -cottage in Flavy and studied maps while the Colonel -swallowed a hasty cup of tea. He was ill and a few hours -later was sent back in an ambulance.</p> - -<p>By eight o’clock we had found positions and the guns<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span> -were coming in. Camouflage was elementary. Gun -platforms were made from the nearest cottage wall or -barn doors. Ammunition was dumped beside the gun -wheels.</p> - -<p>While that was being done I climbed trees for an O.P., -finding one eventually in a farm on a hill, but the mist hid -everything. The Huns seemed to get their guns up as if -by magic and already shells were smashing what remained -of Flavy. It was impossible to shoot the guns in properly. -The bursts couldn’t be seen so the line was checked and -rechecked with compass and director, and we opened fire -on targets ordered by Brigade, shooting off the map.</p> - -<p>Riez de Cugny was a collection of cottages with a street -running through and woods and fields all around and -behind. The inhabitants had fled in what they stood up -in. We found a chicken clucking hungrily in a coop and -had it for dinner that night. We installed ourselves in a -cottage and made new fighting maps, the Scots Captain and -I—his battery was shooting not a hundred yards from -mine—and had the stove lit with anything burnable that -came handy, old chairs, meat rolling boards, boxes, -drawers and shelves.</p> - -<p>It seemed that the attack on the canal was more or less -half-hearted. The bridges had been blown up by our -sappers and the machine gunners made it too hot for the -Hun. Meanwhile we had the gun limbers hidden near -the guns, the teams harnessed. The wagon line itself -was a couple of miles away, endeavouring to collect rations, -forage and ammunition. The sergeant-major was a -wonder. During the whole show he functioned alone and -never at any time did he fail to come up to the scratch.</p> - -<p>Even when I lost the wagon line for two days I knew -that he was all right and would bring them through safely. -Meanwhile aeroplanes soared over and drew smoke trails -above the battery and after a significant pause five-nines<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span> -began searching the fields for us. Our own planes didn’t -seem to exist and the Hun explored at will. On the whole -things seemed pretty quiet. Communication was maintained -all the time with Brigade; we were quietly getting -rid of a lot of ammunition on targets indicated by the -infantry and the five-nines weren’t near enough to worry -about. So the Scot and I went off in the afternoon and -reconnoitred a way back by a cross-country trail to the -wagon line,—a curious walk that, across sunny fields -where birds darted in and out of hedges in utter disregard -of nations which were stamping each other into the -earth only a few hedges away. Tiny buds were on the -trees, tingling in the warmth of the early sun. All nature -was beginning the new year of life while we fools in our -blind rage and folly dealt open-handedly with death, -heeding not the promise of spring in our veins, with its -colour and tenderness and infinite hope.</p> - -<p>Just a brief pause it was, like a fleecy cloud disappearing -from view, and then we were in the wagon lines, -soldiers again, in a tight position, with detail trickling -from our lips, and orders and arrangements. Dickie was -well on his way to England now, lucky Dickie! And yet -there was a fascination about it, an exhilaration that made -one “fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds’ -worth of distance run.” It was the real thing this, red -war in a moving battle, and it took all one’s brain to -compete with it. I wouldn’t have changed places with -Dickie. A “Blighty” wound was the last thing that -seemed desirable. Let us see the show through to the -bitter end.</p> - -<p>We got back to the guns and the cottage and in front -of us Flavy was a perfect hell. Fires in all directions and -shells spreading all round and over the area. Our wagons -returned, having snatched ammunition from blazing -dumps, like a new version of snapdragon, and with the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span> -falling darkness the sky flared up and down fitfully. That -night we dished out rum all round to the gunners and -turned half of them in to sleep beside the guns while the -other half fought. Have you ever considered sleeping -beside a firing eighteen-pounder? It’s easy—when -you’ve fought it and carried shells for forty-eight hours.</p> - -<p>We had dinner off that neglected fowl, both batteries -in the cottage, and made absurd remarks about the -photos left on the mantelpiece and fell asleep, laughing, -on our chairs or two of us on a bed, booted and spurred -still, taking turns to wake and dash out and fire a target, -called by the liaison officer down there with the infantry, -while the others never moved when the salvos rocked -the cottage to its foundations, or five-nines dropped in -the garden and splashed it into the street.</p> - -<p>The Hun hadn’t crossed the canal. That was what -mattered. The breakfast was very nearly cooked next -morning about seven and we were shooting gun fire -and salvos when the order came over the ’phone to retire -immediately and rendezvous on the Villeselve-Beaumont -crossroads. Fritz was over the canal in the fog. -The Babe dashed round to warn the teams to hook in. -They had been in cottages about two hundred yards from -the guns, the horses harnessed but on a line, the drivers -sleeping with them. The Stand-by doubled over to the -guns and speeded up the rate of fire. No good leaving -ammunition behind. The signallers disconnected telephones -and packed them on gun limbers. Both gunners -and drivers had breakfasted. We ate ours half cooked -in our fingers while they were packing up.</p> - -<p>The mist was like a wet blanket. At twenty yards -objects lost their shape and within about twenty minutes -of receiving the order the battery was ready. We had -the other battery licked by five good minutes and pulled -out of the field on to the road at a good walk. In the fog<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span> -the whole country looked different. Direction was -impossible. One prayed that one wasn’t marching -towards Germany—and went on. At last I recognised -the cross-country track with a sigh of relief. It was -stiff going for the horses, but they did it and cut off a -mile of road echoing with shouts and traffic in confusion, -coming out eventually on an empty main road. We -thought we were well ahead but all the wagon lines were -well in front of us. We caught up their tail-ends just -as we reached Beaumont, which was blocked with every -kind of infantry, artillery and R.A.M.C. transport, mules, -horses and motors. However there was a Headquarters -in Beaumont with Generals buzzing about and signallers, -so I told the Stand-by to take the battery along with -the traffic to the crossroads and wait for me.</p> - -<p>Our own General was in that room. I cleaved a -passage to him and asked for orders. He told me that -it was reported that the Hun was in Ham—right round -our left flank. I was, therefore, to get into position at -the crossroads and “Cover Ham.”</p> - -<p>“Am I to open fire, sir?”</p> - -<p>“No. Not till you see the enemy.”</p> - -<p>I’d had enough of “seeing the enemy” on the first -day. It seemed to me that if the Hun was in Ham -the whole of our little world was bound to be captured. -There wasn’t any time to throw away, so I leaped on to -my horse and cantered after the battery followed by the -groom. At the crossroads the block was double and -treble while an officer yelled disentangling orders and -pushed horses in the nose.</p> - -<p>The map showed Ham to be due north of the crossroads. -There proved to be an open field, turfed just -off the road with a dozen young trees planted at intervals. -What lay between them and Ham it was impossible to -guess. The map looked all right. So I claimed the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span> -traffic officer’s attention, explained that a battery of -guns was coming into action just the other side and -somehow squeezed through, while the other vehicles -waited. We dropped into action under the trees. The -teams scattered about a hundred yards to a flank and we -laid the line due north.</p> - -<p>At that moment a Staff subaltern came up at the -canter. “The General says that the Hun is pretty -near, sir. Will you send out an officer’s patrol?”</p> - -<p>He disappeared again, while I collected the Stand-by, -a man of considerable stomach.</p> - -<p>The orders were simply, “Get hold of servants, cooks, -spare signallers and clerks. Arm them with rifles and -go off straight into the fog. Spread out and if you meet -a Hun fire a salvo and double back immediately to a -flank.”</p> - -<p>While that was being done the Babe went round -and had a dozen shells set at fuse 4 at each gun. It -gives a lovely burst at a thousand yards. The Stand-by -and his little army went silently forth. The corner -house seemed to indicate an O.P. I took a signaller -with me and we climbed upstairs into the roof, knocked -a hole in the tiles and installed a telephone which eventually -connected with Brigade.</p> - -<p>I began to get the fidgets about the Stand-by. This -cursed fog was too much of a good thing. It looked as -if the God the Huns talked so much about was distinctly -on their side. However, after an agonising wait, with an -ear strained for the salvo of rifle fire, the fog rolled up. -Like dots in the distant fields I saw the Stand-by with -two rows of infantry farther on. The Stand-by saw them -too and turned about. More than that, through glasses -I could see troops and horse transports advancing quickly -over the skyline in every direction. Columns of them, -Germans, far out of range of an eighteen-pounder. As<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span> -near as I could I located them on the map and worried -Brigade for the next hour with pin-points.</p> - -<p>Ham lay straight in front of my guns. The Germans -were still shelling it and several waves of our own infantry -were lying in position in series waiting for their -infantry to emerge round the town. It was good to see -our men out there, although the line looked dangerously -bulgy.</p> - -<p>After a bit I climbed down from the roof. The road -had cleared of traffic and there was a subaltern of the -Scot’s battery at the corner with the neck of a bottle -of champagne sticking out of his pocket. A thoughtful -fellow.</p> - -<p>So was I! A little later one of the Brigade Headquarters -officers came staggering along on a horse, done -to the world, staying in the saddle more by the grace -of God than his own efforts. Poor old thing, he was -all in, mentally and physically. We talked for a while -but that didn’t improve matters and then I remembered -that bottle of fizz. In the name of humanity and necessity -I commandeered it from the reluctant subaltern and -handed it up to the man in the saddle. Most of it went -down his unshaven chin and inside his collar, but it did -the trick all right.</p> - -<p>What was left was mine by right of conquest, and -I lapped it down, a good half bottle of it. There were -dry biscuits forthcoming too, just as if one were in town, -and I was able to cap it with a fat cigar. Happy days!</p> - -<p>Then the Scot arrived upon his stout little mare followed -by his battery, which came into position on the -same crossroads a hundred yards away, shooting at right -angles to me, due east, back into Cugny from where we -had come. Infantry were going up, rumours of cavalry -were about and the bloodstained Tommies who came back -were not very numerous. There seemed to be a number<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span> -of batteries tucked away behind all the hedges and things -looked much more hopeful. Apart from giving pin-points -of the far distant enemy there was nothing to be -done except talk to all and sundry and try and get news. -Some French machine-gunner officers appeared who told -us that the entire French army was moving by forced -marches to assist in stopping the advance and were due -to arrive about six o’clock that night. They were late.</p> - -<p>Then too, we found that the cellar of the O.P. house -was stored with apples. There weren’t many left by -the time the two batteries had helped themselves. As -many horses as the farmyard would hold were cleared -off the position and put under cover. The remainder -and the guns were forced to remain slap in the open. -It was bad luck because the Hun sent out about a dozen -low-flying machines that morning and instead of going -over Ham, which would have been far more interesting -for them, they spotted us and opened with machine -guns.</p> - -<p>The feeling of helplessness with a dozen great roaring -machines spitting at you just overhead is perfectly exasperating. -You can’t cock an eighteen-pounder up like -an Archie and have a bang at them, and usually, as -happened then, your own machine gun jams. It was -a comic twenty minutes but trying for the nerves. The -gunners dived under the gun shields and fired rifles -through the wheels. The drivers stood very close to the -horses and hoped for the best. The signallers struggled -with the machine gun, uttering a stream of blasphemies. -And all the time the Hun circled and emptied drum -after drum from a height of about a hundred feet. I -joined in the barrage with my revolver.</p> - -<p>Two horses went down with a crash and a scream. -A man toppled over in the road. Bullets spat on the -ground like little puffs of smoke. Two went through<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span> -my map, spread out at my feet, and at last away they -roared,—presumably under the impression that they -had put us out of action. The horses were dead!</p> - -<p>The man was my servant, who had run away on the -first morning. Three through his left leg. Better -than being shot at dawn, anyhow.</p> - -<p>Curiously enough, the mess cook had already become -a casualty. He was another of the faint-hearted and -had fallen under a wagon in the fog and been run over. -A rib or two went. Poetic justice was rampant that -morning. It left me two to deal with. I decided to let -it go for the time and see if fate would relieve me of the -job. As a matter of fact it didn’t, and many many -lifetimes later, when we were out of action, I had the -two of them up in a room with a ceiling and a cloth on -the table, and the Babe stood at my elbow as a witness.</p> - -<p>One was a man of about thirty-eight or forty, a long-nosed, -lazy, unintelligent blighter. The other was a -short, scrubby, Dago-looking, bullet-headed person,—poor -devils, both cannon fodder. My face may have -looked like a bit of rock but I was immensely sorry for -them. Given a moment of awful panic, what kind of -intelligence could they summon to fight it, what sort -of breeding and heredity was at the back of them? -None. You might as well shoot two horses for stampeding -at a bursting shell. They were gripped by blind -fear and ran for it. They didn’t want to. It was not -a reasoned thing. It was a momentary lack of control.</p> - -<p>But to shoot them for it was absurd, a ridiculous -parody of justice. Supposing I had lost my nerve and -cleared out? The chances are that being a senior officer -I should have been sent down to the base as R.T.O. -or M.L.O. and after a few months received the D.S.O. -It has been done. They, as Tommies, had only earned -the right to a firing party.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span></p> - -<p>It seemed to me, therefore, that my job was to prevent -any recurrence, so in order to uproot the fear of death -I implanted the fear of God in them both. Sweat and -tears ran down their faces at the end of the interview,—and -I made the Dago my servant forthwith.</p> - -<p>He has redeemed himself many times under worse -shell fire than that barrage of the 21st of March.</p> - - -<h3>24</h3> - -<p>Headquarters gave me another subaltern during -the day. He had been with the battery in the early -days at Armentières but for various reasons had drifted -to another unit.</p> - -<p>He joined us just before the order was received to -take up another position farther back and lay out a line -on the Riez de Cugny. The enemy was apparently -coming on. So we hooked in once more about 4.30 in -the afternoon and trekked up the road on to a ridge -behind which was the village of Villeselve. The Hun -seemed to have taken a dislike to it. Five-nines went -winging over our heads as we came into action and bumped -into the village about two hundred yards behind. The -Babe rode back to Brigade to report and ask for orders. -There were no means of knowing where our infantry were -except through Brigade who were at infantry headquarters, -and obviously one couldn’t shoot blind.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the Dago servant collected bread and -bully and a Tommy’s water bottle, which stank of rum -but contained only water, and the Stand-by, the new -lad and myself sat under a tree watching the Hun barrage -splash in all directions and made a meal.</p> - -<p>The Babe didn’t return as soon as he ought to have<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span> -done. With all that shooting going on I was a little -uneasy. So the new lad was told to go to Brigade and -collect both the orders and the Babe.</p> - -<p>It was getting dark when the Scot brought up his -battery and wheeled them to drop into action beside us. -As he was doing so the Babe and the new lad returned -together. Their news was uncomforting. Brigade Headquarters -had retired into the blue, and the other two -batteries which had been on the road had also gone. -There was no one there at all.</p> - -<p>So the Scotsman and I held a council of war, while -the Stand-by went off on a horse to reconnoitre a passable -way round the shelled village. The light had gone and -the sky behind us was a red glare. The village was -ablaze and at the back of it on the next ridge some -aeroplane hangars were like a beacon to guide storm-tossed -mariners. The crackling could be heard for -miles.</p> - -<p>There was no one to give us the line or a target, no -means of finding where the headquarters were or any -likelihood of their finding us as we hadn’t been able to -report our position. We were useless.</p> - -<p>At the back of my brain was the word Guivry. I -had heard the Adjutant mention it as a rendezvous. -On the map it seemed miles away, but there was always -the chance of meeting some one on the way who would -know. So while the other people snatched a mouthful -of ration biscuit we brought the teams up and hooked -in.</p> - -<p>The Scotsman led as his battery was nearest the -track that the Stand-by reported passable. The only -light was from the burning hangars and we ran into mud -that was axle deep. Incidentally we ran into the barrage. -A subaltern of the other battery was blown off his feet -and deposited in a sitting position in a mud hole. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span> -was fished out, spluttering oaths, and both batteries -went off at a trot that would have made an inspecting -General scream unintelligible things in Hindustani. -Mercifully they don’t inspect when one is trying to hurry -out of a barrage, so we let it rip up the slope until we had -got past the hangars in whose glow we showed up most -uncomfortably on the top of the ridge. As soon as we -had got into darkness again we halted and took stock -of ourselves. No one was hurt or missing, but all the -dismounted men were puffing and using their sleeves -to wipe the sweat off their faces. I was one.</p> - -<p>It was from this point that the second phase of the -retreat began. It was like nothing so much as being -in that half dead condition on the operating table when -the fumes of ether fill one’s brain with phantasies and -flapping birds and wild flights of imagination just before -one loses consciousness, knowing at the time that one -hasn’t quite “gone.” Overfatigue, strain, lack of food -and above all was a craving to stop everything, lie down, -and sleep and sleep and sleep. One’s eyes were glued -open and burnt in the back of one’s head, the skin of -one’s face and hands tightened and stretched, one’s feet -were long since past shape and feeling; wherever the -clothes touched one’s body they irritated—not that -one could realize each individual ache then. The effect -was one ceaseless dolour from which the brain flung -out and away into the no man’s land of semi-consciousness, -full of thunder and vast fires, only to swing back -at intervals to find the body marching, marching, endlessly, -staggering almost drunkenly, along the interminable -roads of France in the rain and cold. Hour after -hour one rode side by side with the Scot, silent, swaying -in the saddle, staring hollow-eyed into the dark ahead, -or sliding with a stiff crash to the ground and blundering -blindly from rut to rut, every muscle bruised and torn.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span> -Unconsciously every hour one gave a ten-minute halt. -The horses stood drooping, the men lay down on the -side of the road, motionless bundles like the dead, or -sprawled over the vehicles, limp and exhausted, not -smoking, not talking, content to remain inert until the -next word of command should set them in motion again; -wonderful in their recognition of authority, their instant -unquestioning obedience, their power of summoning -back all their faculties for just one more effort, and then -another after that.</p> - -<p>The country was unknown. Torches had given out -their last flicker. Road junctions were unmarked. -We struck matches and wrestled with maps that refused -to fold in the right place, and every time Guivry seemed -a million miles away. The noise of shelling dropped -gradually behind until it became a mere soothing lullaby -like the breaking of waves upon a pebble beach while -we rolled with crunching wheels down the long incline -into Buchoire, a village of the dead, without lights, doors -creaking open at the touch of the wind.</p> - -<p>We halted there to water the horses and give them what -forage could be scraped together. The Scot and I rode -on alone to Guivry, another seven kilometres. As we -neared it so the sound of guns increased again as though -a military band had died away round one corner and -came presently marching back round another, playing -the same air, getting louder as it came.</p> - -<p>In a small room lit by oil lamps, Generals and Staffs -were bending over huge maps scored heavily with red -and blue pencils. Telephones buzzed and half conversations -with tiny voices coming from back there kept all -the others silent. Orderlies came in motor overalls -with all the dust of France over them.</p> - -<p>They gave us food,—whisky, bully and bread, apples -with which we filled our pockets. Of our Corps they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span> -knew nothing, but after much telephoning they -“thought” we should find them at Château Beines.</p> - -<p>The Scot and I looked at one another. Château -Beines was ten minutes from the burning hangars. -We had passed it on our way down empty, silent, hours -ago, in another life. Would the horses get us back up -that interminable climb? Who should we find when -we got there—our people or Germans? We rode back -to Buchoire and distributed apples to the Babe, the -Stand-by and the others and broke it to them that we -had to go back on the chance of finding our brigade. -The horses had been watered but not fed.</p> - -<p>We turned about and caught up French transport -which had blocked the road in both directions. We -straightened them out, a wagon at a time, after endless -wagging of hands and tongues and finally got to Château -Beines to find a French Headquarters installed there -who knew nothing about our brigade. There were English -artillery in the farm a mile farther.</p> - -<p>We went there. The farm was a ruin wreathed in -fog, but from beneath the now smoking hangars a battery -of ours was spitting shells into the night. Headquarters -was somewhere in the farm cellar. We followed up a -chink of light to its source and found a row of officers -lying on wooden beds of rabbit netting, a signaller squatting -on a reel of wire in the corner over a guttering candle, -the concrete roof dripping moisture upon them. It was -3 a.m.</p> - -<p>Orders were to come into action at once and open -fire on a certain main-road junction.</p> - -<p>The Scot and I went out and scoured ploughed fields -waist-deep in drifting mist, looking for a position, found -a belt of turf on the edge of a road and fetched the guns -up. Locating the position on the map, working out the -angle of the line of fire and the range with protractors<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span> -took us back to the cellar where those lucky devils who -were not commanding batteries were lying stertorous. -Horses and men sweated their heart’s blood in getting -the guns into position on the spongy ground and within -an hour the first ear-splitting cracks joined in the chorus -of screaming resistance put up by the other two batteries, -with gunners who lost their balance at the weight of a -shell and fell upon their faces, picking themselves up -without even an oath and loading up again in a stupor -by a process of sub-conscious reflex energy.</p> - -<p>What are the limits of human endurance? Are -there any? We had three more days and nights of it -and still those men went on.</p> - - -<h3>25</h3> - -<p>Sometime or other the Babe, the Stand-by and the -other lad got some tea down in the cellar and fell asleep -over their cups. Sometime or other I too got some tea, -closed my eyes and fell off the box on which I was sitting. -Sometime or other we got the order to cease fire and seek -covered positions for the day’s work. Time, as one -ordinarily recognizes it, had ceased. There was no night, -marked by rest, nor day divided off into duties and meals. -Time was all one, a blurry mixture of dark and cold; -light, which hurt one’s eyes, and sweat. Sleep and rest -were not. What was happening we did not know. It -might have been the end of the world and we shouldn’t -have known till we were in the next. There were just -guns to be fired at given points for ever and ever, always -and always, world with or without end, amen. Guns, -guns and nothing but guns, in front, behind, right and -left, narrowing down to those of mine which grew hot -and were sponged out and went on again and still<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span> -on, unhurriedly, remorselessly into the German advance, -and would go on long and long after I was dead.</p> - -<p>One’s mind refused to focus anything but angles -and ranges and ammunition supply. There was nothing -of importance in the world but those three things, whether -we moved on or stayed where we were, whether we walked -or whether we rode, whether we ate or whether we -starved. In a sort of detached fog one asked questions -and gave orders about food and forage and in the same -fog food eventually appeared while one stared at the map -and whispered another range which the Stand-by shouted -down the line of guns.</p> - -<p>With spades we cut a gap in a hedge which shut off -an orchard from the road. The ditch was filled with -stones and bricks from the farm. The horses took the -guns in one by one, and other gaps were cut in the front -hedge for the gun muzzles. Platforms were dug and -trail beds, and ammunition began to pile up beside each -gun as the sun came out and thinned the fog.</p> - -<p>A telephone line ran away across the fields and a new -voice came through the receiver, tickling one’s ear,—that -of an uncaptured Colonel of a captured brigade who -honoured us by taking command of our brigade. With -a shaven face and washed hands he had looked upon our -bearded chins and foul appearance and talked of the -condition of our horses.</p> - -<p>In front of the guns a long line of French machine -gunners had dug themselves in and we were on the top -of a high ridge. Below us the ground sloped immediately -away to a beautiful green valley which rose up again -to a feathery wood about to burst into green and ran -past it in undulations like the green rollers of the Atlantic. -Away in the distance were the great bulbous ever-watching -eyes of the enemy,—balloons, which as the sun came -up, advanced steadily, hypnotically, many of them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span> -strung out in a long line. Presently from the wood below -came trickling streams of men, like brown insects coming -from a dead horse. The sun glinted on their rifles. -Steadily they came, unhurriedly, plodding up to the ridge, -hundreds of them, heedless of the enemy barrage which -began climbing too in great hundred-yard jumps.</p> - -<p>“What news?” said I, as one trickle reached me. -It was led by a Colonel.</p> - -<p>He shook his head. “We’ve been relieved by the -French,” said he, not stopping.</p> - -<p>“Relieved? But God’s truth, isn’t there a war -on?”</p> - -<p>“Who the hell are you talking to?” He flung it -over his shoulder and his men followed him away.</p> - -<p>Somehow it didn’t seem credible. And yet there all -along the ridge and the valley was the entire British -infantry, or what looked like it, leisurely going back, -while the French machine gunners looked at them and -chattered. I got on the ’phone to Brigade about it. -The Colonel said, “Yes, I know.”</p> - -<p>We went on firing at long range. The teams were -just behind the guns, each one under an apple tree, -the drivers lying beside their horses. The planes which -came over didn’t see us. The other batteries were in -the open behind the crest tucked into folds of the ground, -all the wagon lines clinging to a farmhouse about a mile -back where the headquarters was. The Hun barrage -was quickly coming nearer.</p> - -<p>A troop of cavalry trotted down into it and took -cover under one end of the wood. They had only one -casualty. A shell struck a tree and brought it crashing -down on top of a horse and rider. The last of our infantry -had passed behind us and the wood was empty -again. The opposite ridge was unoccupied; glasses -showed no one in the country that stretched away on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span> -the left. Only the balloons seemed almost on top of -us. The cavalry left the wood and trotted over the -ridge in a long snake of half sections, and then the fringe -of the barrage reached us. It splashed into the orchard. -Drivers leaped to the horses’ heads. No man or animal -was touched. Again one heard it coming, instinctively -crouching at its shriek. Again it left us untouched as -with an inattentive eye I saw the cavalry come trotting -quietly back. It was followed by a chattering of the -French. The reason was obvious. Out of the wood -other streams came trickling, blue this time, in little -parties of four and five, momentarily increasing in number -and pace.</p> - -<p>The first lot reached the battery and said they were -the second line. The Boche was a “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">sale race, b’en zut -alors!</i>” and hitching their packs they passed on.</p> - -<p>The machine gunners began to get ready. The battery -began to look at me. The Stand-by gave them another -salvo for luck and then ordered ten rounds per gun to -be set at fuse 6—the edge of the wood was about fifteen -hundred.</p> - -<p>The next stream of poilus was hotter. They sweated -much all among the orchard and told me with a laugh -that the Boche would be here in five minutes. But -when I suggested that they should stay and see what -we could do together they shrugged their shoulders, -spat, said, “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">En route!</i>” and en routed.</p> - -<p>The gunners had finished setting the fuses and were -talking earnestly together. The machine gunners weren’t -showing much above ground. The barrage had passed -over to our rear.</p> - -<p>I called up the Colonel again and told him. He told -me I could drop the range to three thousand.</p> - -<p>The Stand-by passed the order. It got about as far -as the first gun and there died of inanition. The battery<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span> -was so busy talking about the expected arrival of the -Boche that orders faded into insignificance. The Stand-by -repeated the order. Again it was not passed. I -tried a string of curses but nothing more than a whisper -would leave my throat. The impotence of it was the -last straw. I whispered to the Stand-by to repeat word -for word what I said. He megaphoned his hands and -you could have heard him across the Channel,—a lovely -voice, a bull of Bashan, that rose above the crash of -shells and reached the last man at the other end of the -line of guns. What he repeated was totally unprintable. -If voice failed me, vocabulary hadn’t. I rose to heights -undreamed of by even the Tidworth sergeant-major.</p> - -<p>At the end of two minutes we began a series which -for smartness, jump, drive, passing and execution of -orders would have put a Salisbury depot battery into -the waste-paper basket. Never in my life have I seen -such gunnery as those fellows put up. Salvos went over -like one pistol shot. Six rounds battery fire one second -were like the ticking of a stop watch. Gun fire was like -the stoking of the fires of hell by demons on hot cinders.</p> - -<p>One forgot to be tired, one forgot to look out for -the Hun in the joy of that masterly performance, a -<span lang="it" xml:lang="it">fortissima cantata</span> on a six pipe organ of death and hate. -Five minutes, ten minutes? I don’t know, but the pile -of empty shell cases became a mountain behind each -gun.</p> - -<p>A signaller tugged at my arm and I went to the -’phone.</p> - -<p>“Retire immediately! Rendezvous at Buchoire!”</p> - -<p>I was still caught up with the glory of that shooting.</p> - -<p>“What the hell for?” said I. “I can hang on here -for ages yet.”</p> - -<p>“Retire immediately!” repeated the Colonel.</p> - -<p>I came to earth with a bang and began to apologize.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span> -Somehow it doesn’t do to talk like that to one’s Colonel -even in moments of spiritual exaltation.</p> - -<p>We ceased fire and packed up and got mounted and -hooked in like six bits of black ginger, but the trouble -was that we had to leave the comparative safety of our -orchard and go out into the barrage which was churning -up the fields the other side of the hedge. I collected -the Stand-by and gave him the plan of campaign. They -were to follow me in column of route at a trot, with twenty -yards between guns,—that is, at right angles to the -barrage, so as to form a smaller target. No man can -have failed to hear his voice but for some unknown reason -they failed to carry out the order. The leading gun -followed me over the ditch on to the field, shells bursting -on every side. About sixty yards across the field I looked -over my shoulder and saw that they were all out of the -orchard but wheeling to form line, broadside on to the -barrage.</p> - -<p>The leading gun, which the Stand-by took on, was the -only one that got safely away. The five others all stuck -with horses dead and men wounded, and still that barrage -dropped like hail.</p> - -<p>We cut out the dead horses and shot the badly wounded -ones and somehow managed a four-horse team for each -gun. The wounded who couldn’t walk were lifted on -to limbers and held there by the others, and the four-horse -teams nearly broke their hearts before we got the -guns off that devilish bit of ploughed land on to a road, -and after another twenty minutes had got out of the -shell fire. Three sergeants were wounded, a couple of -drivers and a gunner. The road was one solid mass of -moving troops, French and English, infantry, gunners -and transport. There was no means of going cross-country -with four-horse teams. One had to follow the -stream. Fortunately there were some R.A.M.C. people<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span> -with stretchers and there was a motor ambulance. Between -the two we got all our casualties bandaged and -away. The other batteries had been gone already -three quarters of an hour. There was no sign of them -anywhere.</p> - -<p>My own battery was scattered along a mile of traffic; -one gun here, another there, divided by field kitchens -and French mitrailleuse carts, marching infantry and -limbered G.S. wagons. Where the sergeant-major was -with the wagon line was beyond the bounds of conjecture. -One hoped to find him at the rendezvous at -Buchoire. There was nothing with us in the way of -rations or forage and we only had the limbers full of -ammunition. Fortunately the men had had a midday -ration issued in the orchard, and the horses had been -watered and fed during the morning. In the way of -personnel I had the Quartermaster-sergeant, and two -sergeants. The rest were bombardiers, gunners, and -drivers,—about three men per gun all told. The outlook -was not very optimistic.</p> - -<p>The view itself did not tend to lighten one’s depression. -We climbed a fairly steep slope which gave a view of the -country for miles on either side. The main roads and -every little crossroad as far as the eye could carry were -all massed with moving troops going back. It looked -like the Allied armies in full retreat, quite orderly but -none the less routed. Where would it end? From -rumours which ran about we were almost surrounded. -The only way out was south. We were inside a bottle -which we could not break, all aiming for the neck.</p> - -<p>And yet everywhere on that slope French infantry -had dug themselves in, each man in a little hole about -knee-deep with a tiny bank of mud in front of him, -separated from the next man by a few yards. They sat -and smoked in their holes, so like half-dug graves, waiting<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span> -for the enemy, watching us go back with a look in their -eyes that seemed to be of scorn. Now and again they -laughed. It was difficult to meet those quiet eyes without -a surge of rage and shame. How much longer were -we going to retreat? Where were our reinforcements? -Why had our infantry been “relieved” that morning? -Why weren’t we standing shoulder to shoulder with those -blue-clad poilus? What was the brain at the back of -it all? Who was giving the orders? Was this the -end of the war? Were we really beaten? Could it -be possible that somewhere there was not a line of defence -which we could take up and hold, hold for ever? -Surely with magnificent men like ours who fought till -they dropped and then picked themselves up and fought -again, surely something could be done to stop this appalling -<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">débâcle!</span></p> - - -<h3>26</h3> - -<p>The tide of traffic took us into Guiscard where we -were able to pull out of the stream one by one and collect -as a battery,—or at least the gun part of it. While -studying the map a mounted orderly came up and -saluted.</p> - -<p>“Are you the —— Brigade, sir?” he said.</p> - -<p>I said yes.</p> - -<p>“The orders are to rendezvous at Muiraucourt instead -of Buchoire.”</p> - -<p>To this day that man remains a mystery. The rest -of the brigade did rendezvous at Buchoire and fought -twice again that day. The Colonel never gave any order -about Muiraucourt and had never heard of the place. -Where the orderly came from, who he was, or how he -knew the number of the brigade are unsolved problems.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span> -I never saw him again. Having given the message he -disappeared into the stream of traffic, and I, finding -the new rendezvous to be only about three kilometres -away in a different direction to Buchoire and out of the -traffic road led on again at once.</p> - -<p>We passed French gunners of all calibres firing at -extreme range and came to Muiraucourt to find it absolutely -empty and silent. While the horses were -being watered and the wounded ones bandaged I scouted -on ahead and had the luck to find an A.S.C. officer with -forage for us and a possibility of rations if we waited an -hour. It was manna in the wilderness.</p> - -<p>We drew the forage and fed the starving horses. At -the end of the hour an A.S.C. sergeant rode in to say that -the ration wagons had been blown up.—We took up an -extra hole in our Sam Brownes. It appeared that he -had seen our headquarters and the other batteries marching -along the main road in the direction of Noyon, to -which place they were undoubtedly going.</p> - -<p>The Quartermaster whispered something about bread -and tea. So we withdrew from the village and halted -on a field just off the road and started a fire. The bread -ration was a snare and a delusion. It worked out at about -one slice per every other man. He confided this to me -sadly while the men were spread-eagled on the bank -at the roadside, enjoying all the anticipation of a full -stomach. We decided that it wasn’t a large enough -quantity to split up so I went over and put the position -to them, telling them that on arrival at Noyon we hoped -to find the brigade looking out for us with a meal for -everybody ready. Meanwhile there wasn’t enough to -go round. What about tossing for it?... The ayes -had it. They tossed as if they were going to a football -match, the winners sending up a cheer, and even the -losers sitting down again with a grin.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span></p> - -<p>I decided to ride on into Noyon and locate the brigade -and find out where to get rations. So I handed the -battery to the Stand-by to bring on when ready, left -him the Babe and the other lad, and took the Quartermaster -on with me.</p> - -<p>It was a nightmare of a ride through miles and miles -of empty villages and deserted country, blown-up bridges -like stricken giants blocking every way, not a vehicle -on the roads, no one in sight, the spirit of desertion -overhanging it all, with the light failing rapidly and Noyon -apparently as far off as ever. The horses were so done -that it was difficult to spur them out of a walk, we ourselves -so done that we could hardly raise the energy to -spur them. At last after hours of riding we came to -the main Roye-Noyon road but didn’t recognize it in -the dark and turned the wrong way, going at least half -an hour before we discovered our mistake! It was the -last straw.</p> - -<p>A thing that added to our anxiety was the sight of -big guns on caterpillars all coming away from the place -we were going to and as we got nearer the town the -roar of bursting shells seemed to be very near. One didn’t -quite know that streams of the enemy would not pour -over the crest at any minute. Deep in one’s brain a -vague anxiety formed. The whole country was so -empty, the bridges so well destroyed. Were we the -last—had we been cut off? Was the Hun between us -and Noyon? Suppose the battery were captured? -I began to wish that I hadn’t ridden on but had sent -the Stand-by in my place. For the first time since the -show began, a sense of utter loneliness overwhelmed -me, a bitter despair at the uselessness of individual effort -in this gigantic tragedy of apocalyptic destruction. Was -it a shadow of such loneliness as Christ knew upon the -Cross when He looked out upon a storm-riven world and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span> -cried, “My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?” -All the evil in the world was gathered here in shrieking -orgy, crushing one to such mental and physical tiredness -that death would only have been a welcome rest.</p> - -<p>Unaided I should not have regretted that way out, -God knows. But two voices came to me through the -night,—one from a little cottage among the pine trees in -England, the other calling across the Atlantic with the -mute notes of a violin.</p> - -<p>“Your men look to you,” they whispered. “<em>We</em> -look to you....”</p> - - -<h3>27</h3> - -<p>We came to Noyon!</p> - -<p>It was as though the town were a magnet which had -attracted all the small traffic from that empty countryside, -letting only the big guns on caterpillars escape. -The centre of the town, like a great octopus, has seven -roads which reach out in every direction. Each of -these was banked and double-banked with an interlocked -mass of guns and wagons. Here and there frantic -officers tried to extricate the tangle but for the most part -men sat silent and inert upon their horses and vehicles -beyond effort and beyond care.</p> - -<p>Army Headquarters told me that Noyon would begin -to be shelled in an hour’s time and gave me maps and -a chit to draw food from the station, but they had never -heard of the brigade and thought the Corps had been -wiped out. As I left, the new lad came up and reported -that the battery had halted on the outskirts of the town. -We went back to it and collected the limbers and tried -to take them with us to the station, with hearts beating -high at the thought of food. It was impossible, so we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span> -left them on the pavement and dodged single file between -wagon wheels and horses’ legs. After an hour’s -fighting every yard of the way we got to the station -to find a screaming mob of civilians carrying bundles, -treading on each other in their efforts to enter a train, -weeping, praying, cursing, out of all control.</p> - -<p>The R.S.O. had gone. There was no food.</p> - -<p>We fought our way back to Army Headquarters -where we learned that a bombardier with two wagons -of rations destined to feed stray units like us had gone -to Porquericourt, five kilometres out. If we found him -we could help ourselves. If we didn’t find him—a -charming smile, and a shrug of the shoulders.</p> - -<p>I decided to try the hotel where I had spent a night -with my brother only three weeks ago. Three weeks, -was it possible? I felt years older. The place was -bolted and barred and no amount of hammering or shouting -drew an answer. The thought of going back empty-handed -to my hungry battery was an agony. The chances -of finding that bombardier were about one in a million, -so small that he didn’t even represent a last hope. In -utter despair one called aloud upon Christ and started -to walk back. In a narrow unlit street we passed a black -doorway in which stood a soldier.</p> - -<p>“Can you give me a drink of water?” said I.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said he. “Come in, sir. This is the officers’ -club.”</p> - -<p>Was it luck? Or did Christ hear? You may think -what you like but I am convinced that it was Christ.</p> - -<p>We went in. In one room were sleeping officers -all over the floor. The next was full of dinner tables -uncleared, one electric light burning. It was long -after midnight. We helped ourselves to bits of bread -from each table and drank the leavings of milk which -had been served with the coffee. Then a waiter came.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span> -He said he would cook us some tea and try and find a -cold tongue or some ham. I told him that I had a -starving battery down the road and wanted more than -tea and ham. I wanted food in a sack, two sacks, everything -he could rake up, anything.</p> - -<p>He blinked at me through his glasses. “I’ll see -what I can do, sir,” he said and went away.</p> - -<p>We had our tea and tongue and he brought a huge -sack with loaves and tins of jam and bits of cheese and -biscuits and packets of cigarettes and tins of bully. -Furthermore he refused all payment except two francs -for what we had eaten.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, sir,” he said. “I spent three days -in a shell hole outside Wipers on one tin o’ bully.—That’s -the best I can do for you.”</p> - -<p>I wrung him by the hand and told him he was a brother -and a pal, and between us the lad and I shouldered the -sack and went out again, thanking God that at least we -had got something for the men to eat.</p> - -<p>On returning to the battery I found that they had -been joined by six wagons which had got cut off from -the sergeant-major’s lot and the entire wagon line of the -Scots Captain’s battery with two of his subalterns in -charge. They, too, were starving.</p> - -<p>The sack didn’t go very far. It only took a minute -or so before the lot was eaten. Then we started out, -now a column about a mile long, to find Porquericourt, -a tiny village some two kilometres off the main road, the -gunners sleeping as they walked, the drivers rocking in -the saddle, the horses stumbling along at a snail’s pace. -None of us had shaved or washed since the 21st. We were -a hollow-eyed, draggled mob, but we got there at last -to be challenged by sentries who guarded sleeping bits of -units who had dropped where they stood all over the -place. While my two units fixed up a wagon line I took<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span> -the Quartermaster with me and woke up every man -under a wagon or near one asking him if he were Bombardier -So and So,—the man with the food. How they -cursed me. It took me an hour to go the rounds and there -was no bombardier with food. The men received the news -without comment and dropped down beside the wagons. -The Babe had collected a wagon cover for us to sleep under -and spread it under a tree. The four of us lay on it -side by side and folded the end over ourselves. There -was a heavy dew. But my job wasn’t over. There -was to-morrow to be considered. I had given orders to -be ready to move off at six o’clock unless the Hun arrived -before that. It was then 3 a.m.</p> - -<p>The Army had told me that if our Corps was not -completely wiped out, their line of retreat was Buchoire, -Crissolles and so back in the direction of Lassigny. They -advised me to go to Crissolles. But one look at the map -convinced me that Crissolles would be German by six -o’clock in the morning. So I decided on Lagny by the -secondary road which went straight to it from Porquericourt. -If the brigade was not there, surely there would -be some fighting unit who would have heard of them, -or who might at least be able to spare us rations, or -tell us where we could get some. Fighting on scraps -of bread was all right but could not be prolonged indefinitely.</p> - -<p>At six o’clock we set out as a squadron of cavalry -with slung lances trotted like ghosts across the turf. -We had only been on the march five minutes when a -yell from the rear of the battery was passed quickly -up to me as I walked in the lead.</p> - -<p>“Halt! Action rear!”</p> - -<p>My heart stood still. Were the Germans streaming -up in the mist? Were we caught at last like rats in a -trap? It <em>couldn’t</em> be. It was some fool mistake. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span> -Babe was riding just behind me. I called him up. “Canter -back and find out who gave that order and bring -him here.—You, lead driver! Keep on walking till -I give you the order to do anything else.”</p> - -<p>We went on steadily. From moment to moment -nothing seemed to happen, no rifle or machine-gun fire.—The -Babe came back with a grin. “The order was -‘All correct in rear,’ sir.”</p> - -<p>Can you get the feeling of relief? We were not -prisoners or fighting to the last man with clubbed rifles -in that cold grey dawn on empty stomachs.</p> - -<p>I obeyed the natural instinct of all mothers who -see their child snatched from destruction,—to slap -the infant. “Find out the man who passed it up wrongly -and damn his soul to hell?”</p> - -<p>“Right, sir,” said the Babe cheerily, and went back. -Good Babe, he couldn’t damn even a mosquito properly!</p> - -<p>The road was the most ungodly track imaginable, -blocked here and there by 60-pounders coming into action. -But somehow the horses encompassed the impossible -and we halted in the lane outside the village at about -seven o’clock. The Stand-by remained in charge of the -battery while the Babe and I went across gardens to get -to the village square. There was an old man standing at -a door. He gazed at us motionless. I gave him <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bon -jour</i> and asked him for news of British troops, gunners. -Yes, the village was full. Would we care for some cider? -Wouldn’t we! He produced jugfuls of the most perfect -cider I’ve ever drunk and told us the story of his life. -He was a veteran of 1870 and wept all down himself -in the telling. We thanked him profusely, shook his -trembling hand and went out of his front door into the -main street.</p> - -<p>There were wagons with the brigade mark! I could -have wept with joy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span></p> - -<p>In a couple of minutes we had found Headquarters. -The man I’d dosed with champagne on the road corner -two days before fell on my neck with strong oaths. It -appeared that I’d been given up as wiped out with the -whole battery, or at least captured. He looked upon me -as back from the dead.</p> - -<p>The Colonel had a different point of view. He was -no longer shaved and washed, and threatened to put me -under arrest for not having rendezvoused at Buchoire! -Relations between us were strained, but everybody was -in the act of getting mounted to reconnoitre positions so -there was no time for explanations or recriminations. -Within three-quarters of an hour the battery was in action, -but the Quartermaster had found the sergeant-major, -who, splendid fellow, had our rations. He functioned -mightily with cooks. Tea and bacon, bread and butter,—what -could the “Carlton” have done better than -that?</p> - -<p>And later, when the sun came out, there was no -firing to be done, and we slept beside the gun wheels -under an apple tree, slept like the dead for nearly a -whole hour.</p> - - -<h3>28</h3> - -<p>The Hun was indeed at Crissolles, for the brigade -had fought there the previous evening. So much for -Army advice.</p> - -<p>The day was marked by two outstanding events; -one, the return of the Major of the Scots Captain’s -battery, his wound healed, full of bloodthirst and cheeriness; -the other, that I got a shave and wash. We advanced -during the morning to cover a village called -Bussy. We covered it,—with gun fire and salvos, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span> -signal for each salvo being a wave from my shaving -brush. There was a hell of a battle in Bussy, street -fighting with bayonets and bombs. The brigade dropped -a curtain of fire on the outer fringe of the village and -caught the enemy in full tide. Four batteries sending -over between them a hundred rounds a minute of high -explosive and shrapnel can make a nasty mess of a pin-point. -The infantry gloated,—our infantry.</p> - -<p>On our right Noyon was the centre of a whirlwind -of Hun shells. We were not out any too soon. The -thought added zest to our gun fire. Considering the -amount of work those guns had done in the last five days -and nights it was amazing how they remained in action -without even breaking down. The fitter worked like a -nigger and nursed them like infants. Later the Army took -him from me to go and drive rivets in ships!</p> - -<p>We pulled out of action again as dusk was falling, -and the word was passed that we had been relieved -and were going out of the line. The brigade rendezvoused -at Cuy in a field off the road while the traffic -crept forward a yard and halted, waited an hour and -advanced another yard, every sort of gun, wagon, lorry, -ambulance and car, crawling back, blocked at every -crossroads, stuck in ditches, sometimes abandoned.</p> - -<p>All round the sky glared redly. Hour after hour -we sat in that cup of ground waiting for orders, shivering -with cold, sleeping in uneasy snatches, smoking tobacco -that ceased to taste, nibbling ration biscuits until the -night became filled with an eerie strained silence. Jerky -sentences stopped. Faint in the distance came the crunch -of wheels, a vague undercurrent of sound. The guns had -stopped. Now and again the chink of a horse mumbling -his bit. The tail end of the traffic on the road below us -was silent, waiting, the men huddled, asleep. And -through it all one’s ear listened for a new sound, the sound<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span> -of marching feet, or trotting horses which might mean an -Uhlan patrol. Bussy was not far.</p> - -<p>Suddenly one voice, far away, distinct, pierced the -darkness like a thin but blinding ray. “Les Boches!—Les -Boches!”</p> - -<p>A sort of shivering rustle ran over the whole brigade. -Men stirred, sat up, muttered. Horses raised their heads -with a rattle of harness. Hands crept to revolvers. -Every breath was held and every head stared in the -direction of the voice.</p> - -<p>For a moment the silence was spellbound.</p> - -<p>Then the voice came again, “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">A gauche! A gauche! -Nom de Dieu!</i>” and the crunch of wheels came again.</p> - -<p>The brigade relaxed. There came a laugh or two, a -mumbled remark, a settling down, a muttered curse and -then silence once more.</p> - -<p>Eventually came a stir, an order. Voices were raised. -Sleeping figures rolled over stiffly, staggered up. Officers -came forward. The order “Get mounted!” galvanized -everybody.</p> - -<p>Wagon by wagon we pulled out of the field. My -battery was the last. No sooner on the road, with -our noses against the tailboard of the last vehicle of -the battery in front, than we had to halt again and -wait endlessly, the drivers sleeping in their saddles -until pulled out by the N.C.O.’s, the gunners flinging themselves -into the ditch. At last on again, kicking the sleepers -awake,—the only method of rousing them. It was -very cold. To halt was as great an agony as to march, -whether mounted or on foot. For five days and nights -one had had one’s boots on. The condition of feet was -indescribable. In places the road was blocked by abandoned -motor lorries. We had to extemporize bridges -over the ditch with rocks and tins and whatever was in -the lorries with a tailboard placed on top, to unhook lead<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span> -horses from a four-horse gun team and hook them into -a loaded wagon to make a six-horse team, to rouse the -drivers sufficiently to make them drive properly and get -the full team to work together, and at last, having reached -a good metalled road, to follow the battery in front, -limping and blind, hour after hour. From time to time -the gunners and drivers changed places. For the most -part no word was spoken. We halted when the teams -bumped their noses on the wagon in front, went on again -when those in front did. At one halt I sat on a gun seat, -the unforgivable sin for a gunner on the line of march,—and -I was the Battery Commander. Sprawled over the -breech of the gun in a stupor I knew no more for an indefinite -period when I woke again to find us still marching. -The sergeant-major confided to me afterwards that he -was so far my accomplice in that lack of discipline that -he posted a gunner on either side to see that I didn’t fall -off. We had started the march about five o’clock in the -afternoon.</p> - -<p>We didn’t reach our destination till nine o’clock -next morning. The destination consisted of halting -in the road outside a village already full of troops, -Chevrincourt. The horses were unhooked and taken off -the road, watered, and tied to lines run up between the -trees. Breakfast was cooked, and having ascertained -that we were not going to move for the rest of the day we -spread our valises, and got into pyjamas, not caring if it -snowed ink.</p> - - -<h3>29</h3> - -<p>We stayed there two days, doing nothing but water -and feed the horses and sleep. I succeeded in getting -letters home the first morning, having the luck to meet a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span> -junior Brass Hat who had done the retreat in a motor-car. -It was good to be able to put an end to their anxiety. -Considering all things we had been extraordinarily -lucky. The number of our dead, wounded and missing -was comparatively slight and the missing rolled up later, -most of them. On the second night at about two in the -morning, Battery Commanders were summoned urgently -to Brigade Headquarters. The Colonel had gone, leaving -the bloodthirsty Major in command. It transpired that -a Divisional brigade plus one battery of ours was to go -back into the line. They would take our best guns, -some of our best teams and our best sergeants. The -exchanges were to be carried out at once. They were.</p> - -<p>We marched away that day, leaving one battery -behind. As it happened, it didn’t go into the line again -but rejoined us a week later.</p> - -<p>The third phase of the retreat, marching back to -the British area—we were far south into the French -area at Chevrincourt, which is near Compiègne, and -all its signboards showed Paris so many kilometres -away—gave us an impression of the backwash of war. -The roads were full, not of troops, but of refugees, women, -old men, girls and children, with what possessions they -could load into a farm wagon piled sky high. They pulled -their cattle along by chains or ropes tied round their -horns. Some of them pushed perambulators full of -packages and carried their babies. Others staggered under -bundles. Grief marked their faces. The hope of -return kept them going. The French have deeper roots -in the soil than we. To them their “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">patelin</i>” is the -world and all the beauty thereof. It was a terrible -sight to see those poor women trudging the endless roads, -void of a goal as long as they kept away from the pursuing -death, half starved, sleeping unwashed in leaky -barns, regardless of sex, begging milk from the inhabited<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span> -villages they passed through to satisfy their unhappy -babies, managing somehow to help the aged and infirm -who mumbled bitter curses at the “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">sale Boche</i>” and -“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">soixante-dix</i>.” I heard one woman say “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Nous savons -c’qu c’est que la guerre! Nous avons tout fait excepté -les tranchées.</i>” “We know what war is. We have done -everything except the trenches.” Bombarded with gas -and long-range guns, bombed by aeroplanes, homeless, -half starved, the graves of their dead pillaged by ghoul-like -Huns, their sons, husbands, and lovers killed, indeed -they knew the meaning of war.</p> - -<p>England has been left in merciful ignorance of this -side of war, but woe unto her if she ever forgets that these -women of France are her blood-sisters, these peasant -women who later gave food to the emaciated Tommies -who staggered back starving after the armistice, food of -which they denied themselves and their children.</p> - -<p>On the third day we reached Poix where only three -months previously we had spent a merry Christmas and -drunk the New Year in, the third day of ceaseless marching -and finding billets in the middle of the night in villages -crowded with refugees. The whole area was full, British -and French elbowing each other, the unfortunate refugees -being compelled to move on.</p> - -<p>Here we exchanged old guns for new, received reinforcements -of men and horses, drew new equipment in -place of that which was destroyed and lost, found time to -ride over to Bergicourt to pay our respects to the little -Abbé, still unshaved, who was now billeting Moroccan -troops, and who kissed us on both cheeks before all the -world, and in three more days were on our way to their -firing line again.</p> - -<p>It was here that the runaway servants were dealt -with; here, too, that my brother came rolling up in -his car to satisfy himself that I was still this side of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span> -eternity or capture. And very good it was to see him. -He gave us the number of divisions engaged against us, -and we marvelled again that any of us were still alive.</p> - -<p>We went north this time for the defence of Amiens, -having been joined by our fourth battery, and relieved -a brigade in action behind the village of Gentelles. The -Anzacs were in the line from Villers Brettoneux to Hangard -where their flank touched the French. The spire of -Amiens cathedral peeped up behind us and all day long-range -shells whizzed over our heads into the stricken city.</p> - -<p>Some one was dissatisfied with our positions behind -the village. The range was considered too long. Accordingly -we were ordered to go forward and relieve some -other batteries down the slope in front of Gentelles. The -weather had broken. It rained ceaselessly. The whole -area was a mud patch broken by shell holes. The Major, -who had remained behind at Chevrincourt, and I went -forward together to locate the forward batteries. Dead -horses everywhere, and fresh graves of men marked our -path. Never have I seen such joy on any faces as on -those of the officers whom we were coming to relieve.</p> - -<p>On our return we reported unfavourably, urging -strongly that we should remain where we were. The -order was inexorable. That night we went in.</p> - -<p>We stayed there three days, at the end of which time -we were withdrawn behind the village again. Our dead -were three officers—one of whom was the Babe—half the -gunners, and several drivers. Our wounded were one -officer and half the remaining gunners. Of the guns -themselves about six in the brigade were knocked out -by direct hits.</p> - -<p>Who was that dissatisfied “some one” who, having -looked at a map from the safety of a back area, would not -listen to the report of two Majors, one a regular, who had -visited the ground and spoke from their bitterly-earned<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span> -experience? Do the ghosts of those officers and men, -unnecessarily dead, disturb his rest o’ nights, or is he -proudly wearing another ribbon for distinguished service? -Even from the map he ought to have known better. It -was the only place where a fool would have put guns. -The German artillery judged him well.</p> - -<p>Poor Babe, to be thrown away at the beginning of -his manhood at the dictate of some ignorant and cowardly -Brass Hat!</p> - -<p>“Young, unmarried men, your King and country -need you!”</p> - - -<h3>30</h3> - -<p>So we crawled out of the valley of death. With -what remained of us in men and guns we formed three -batteries, two of which went back to their original positions -behind the village and in disproof of their uselessness -fired four thousand rounds a day per battery, fifty-six -wagon-loads of ammunition. The third battery tucked -itself into a corner of the village and remained there till -its last gun had been knocked out. One S.O.S. lasted -thirty-six hours. One lived with a telephone and a map. -Sleep was unknown. Food was just food, eaten when the -servants chose to bring it. The brain reeled under the -stupendousness of the strain and the firing. For cover -we lived in a hole in the ground, some four feet deep -with a tarpaulin to keep the rain out. It was just big -enough to hold us all. The wings of the angel of death -brushed our faces continuously. Letters from home were -read without being understood. One watched men -burned to death in the battery in front, as the result of -a direct hit, without any emotion. If there be a hell -such as the Church talks about, then indeed we had -reached it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span></p> - -<p>We got a new Colonel here, and the bloodthirsty -Major returned to his battery, the Scots Captain -having been one of the wounded. My own Captain -rolled up again too, having been doing all sorts of weird -fighting up and down the line. It was only now that -we learned the full extent of the retreat and received an -order of the day from the Commander in Chief to the effect -that England had its back up against the wall. In other -words the Hun was only to pass over our dead bodies. -He attempted it at every hour of the day and night. The -Anzacs lost and retook Villers Brettoneux. The enemy -got to Cachy, five hundred yards in front of the guns, -and was driven back again. The French Colonials filled -Hangard Wood with their own and German dead, the -wounded leaving a trail of blood day and night past our -hole in the ground. The Anzacs revelled in it. They -had never killed so many men in their lives. Their -General, a great tall man of mighty few words, was round -the outpost line every day. He was much loved. Every -officer and man would gladly have stopped a shell for him.</p> - -<p>At last we were pulled out of the line, at half an -hour’s notice. Just before hooking in—the teams -were on the position—there was a small S.O.S. lasting -five minutes. My battery fired four hundred rounds in -that time,—pretty good going for men who had come -through such an inferno practically without sleep for -fifteen days.</p> - -<p>We sat under a haystack in the rain for forty-eight -hours and the Colonel gave us lectures on calibration. -Most interesting!</p> - -<p>I confess to having been done in completely. The -Babe’s death had been a frightful shock. His shoulder -was touching mine as he got it and I had carried him -spouting blood to the shelter of a bank. I wanted to -get away and hide. I was afraid, not of death, but of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span> -going on in that living hell. I was unable to concentrate -sufficiently to dictate the battery orders. I was unable -to face the nine o’clock parade and left it to the Orderly -Officer. The day’s routine made me so jumpy that I -couldn’t go near the lines or the horses. The sight of a -gun filled me with physical sickness. The effort of giving -a definite order left me trembling all over.</p> - -<p>The greatest comfort I knew was to lie on my valise -in the wet straw with closed eyes and listen to “Caprice -Viennois” on the gramophone. It lifted one’s soul -with gentle hands and bore it away into infinite space -where all was quiet and full of eternal rest and beauty. -It summed up the youth of the world, the springtime of -love in all its fresh cleanness, like the sun after an April -shower transforms the universe into magic colours.</p> - -<p>I think the subalterns guessed something of my trouble -for they went out of their way to help me in little -things.</p> - -<p>We marched north and went into the line again behind -Albert, a murdered city whose skeleton melted before one’s -eyes under the ceaseless rain of shells from our heavy -artillery.</p> - -<p>During and since the retreat the cry on all sides was -“Where the devil are the Americans?”—those mysterious -Americans who were reported to be landing at the -rate of seven a minute. What became of them after -landing? They seemed to disappear. Some had seen -them buying up Marseilles, and then painting Paris all -colours of the rainbow, but no one had yet heard of them -doing any fighting. The attitude was not very bright, -until Pershing’s offer to Foch. Then everybody said, -“Ah! <em>Now</em> we shall see something.” Our own recruits -seemed to be the dregs of England, untrained, weedy -specimens who had never seen a gun and were incapable -of learning. Yet we held the Hun all right. One<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span> -looked for the huskies from U.S.A., however, with some -anxiety.</p> - -<p>At Albert we found them, specimens of them, wedged -in the line with our infantry, learning the game. Their -one desire was to go out into No Man’s Land and get to -close quarters. They brought Brother Boche or bits -of him every time. One overheard talk on one’s way -along the trenches to the O.P. “Danger?” queried one -sarcastically, “Say, I ain’t bin shot at yet.” And -another time when two officers and I had been shelled -out of the O.P. by a pip-squeak battery to our extreme -discomfort and danger, we came upon a great beefy -American standing on the fire step watching the shells -burst on the place we had just succeeded in leaving. “If -that guy don’t quit foolin’ around with that gun,” he -said thoughtfully, “some one’ll likely get hurt in a -minute.”</p> - -<p>Which was all to the good. They shaped well. The -trouble apparently was that they had no guns and no -rifles.</p> - -<p>Our own positions were another instance of the criminal -folly of ignorance,—great obvious white gashes in a green -field, badly camouflaged, photographed and registered -by the Hun, so placed that the lowest range to clear the -crest was 3,500 and the S.O.S. was 3,550. It meant that -if the Germans advanced only fifty yards we could not -bring fire to bear on them.</p> - -<p>The dawn of our getting in was enlivened by an hour’s -bombardment with gas and four-twos. Every succeeding -dawn was the same.</p> - -<p>Fortunately it proved to be a peace sector, comparatively -speaking, and I moved out of that unsavoury spot -with no more delay than was required in getting the -Colonel’s consent. It only took the death of one man to -prove my point. He was a mere gunner, not even on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span> -proficiency pay, so presumably it was cheap knowledge. -We buried him at midnight in pouring rain, the padre -reading the service by the light of my electric torch. -But the Colonel wasn’t there.</p> - -<p>From the new position so reluctantly agreed to, we fired -many hundreds of rounds, as did our successors, and not -a single man became a casualty.</p> - -<p>What is the psychology of this system of insisting -on going into childishly unsuitable positions? Do -they think the Battery Commander a coward who -balks at a strafed emplacement? Isn’t the idea of -field gunners to put their guns in such a place as will -permit them to remain in action effectively for the longest -possible time in a show? Why, therefore, occupy a -position already accurately registered by the enemy, -which he can silence at any given moment? Do they -think that a Major of two years’ experience in command -of a battery in the line has not learned at least the rudiments -of choosing positions for his guns? Do they think -it is an attempt to resent authority, or to assert their own -importance? Do they think that the difference of one -pip and a foot of braid is the boundary between omniscience -and crass stupidity?</p> - -<p>In civil life if the senior partner insists on doing the -junior’s job and bungles it, the junior can resign,—and -say things.</p> - -<p>While we were outside Albert we got our first leave -allotment and the ranks were permitted to return to -their wives and families for fourteen days, provided -always that they had been duly vaccinated, inoculated, -and declared free from vermin and venereal disease by -the medical officer.</p> - -<p>A delightful game, the inoculation business. Army -orders are careful not to make it compulsory, but if any -man refuses to be done his commanding officer is expected<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span> -to argue with him politely, and, if that fails, to hound -him to the needle. If he shies at the needle’s point then -his leave is stopped,—although he has sweated blood -for King and country for eighteen months or so, on a -weekly pay with which a munitioneer daily tips the waiter -at the “Carlton.” If he has been unlucky enough to get -venereal disease then his leave is stopped for a year.</p> - -<p>In the next war every Tommy will be a munition maker.</p> - - -<h3>31</h3> - -<p>The desire to get out of it, to hide, refused to leave me.</p> - -<p>I wrote to my brother and asked him if he could -help me to become an R.T.O. or an M.L.O.; failing that, -a cushy liaison job miles away from shambles and responsibility -and spit and polish. He knew of the very -thing, and I was duly nominated for liaison. The weeks -went by and the nomination papers became a mass of -illegible recommendations and signatures up to the -highest Generals of the English Army and a Maréchal of -France. But the ultimate reply was that I was a Battery -Commander and therefore far too important to be allowed -to go. Considering that I was half dead and not -even allowed an opinion in the choosing of a position for -my own battery, Gilbert and Sullivan could have conceived -no more priceless paradox.</p> - -<p>Somewhere about the end of May we were relieved -and went to a rest camp outside Abbeville which was -being bombed every night. A special week’s leave to -England was granted to “war-weary officers.” I sent -a subaltern and, prepared to pawn my own soul to see -England again, asked if I might go too.</p> - -<p>The reply is worthy of quotation. “You don’t seem -to understand that this is a rest camp, the time when you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span> -are supposed to train your battery. You’ll get your -leave in the line.”</p> - -<p>The camp was on turf at the edge of a deep lake. -All day the horses roamed free grazing, and the men -splashed about in the water whenever they felt inclined. -The sun shone and footballs appeared from nowhere and -there were shops in the village where they could spend -money, and Abbeville was only about a mile and a half -away. In the morning we did a little gun drill and cleaned -vehicles and harness. Concerts took place in the evenings. -Leslie Henson came with a theatrical company and gave -an excellent show. The battery enjoyed its time of -training.</p> - -<p>Most of those officers who weren’t sufficiently war-weary -for the week in England, went for a couple of -days to Tréport or Paris-Plage. For myself I got forty-eight -hours in Etaples with my best pal, who was giving -shows to troops about to go up the line, feeding train-loads -of refugees and helping to bandage wounded; and -somehow or other keeping out of the way of the bombs -which wrecked the hospital and drove the reinforcement -camps to sleep in the woods on the other side of the river. -We drove out to Paris-Plage and lunched and dined and -watched the golden sea sparkling and walked back in a -moonlight filled with the droning of Gothas, the crashing -of bombs and the impotent rage of an Archie barrage.</p> - -<p>Not only were there no horses to look after nor men -to handle but there was a kindred spirit to talk with when -one felt like it, or with whom to remain silent when one -didn’t. Blessed be pals, for they are few and far between, -and their value is above rubies.</p> - -<p>Our rest camp came to an end with an inspection from -Field-Marshal Sir Douglas Haig and once more we took -the trail. The battery’s adventures from then until the -first day of the attack which was to end the war can be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span> -briefly summed up, as we saw hardly any fighting. We -went back to Albert and checked calibrations, then entrained -and went off to Flanders where we remained in -reserve near St. Omer for a fortnight or so. Then we -entrained once more and returned to Albert, but this time -south of it, behind Morlancourt.</p> - -<p>There was an unusual excitement in the air and a -touch of optimism. Foch was said to have something -up his sleeve. The Hun was reported to be evacuating -Albert. The Americans had been blooded and had -come up to expectations. There was a different atmosphere -about the whole thing. On our own sector the -Hun was offensive. The night we came in he made a -raid, took two thousand yards of front line on our right, -and plastered us with gas and four-twos for several hours. -No one was hurt or gassed except myself. I got a dose of -gas. The doctor advised me to go down to the wagon -line for a couple of days, but the barrage was already in -for our attack and the Captain was in England on the -Overseas Course. The show started about 4 p.m. right -along the front.</p> - -<p>It was like the 21st of March with the positions reversed. -South of us the whole line broke through -and moved forward. At Morlancourt the Hun fought -to the death. It was a sort of pivot, and for a couple -of days we pounded him. By that time the line had -ceased to bulge and was practically north and south. -Then our infantry took Morlancourt and pushed the Hun -back on to the Fricourt ridge and in wild excitement we -got the order to advance. It was about seven o’clock -at night. All Battery Commanders and the Colonel -dashed up in a car to the old front line to reconnoitre -positions. The car was missed by about twelve yards -with high explosive and we advanced in the dark, falling -over barbed wire, tumbling into shell holes, jumping<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span> -trenches and treading on corpses through a most unpleasant -barrage. The Hun had a distinct sting in his -tail.</p> - -<p>We came into position about three hundred yards -north-west of Morlancourt. The village and all the -country round stank of festering corpses, mostly German, -though now and again one came upon a British pair of -boots and puttees with legs in them,—or a whole soldier -with a pack on his back, who looked as if he were sleeping -until one saw that half his face was blown away. It -made one sick, sick with horror, whether it was our own -Tommies or a long trench chaotic with rifles, equipment, -machine guns and yellow, staring and swollen Germans.</p> - -<p>The excitement of advancing died away. The “glory -of victory” was just one long butchery, one awful smell, -an orgy of appalling destruction unequalled by the -barbarians of pre-civilization.</p> - -<p>Here was all the brain, energy and science of nineteen -hundred years of “progress,” concentrated on lust and -slaughter, and we called it glorious bravery and rang -church bells! Soldier poets sang their swan songs in -praise of dying for their country, their country which -gave them a period of hell, and agonizing death, then -wept crocodile tears over the Roll of Honour, and finally -returned with an easy conscience to its money-grubbing. -The gladiators did it better. At least they were permitted -a final sarcasm, “<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Morituri, te salutant!</i>”</p> - -<p>Even gentle women at home, who are properly -frightened of mice and spank small boys caught ill-treating -an animal, even they read the flaming headlines -of the papers with a light in their eyes, and said, “How -glorious! We are winning!” Would they have said -the same if they could have been set down on that reeking -battlefield where riddled tanks splashed with blood -heaved drunkenly, ambulances continuously drove away<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span> -with the smashed wrecks of what once were men, leaving -a trail of screams in the dust of the road, and always -the guns crashed out their pæan of hate by day and night, -ceaselessly, remorselessly, with a terrible trained hunger -to kill, and maim and wipe out?</p> - -<p>There was no stopping. I was an insignificant cog -in that vast machine, but no man could stop the wheels -in their mighty revolutions. Fate stepped in, however.</p> - -<p>We advanced again to Mametz, and there, mercifully, -I got another dose of gas. The effects of the first one, -seven days previously, had not worked off. This was -the last straw. Three days later it toppled me over. -The doctors labelled me and sent me home.</p> - - -<hr class="p4 chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span><br /></p> - -<h2 class="p4 nobreak" id="PART_IV">PART IV<br /> - -<span class="fs90 lsp"><em>THE ARMISTICE</em></span></h2> -</div> - - -<hr class="p6 chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span><br /> - <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<h3>1</h3> - -<p class="noindent">The battery, commanded by I know not whom, went -on to the bitter end in that sweeping advance which -broke the Hindenburg line and brought the enemy to -his knees. Their luck held good, for occasional letters -from the subalterns told me that no one else had been -killed. The last I heard of them they were at Tréport, -enjoying life with the hope of demobilization dangling in -front of their eyes. May it not dangle too long.</p> - -<p>For me the war was over. I have never fired a gun -again, nor, please God, will I ever do so.</p> - -<p>In saying the war was over I was wrong. I should -have said the fighting. There were other and equally -terrible sides of this world-tragedy which I was destined -to see and feel.</p> - -<p>Let me sketch briefly the facts which led to my return -to duty.</p> - -<p>The Medical Authorities sent me to a place called -The Funkhole of England, a seaside town where never a -bomb from airships or raiding Gothas disturbed the -sunny calm, a community of convalescent hospitals -with a list of rules as long as your arm, hotels full of -moneyed Hebrews, who only journeyed to London by -day to make more money, and retired by night to the -security of their wives in the Funkhole, shop-keepers -who rejoiced in the war because it enabled them to put -up their prices two hundred per cent., and indecent<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span> -flappers always ready to be picked up by any subaltern.</p> - -<p>The War Office authorities hastened to notify me -that I was now reduced to subaltern, but somehow I -was “off” flappers. Another department begged me to -get well quickly, because, being no longer fit to command -a battery, I was wanted for that long-forgotten liaison -job.</p> - -<p>The explanation of degrading from Major to subaltern -is not forthcoming. Perhaps the Government were -thinking of the rate payers. The difference in pay is -about two shillings and sixpence a day, and there were -many thousands of us thus reduced.—But it does not -make for an exuberant patriotism. My reply was that -if I didn’t go out as a Major, I should not hurry to get -well. This drew a telegram which stated that I was -re-appointed acting-Major while employed as liaison -officer, but what they gave with one hand they took -back with the other, for the telegram ordered me to -France again three weeks before the end of my sick leave.</p> - -<p>It was a curious return. But for the fact that I was -still in uniform I might have been a mere tourist, a -spectator. The job was more “cushy” even than -that of R.T.O. or M.L.O. Was I glad? Enormously. -Was I sorry? Yes, for out there in the thick of it were -those men of mine, in a sense my children, who had -looked to me for the food they ate, the clothes they wore, -the pay they drew, the punishments they received, whose -lives had been in my keeping so long, who, for two years, -had constituted all my life, with whom I had shared good -days and bad, short rations and full, hardships innumerable, -suffering indescribable. It was impossible to live -softly and be driven in a big Vauxhall car, while they -were still out there, without a twinge of conscience, -even though one was not fit to go back to them. I slept<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span> -in a bed with sheets, and now and again a hot bath, -receiving letters from home in four days instead of eight, -and generally enjoying all the creature comforts which -console the back-area officer for the lack of excitement -only found in the firing line. It was a period of doing -little, observing much and thinking a great deal among -those lucky ones of the earth, whose lines had been cast -in peaceful waters far behind even the backwash of that -cataclysmic tidal wave in which so many less fortunate -millions had been sucked under.</p> - -<p>My first job was to accompany a party of French -war correspondents to the occupied territory which -the enemy had recently been forced to evacuate,—Dunkerque, -Ostend, Bruges, Courtrai, Denain, Lille. -There one marvelled at the courage of those citizens -who for four years had had to bow the neck to the -invader. From their own mouths we heard stories of -the systematic, thought-out cruelty of the Germans who -hurt not only the bodies of their victims, but their self-respect, -their decency, their honour, their souls. How -they survived that interminable hopeless four years of -exaggerated brutality and pillage, cut off from all communication -with the outside world; fed with stories of ghastly -defeats inflicted upon their countrymen and allies, of -distrust and revolt between England and France; fined -and imprisoned for uncommitted offences against military -law, not infrequently shot in cold blood without trial; -their women submitted to the last indignities of the -“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Inspection sanitaire</i>,” irrespective of age or class, -wrenched from their homes and deported into the -unknown interior, sent to work for the hated enemy -behind the firing line, unprotected from the assault of -any German soldier or officer,—for those women there -were worse things than the firing trenches.</p> - -<p>We saw the results of the German Official Department<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span> -of Demobilization, which had its headquarters in Alsace-Lorraine -at Metz, under a General, by whose direct -orders all the factories in the occupied regions were dismantled -and sent back piecemeal to Germany, the shells -of the plant then being dynamited under pretence of -military necessity. We saw a country stripped of its -resources, gutted, sacked, rendered sterile.</p> - -<p>What is the Kultur, the philosophy which not only -renders such conduct thinkable, but puts it into the most -thorough execution? Are we mad to think that such -people can be admitted into a League of Nations until -after hundreds of years of repentance and expiation in -sackcloth and ashes? They should be made the slaves -of Europe, the hewers of wood and drawers of water, -the road-sweepers and offal-burners, deprived of a voice -in their own government, without standing in the eyes of -all peoples.</p> - - -<h3>2</h3> - -<p>French General Headquarters, to which I was then -sent as liaison officer, was established in a little old-world -town, not far from Paris, whose walls had been battered -by the English centuries ago. Curious to think that -after hundreds of years of racial antagonism we should -at last have our eyes opened to the fact that our one-time -enemies have the same qualities of courage and -endurance, a far truer patriotism and a code of honour -which nothing can break. No longer do we think of -them as flippant and decadent. We know them for a -nation of big-hearted men, loyal to the death, of lion-like -courage, with the capacity for hanging on, which in -our pride we ascribed only to the British bull dog. We -have seen Verdun. We have stood side by side with them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span> -in mud and blood, in fat days and lean, and know it to be -true.</p> - -<p>In this little town, where the bells chimed the swift -hours, and market day drew a concourse of peasant -women, we sat breathless at the ’phone, hourly marking -the map that liberated each time a little more of France. -Days of wild hope that the end was at hand, the end -which such a short time back had seemed so infinitely -remote, days when the future began to be a possibility, -that future which for four years one had not dared to -dream about. Will the rose colours ever come back? -Or will the memory of those million dead go down with -one to the grave?</p> - -<p>The Armistice was signed. The guns had stopped. -For a breathless moment the world stood still. The -price was paid. The youth of England and France lay -upturned to the sky. Three thousand miles across the -ocean American mothers wept their unburied sons. -Did Germany shed tears of sorrow or rage?</p> - -<p>The world travail was over, and even at that sacred -moment when humanity should have been purged of -all pettiness and meanness, should have bowed down in -humility and thankfulness, forces were astir to try and -raise up jealousy, hatred and enmity between England, -France and America.</p> - -<p>Have we learnt <em>nothing</em>? Are these million dead in -vain? Are we to let the pendulum swing back to the -old rut of dishonest hypocritical self-seeking, disguised -under the title of that misunderstood word “patriotism?” -Have we not yet looked into the eyes of Truth and seen -ourselves as we are? Is all this talk of world peace and -league of nations mere newspaper cant, to disguise the -fear of being out-grabbed at the peace conference? -Shall we return to lying, hatred and all malice and re-crucify -Christ? What is the world travail for? To<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span> -produce stillborn through our own negligence the hope -of Peace? The leopard cannot change his spots, you -say. My answer is that the leopard does not want to. -What does the present hold out to us who have been -through the Valley of the Shadow? What does it look -like to us who gaze down upon it from the pinnacle of -four years upon the edge of eternity?</p> - -<p>Your old men shall see visions and your young men -shall dream dreams.</p> - -<p>The vision of the old men has been realized. In the -orgy of effort for world domination they have dug up a -world unrest fertilized by the sightless faces of youth -upturned to the sky. Their working hypothesis was -false. The result is failure. They have destroyed themselves -also in the conflagration which they started. It -has burnt up the ancient fetishes, consumed their -shibboleths. Their day is done. They stand among the -still-smoking ruins, naked and very ugly.</p> - -<p>The era of the young men has begun. Bent under -the Atlas-like burden loaded upon their shoulders, they -have stood daily for five years upon the edge of eternity. -They have stared across into the eyes of Truth, some -unrecognizing, others with disdain, but many there are -in whose returning faces is the dawn of wisdom. They -are coming back, the burden exchanged. On them rests -the fate of the unborn. Already their feet are set upon -the new way. But are they strong enough unaided to -keep the pendulum from swinging back? No. It is -too heavy. Every one of us must let ourselves hear the -new note in their voices, calling us to the recognition of -the ideal. For five years all the science, philosophy and -energy of mankind has been concentrated on the art -of dealing death. The young men ask that mankind -should now concentrate on the art of giving life. We -have proved the power within us because the routine of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span> -the world’s great sin has established this surprising -paradox, that we daily gave evidence of heroism, tolerance, -kindliness, brotherhood.</p> - -<p>Shall we, like Peter who denied Christ, refuse to -recognize the greatness within ourselves? We found -truth while we practised war. Let us carry it to the -practice of peace.</p> - - -<p class="p4 pfs90">THE END</p> - - -<hr class="p4 chap pg-brk" /> - -<p class="p6 pfs70 lht">PRINTED AT<br /> -THE CHAPEL RIVER PRESS,<br /> -KINGSTON, SURREY.</p> - - -<hr class="p6 chap pg-brk" /> - -<div class="p4 transnote"> -<a name="TN" id="TN"></a> -<p><strong>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE</strong></p> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been -corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within -the text and consultation of external sources.</p> - -<p>Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, -and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.</p> -<br /> -<p> -<a href="#tn-40">Pg 40</a>: ‘unforgetable hell’ replaced by ‘unforgettable hell’.<br /> -<a href="#tn-40a">Pg 40</a>: ‘set out faces’ replaced by ‘set our faces’.<br /> -<a href="#tn-78">Pg 78</a>: ‘by 9 P.M.’ replaced by ‘by 9 p.m.’.<br /> -<a href="#tn-97">Pg 97</a>: ‘Just as were were’ replaced by ‘Just as we were’.<br /> -<a href="#tn-108">Pg 108</a>: ‘were not wanted’ replaced by ‘were not wanting’.<br /> -<a href="#tn-125">Pg 125</a>: ‘to-towards the end’ replaced by ‘towards the end’.<br /> -<a href="#tn-144">Pg 144</a>: ‘the 106 fuze’ replaced by ‘the 106 fuse’.<br /> -<a href="#tn-169">Pg 169</a>: ‘causalties slight’ replaced by ‘casualties slight’.<br /> -<a href="#tn-175">Pg 175</a>: ‘all extremly happy’ replaced by ‘all extremely happy’.<br /> -<a href="#tn-179">Pg 179</a>: ‘they dind’t come’ replaced by ‘they didn’t come’.<br /> -<a href="#tn-183">Pg 183</a>: ‘who, on rcovering’ replaced by ‘who, on recovering’.<br /> -<a href="#tn-185">Pg 185</a>: ‘in all my live’ replaced by ‘in all my life’.<br /> -<a href="#tn-186">Pg 186</a>: ‘near he river’ replaced by ‘near the river’.<br /> -<a href="#tn-186a">Pg 186</a>: ‘had ea and dinner’ replaced by ‘had tea and dinner’.<br /> -</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Grey Wave, by Arthur Hamilton Gibbs - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY WAVE *** - -***** This file should be named 63466-h.htm or 63466-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/4/6/63466/ - -Produced by MWS, John Campbell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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