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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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