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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7768788 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68654 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68654) diff --git a/old/68654-0.txt b/old/68654-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 919152c..0000000 --- a/old/68654-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4472 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Canada in war-paint, by Ralph W. Bell - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Canada in war-paint - -Author: Ralph W. Bell - -Release Date: July 30, 2022 [eBook #68654] - -Language: English - -Produced by: David E. Brown and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANADA IN WAR-PAINT *** - - - - - -CANADA IN WAR-PAINT - - -_All rights reserved_ - - - - -[Illustration: MULES - (see page 26) _From a drawing by Bert Thomas._] - - - - - CANADA - IN WAR-PAINT - - BY CAPT. - RALPH W. BELL - - [Illustration] - - - LONDON AND TORONTO - J. M. DENT & SONS LTD. - PARIS: J. M. DENT ET FILS - NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO. - - - _First Published in 1917_ - - - - -PREFACE - - -There is no attempt made in the little sketches which this book -contains to deal historically with events of the war. It is but a small -_Souvenir de la guerre_--a series of vignettes of things as they struck -me at the time, and later. I have written of types, not of individuals, -and less of action than of rest. The horror of war at its worst is fit -subject for a master hand alone. - -I have to thank the proprietors of _The Globe_ for their courtesy in -allowing the reproduction of “Canvas and Mud” and “Tent Music,” and of -the _Canadian Magazine_ for the reproduction of “Martha of Dranvoorde.” - -Finally, I feel that I can have no greater honour than humbly to -dedicate this book to the officers, N.C.O.’s and men of the First -Canadian Infantry Battalion, Ontario Regiment, with whom I have spent -some of the happiest, as well as some of the hardest, days of my life. - - RALPH W. BELL. - - _December 11th, 1916._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - PAGE - - CANVAS AND MUD! 9 - - TENT MUSIC 15 - - RATTLE-SNAKE PETE 21 - - MULES 26 - - “OFFICE” 31 - - OUR FARM 37 - - AEROPLANES AND “ARCHIE” 41 - - STIRRING TIMES 47 - - SICK PARADE 53 - - BATMEN 60 - - RATIONS 67 - - OUR SCOUT OFFICER 73 - - MARTHA OF DRANVOORDE 78 - - COURCELETTE 89 - - CARNAGE 101 - - “A” COMPANY RUSTLES 106 - - “MINNIE AND ‘FAMILY’” 113 - - AN OFFICER AND GENTLEMAN 118 - - “S.R.D.” 123 - - BEDS 128 - - MARCHING 134 - - THE NATIVES 140 - - “OTHER INHABITANTS” 147 - - BOMBS 153 - - SOFT JOBS 158 - - “GROUSE” 163 - - PANSIES 169 - - GOING BACK 174 - - THREE RED ROSES 181 - - ADJUTANTS 187 - - HOME 193 - - ACTION 198 - - - - -CANADA IN WAR-PAINT - - - - -CANVAS AND MUD! - - -To those men who, in days of peace, have trained on the swelling, -lightly-wooded plains round about Salisbury, no doubt this portion -of Old England may seem a very pleasant land. But they have not been -there in November under canvas. When the old soldiers of the Canadian -contingent heard that we were to go to “the Plains,” some of them said, -“S’elp me!” and some a great deal more! It was an ideal day when we -arrived. The trees were russet brown and beautiful under the October -sun, the grass still green, and the winding road through picturesque -little Amesbury white and hard, conveying no hint of that mud for which -we have come to feel a positive awe. - -At first we all liked our camp; it was high and dry, the tents had -floor-boards, that traitorous grass was green and firm withal, and -a balmy breeze, follower of the Indian summer, blew pleasantly over -the wide-rolling land. We liked it after the somewhat arid climate of -Valcartier, the sand and dust. Then it began to rain. It rained one -day, two days, three days. During that time the camp named after the -fabulous bird became a very quagmire. The sullen black mud was three -inches deep between the tent lines, on the parade ground, on the road, -where it was pounded and ridged and rolling-pinned by transports, -troops, and general traffic; it introduced itself into the tents in -slimy blodges, ruined the flawless shine of every “New Guard’s” boots, -spattered men from head to foot stickily and persistently. The mud -entered into our minds, our thoughts were turbid. Some enterprising -passer-by called us mud-larks, and mud-larks we have remained. - -Canadians think Salisbury Plains a hideous spot. Those who have been -there before know better, but it were suicide to say so, for we have -reached the rubber-boot stage. When the rain “lets up” we go forth with -picks and spades and clean the highways and byways. Canadians do it -with a settled gloom. If the Kaiser tries to land forces in England -they hope he will come to Salisbury with his hordes. There they will -stick fast. In the fine intervals we train squelchily and yearn for -the trenches. What matters the mire when one is at the front, but to -slide gracefully into a pool of turgid water, in heavy marching order, -for practice only, is hardly good enough. Most Canadians think the -concentration camp might preferably have been at the North Pole, if -Amundsen would lend it, and we could occupy it without committing a -breach of neutrality. - -That brings us to the cold weather, of which we have had a foretaste. -It was freezing a few days ago. The ground, the wash-taps, and we -ourselves, all were frozen. A cheerful Wiltshireman passed along -the highway. There was a bitter damp north wind; despite the frost -everything seemed to be clammy. “Nice weather for you Canadians,” -he shouted happily. Luckily we had no bayonets. It is quite natural -that in this country it should be thought that Canadians love cold -weather and welcome it. But there is cold and cold. The Salisbury -Plains type is of the “and cold” variety! It steals in through the -tent flaps with a “chilth” that damply clings. It rusts rifles, blues -noses, hoarsens the voice, wheezes into the lungs. It catches on to -the woollen filaments of blankets and runs into them, it seeks out -the hidden gaps in canvas walls and steals within, it crawls beneath -four blankets--when one has been able to steal an extra one--through -overcoats, sweaters, up the legs of trousers, into under-garments, -and at last finds gelid rest against the quivering flesh, eating its -way into the marrow-bones. Like the enemy, it advances in massed -formation, and though stoves may dissipate platoon after platoon it -never ceases to send up reinforcements until a whining gale has seized -on the tent-ropes, squeaks at the poles, draws in vain at the pegs, -tears open loose flaps, and veering round brings back sodden rain and -the perpetual, the everlasting mud. We know the hard, cold bite of “20 -below,” the crisp snow, the echoing land, the crackling of splitting -trees, even frost-bite. But it is a dry cold, and it comes: “Whish!” -This cold of England’s creeps into the very heart. It takes mean -advantages. “Give me the Yukon any old time,” says the hard-bitten -shivering stalwart of the north-west. “This, this, it ain’t kinder -playin’ the game.” - -It must not be thought that Canadians are complaining, for they are -not. But England’s climate is to them something unknown and unspeakably -vile! One must have been brought up in it to appreciate and to -anticipate its vagaries. Canadians feel they have been misled. They -expected English cold weather to be a “cinch.” But it’s the weather -puts the “cinch” on, not they! There will come a time when we shall be -in huts, and the leaky old canvas tents that are now our habitat will -have been folded and--we hope for the benefit of others--stolen away! -Those tents have seen so much service that they know just as well how -to leak as an old charger how to drill. They become animated--even -gay--when the wind-beaten rain darkens their grimy flanks, and with -fiendish ingenuity they drip, drip, drip down the nape of the neck, -well into the eye, even plumb down the throat of the open-mouthed, -snoring son of the maple-land. - -No matter, we shall be old campaigners when the winter is over; old -mud-larkers, as impervious to wet earth as a worm. Even the mud is good -training for the time we shall have in the trenches! - - - - -TENT MUSIC - - -It is not often that Thomas Atkins of any nationality wears his heart -upon his sleeve, and it is quite certain that the British Tommy but -rarely does so, or his confrere of the Canadian Contingent. Perhaps he -best shows his thoughts and relieves his feelings in song. - -Salisbury Plains must have seen and heard many things, yet few -stranger sounds can have been heard there than the chants which rise -from dimly-lighted canvas walls, when night has shrouded the earth, -and the stars gleam palely through the mist. It is the habit of the -Canadian Mr. Atkins, ere he prepares himself for rest, to set his -throat a-throbbing to many a tune both new and old. The result is -not invariably musical--sometimes far from it, but it is a species -of sound the male creature produces either to show his “gladness or -his sadness,” and by means of which he relieves a heavy heart, or -indicates that in his humble opinion “all’s well with the world.” On -every side, from almost every tent, there is harmony, melody, trio, -quartette, chorus, or--noise! It is a strange mixture of thoughts -and things, a peculiar vocal photograph of the men of the Maple, now -admirable, now discordant, here ribald, there rather tinged with the -pathetic. - -No programme-maker in his wildest moments, in the throes of the most -conflicting emotions, could begin to evolve such a varied, such a -startling programme as may be heard in the space of a short half-hour -under canvas--in a rain-sodden, comfortless tent--anywhere on Salisbury -Plains. It does not matter who begins it; some one is “feeling good,” -and he lifts up his voice to declaim that “You made me love you; I -didn’t want to do it!” The rest join in, here a tenor, there a bass or -a baritone, and the impromptu concert has begun. - -Never have the writers of songs, the composers of music, grave and -gay, come more into their own than among the incorrigibly cheerful -warriors of the Plains. The relative merits of composers are not -discussed. They are all good enough for Jock Canuck as long as there is -that nameless something in the song or the music which appeals to him. -It is curious that we who hope to slay, and expect to be slain--many -of us--should sing with preference of Killarney’s lakes and fells, -“Sunnybrook Farm,” “Silver Threads Among the Gold,” rather than some -War Chant or Patriotic Ode, something visionary of battle-fields, guns, -the crash of shells. Is not this alone sufficient to show that beneath -his tunic, and in spite of his martial spirit, Tommy “has a heart,” and -a very warm one? - -Picture to yourself a tent with grimy, sodden sides, lighted by three -or four guttering candle-ends, stuck wherever space or ingenuity -permits. An atmosphere tobacco laden, but not stuffy, rifles piled -round the tent-pole, haversacks, “dunnage” bags, blankets, and -oil-sheets spread about, and their owners, some of them lying on the -floor wrapped in blankets, some seated, one or two perhaps reading -or writing in cramped positions, yet quite content. Yonder is a -lusty Yorkshireman, big, blue-eyed, and fair, who for some reason -best known to himself _will_ call himself an Irishman. We know him -as “the man with three voices,” for he has a rich, tuneful, though -uncultivated tenor, a wonderful falsetto, and a good alto. His tricks -are remarkable, but his ear is fine. He loves to lie sprawled on his -great back, and lift up his voice to the skies. All the words of half -the old and new songs of two peoples, British and American, he has -committed to memory. He is our “leading man,” a shining light in the -concert firmament. We have heard and helped him to sing in the course -of one crowded period of thirty minutes the following varied programme: -“Tipperary,” “Silver Threads Among the Gold,” “My Old Kentucky Home,” -“Fight the Good Fight,” “A Wee Deoch an’ Doris,” “When the Midnight -Choochoo Leaves for Alabam,” “The Maple Leaf,” “Cock Robin,” “Get Out -and Get Under,” “Where is My Wandering Boy To-Night,” “Nearer, My God, -to Thee,” and “I Stand in a Land of Roses, though I Dream of a Land of -Snow.” But there is one song we never sing, “Home, Sweet Home.” Home is -too sacred a subject with us; it touches the deeper, aye, the deepest, -chords, and we dare not risk it, exiles that we are. - -Very often there are strange paradoxes in the words we sing, when -compared with reality.... “I stand in a land of roses!” Well, not -exactly, although Salisbury Plains in the summer time are, like the -curate’s egg, “good in parts.” But the following line is true enough -of many of us. We do “dream of a land of snow”; of the land, and those -far, far away in it. Sometimes we sing “rag-time melodee,” but that is -only _pour passer le temps_. There is something which prompts us to -other songs, and to sacred music. It often happens that in our tent -there are three or four men with voices above the average who take a -real delight in singing. One of the most beautiful things of the kind -the writer has ever heard was a quartette’s singing of “Nearer, My God, -to Thee.” Fine, well-trained voices they possessed, blending truly and -harmoniously, which rang out almost triumphal in the frosty night. -They sang it once, and then again, and as the last notes died away the -bugles sounded the “Last Post.” - -Taa-Taa, Taa-Taa, Ta-ta-ti-ti-ti-ti-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta. -Ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ta-ta-ta-ta-taa, Taa-Taa, Taa-Taa, Taaa, Tiii! - -Verily, even under canvas music _hath_ charms to soothe the savage -breast. - - - - -RATTLE-SNAKE PETE - - -Very tall, thin, and cadaverous, with a strong aquiline nose, deep-set, -piercing black eyes, bushy eyebrows matching them in colour, and a -heavy, fiercely waxed moustache, streaked with grey, he was a man who -commanded respect, if not fear. - -In spite of his sixty years he was as straight as the proverbial poker, -and as “nippy on his pins” as a boy a third of his age. Two ribbons -rested on his left breast--the long service ribbon and that of the -North-West Rebellion. His voice was not harsh, nor was it melodious, -but it could be heard a mile off and struck pure terror into the heart -of the evil-doer when he heard it! Rattle-Snake Pete was, as a matter -of fact, our Company Sergeant-Major. - -Withering was the scorn with which he surveyed a delinquent “rooky,” -while his eyes shot flame, and in the terrified imagination of -the unfortunate being on whom that fierce gaze was bent his ears -seemed to curve upwards into horns, until he recalled the popular -conception of Mephistopheles! We called him--when he was safely beyond -hearing--Rattle-Snake Pete, but that worthy bravo was far less feared -than was his namesake. - -First of all, the Sergeant-Major was a real soldier, from the nails in -his boots to the crown of his hat. Secondly, he was a man of strong -prejudices, and keen dislikes, and, lastly, a very human, unselfish, -kind-hearted man. - -Discipline was his God, smartness on parade and off the greatest virtue -in man, with the exception of pluck. He ruled with a rod of iron, -tempered by justice, and his keenness was a thing to marvel at. At -first we all hated him with a pure-souled hate. Then, as he licked us -into shape, and the seeds of soldiering were sown, we began to realise -that he was right, and that we were wrong--and that, after all, the -only safe thing to do was to obey! - -One day a man was slow in doing what his corporal told him to do. As -was his habit, the S.-M. came on the scene suddenly, a lean tower of -steely wrath. After he had poured out the vials of his displeasure on -the head of the erring one, he added: “I’ll make you a soldier, lad, or -I’ll break your heart!” He meant it; he could do it; we knew he could, -and it resulted in our company being the best in the regiment. - -Shortly before we moved to France, a personage and his consort -inspected us. He shook hands with Rattle-Snake, and spoke to him for -several moments. - -“How old are you?” - -“Forty-five, Your Majesty.” - -“Military age, I suppose?” queried the Personage with a kindly smile. - -“Yes, sir.” - -Never in his life was Rattle so happy as he was that day, and we felt -rather proud of him ourselves. - -_Our_ Sergeant-Major had shaken hands with the King! - -Those who had stood near enough to hear what had passed achieved a -temporary fame thereby, and in tent and canteen the story was told, -with variations suited to the imagination of the raconteur, for days -after the event. - -When we moved to France Rattle-Snake Pete came with us. I think the -doctor saw it would have broken his heart not to come, although at his -age he certainly should not have done so. But come he did, and never -will the writer forget the day Rattle pursued him into an old loft, up -a broken, almost perpendicular ladder, to inquire in a voice of thunder -why a certain fatigue party was minus a man. - -“Come you down out of there, lad, or you’ll be for it!” And, meekly as -a sucking-dove, I came! - -He was wounded at the second battle of Ypres, and, according to all -accounts, what he said about the Germans as he lay on that battle-field -petrified the wounded around him, and was audible above the roar of -bursting Jack Johnsons. - -They sent him to hospital in “Blighty,” an unwilling patient, and there -he has been eating out his heart ever since, in the face of adamantine -medical boards. - -One little incident. We were billeted in an old theatre, years ago it -seems now, at Armentières. We had marched many kilometres in soaking -rain that afternoon, and we were deadly weary. Rattle, though he said -no word, was ill, suffering agonies from rheumatism. One could see it. -Being on guard, I was able to see more than the rest, who, for the most -part, slept the sleep of the tired out. One fellow was quite ill, and -he tossed and turned a good deal in his sleep. Rattle was awake too, -sitting in front of the dying embers in the stove, his face every now -and then contorted with pain. Often he would go over to the sick man -and arrange his bed for him as gently as a woman. Then he himself lay -down. The sick man awoke, and I heard his teeth chatter. “Cold, lad?” -said a deep voice near by. “Yes, bitter cold.” The old S.-M. got up, -took his own blanket and put it over the sick man. Thereafter he sat -until the dawn broke on a rickety chair in front of the dead fire. - - - - -MULES - - -Until there was a war, quite a lot of people hardly knew there were -such things as mules. “Mules?” they would say, “Oh, er, yes ... those -creatures with donkey’s ears, made like a horse? or do you mean -canaries?” - -_Nous avons changé tout cela!_ “Gonga Din” holds no hidden meaning -from us now. We have, indeed, a respect for mules, graded according to -closeness of contact. - -In some Transports they think more of a mule than of a first-class, -No. 1 charger. Why? Simply because a mule is--a mule. No one has yet -written a theory of the evolution of mules. We all know a mule is a -blend of horse and donkey, and that reproduction of the species is -mercifully withheld by the grace of heaven, but further than that we do -not go. - -When the war began our C.O. was talking about mules. We had not crossed -the water then. He said: “I will _not_ have any mules. No civilised -man should have to look after a mule. When I was in Pindi once, a mule -... Mr. Jenks”--our worthy Transport Officer--“there will be no mules -in this regiment.” That settled it for a while. - -Our first mule came a month after we had landed in Flanders. It was -a large, lean, hungry-looking mule. It stood about 17 feet 2 inches, -and it had very large floppy ears and a long tail: it was rather a -high-class mule, as mules go. It ate an awful lot. In fact it ate about -as much as two horses and a donkey put together. The first time it was -used some one put it in the Maltese cart, and it looked round at the -cart with an air of surprise and regret. We were on the move, and the -Transport was brigaded, and inspected by the Brigadier as it passed the -starting point. James--the mule--behaved in a most exemplary fashion -until he saw the Brigadier. Then he was overcome by his emotions. -Perhaps the red tabs reminded him of carrots. (James was a pure hog -where carrots were concerned.) At all events he proceeded to break up -the march. He took the bit between his teeth, wheeled to the left, -rolled his eyes, brayed, and charged across an open ditch at the G.O.C. -with the Maltese cart. - -The G.O.C. and staff extended to indefinite intervals without any word -of command. - -James pulled up in a turnip patch and began to eat contentedly. It took -six men and the Transport Officer to get him on to the road again, and -the Maltese cart was a wreck. - -After that they tried him as a pack-mule. He behaved like an angel for -two whole weeks, and then some bright-eyed boy tried him as a saddle -mule. After that the whole of the Transport tried him, retiring worsted -from the fray on each occasion. One day the Transport Officer bet -all-comers fifty francs on the mule. The conditions were that riders -must stick on for five minutes. We used to think we could ride any -horse ever foaled. We used to fancy ourselves quite a lot in fact, -until we met James. Half the battalion came to see the show, which took -place one sunny morning at the Transport lines. We looked James over -with an appraising eye. We even gave him a carrot, as an earnest of -goodwill. James wore a placid, far-away expression and, now and then, -rolled his eyes sentimentally. - -We gathered up the reins, and vaulted on to his back. For a full two -seconds James stood stock still. Then he emitted an ear-splitting -squeal, laid back his ears, bared his teeth, turned round and bit at -the near foot, and sat down on his hind legs. He did all these things -in quick time, by numbers. The betting, which had started at 2-1 on -James, increased to 3-1 immediately. However, we stuck. James rose -with a mighty heave, then, still squealing, made a rush of perhaps ten -yards, and stopped dead. We still stuck. The betting fell to evens, -except for the Transport Sergeant, who in loud tones offered 5-1 (on -James). That kept him busy for two minutes, during which time James did -almost everything but roll, and bit a toe off one of my new pair of -riding boots. - -There was one minute to go, and there was great excitement. James gave -one squeal of concentrated wrath, gathered his four hoofs together -tightly, bucked four feet in the air, kicked in mid-ether, and tried to -bite his own tail. When we next saw him he was being led gently away. - -Since then we have had many mules. We have become used to them, and we -respect them. If we hear riot in the Transport lines we know it is a -mule. If we hear some one has been kicked, we know it is a mule. If we -see one of the G.S. wagons carrying about two tons we know mules are -drawing it. Old James now pulls the water-cart. He would draw it up to -the mouth of the biggest Fritz cannon that ever was, but Frank Wootton -could not ride him! - - - - -“OFFICE” - - -“Charge against No. 7762543, Private Smith, J.C.; In the field, -11.11.16, refusing to obey an order, in that he would not wash out a -dixie when ordered to do so. First witness, Sergeant Bendrick.” - -“Sirr! On Nov. 11th I was horderly sergeant. Private Thomas, cook, -comes to me, and he says as ’ow ’e ’ad warned the pris-- the haccused, -sir, to wash out a dixie, which same the haccused refused to do. -Hordered by me to wash hout the dixie, sir, the haccused refused again, -and I places ’im under hopen arrest, sir.” - -“Cpl. Townsham, what have you to say?” - -“Sirr! On Nov. 11th I was eatin’ a piece of bread an’ bacon when I was -witness to what took place between Sergeant Bendrick an’ Private Smith, -sir. I corroborates his evidence.” - -“All right; Private Thomas?” - -“Sirr! I coboriates both of them witnesses.” - -“You corroborate what both witnesses have said?” - -“Yessir.” - -“Now, Smith, what have you got to say? Stand to attention!” - -“I ain’t got _nothin’_ to say, sir, savin’ that I never joined the army -to wash dixies, an’ I didn’t like the tone of voice him”--indicating -the orderly Sergeant--“used to me. Also I’m a little deaf, sir, an’ -my ’ands is that cut with barbed wire that it’s hagony to put ’em in -boilin’ water, sir! An’ I’m afraid o’ gettin’ these ’ere germs into -them, sir. Apart from which I ain’t got anything to say, sir!” - -After this Private Smith assumes the injured air of a martyr, casts his -eyes up to heaven, and waits hopefully for dismissal. (The other two -similar cases were dismissed this morning!) - -The Captain drums his fingers on the table for a few moments. “This is -your first offence, Smith.” - -“Yessir!” - -“But it is not made any the less serious by that fact.” - -The gleam of joy in Smith’s eye departs. - -“Disobedience of an order is no trivial matter. A case like this should -go before the Commanding Officer.” - -Long pause, during which the accused passes from the stage of hope -deferred to gloom and disillusion, and the orderly Sergeant assumes a -fiercely triumphant expression. - -“Twenty-eight days Field Punishment number one,” murmurs the Captain -ruminatively, “or a court-martial”--this just loud enough for the -accused to hear. The latter’s left leg sags a trifle, and consternation -o’erspreads his visage. - -“In view, Smith,” says the Captain aloud, “in view of your previous -good record, I will deal with you myself. Four days dixie washing, and -you will attend all parades!” - -Before Private Smith has time to heave a sigh of relief the C.S.M.’s -voice breaks on the air, “Left turrn! Left wheel, quick marrch!” - -“A good man, Sergeant-Major,” says the Captain with a smile. “Have to -scare ’em a bit at times, what?” - -Battalion Orderly Room is generally a very imposing affair, calculated -to put fear into the hearts of all save the most hardened criminals. -At times the array is formidable, as many as thirty--witnesses, escort, -and prisoners--being lined up outside the orderly room door under the -vigilant eye of the Regimental Sergeant-Major. It is easy to see which -is which, even were not the “dress” different. The prisoners are in -clean fatigue, wearing no accoutrements or equipment beyond the eternal -smoke-helmet. The escort are in light marching order, and grasp in -their left hands a naked bayonet, point upwards, resting along the -forearm. The witnesses wear their belts. Most of the accused have a -hang-dog look, some an air of defiance. - -“Escort and prisoners.... Shun!” - -The Colonel passes into orderly room, where the Adjutant, the Battalion -Orderly Officer, and Officer witnesses in the cases to be disposed of -await him, all coming rigidly to attention as he enters. In orderly -room, or “office” as the men usually call it, the Colonel commands the -deference paid to a high court judge. He is not merely a C.O., he is an -Institution. - -The R.S.M. hovers in the background, waiting for orders to call the -accused and witnesses in the first case. The C.O. fusses with the -papers on his desk, hums and haws, and finally decides which case he -will take first. The Adjutant stands near him, a sheaf of papers in his -hand, like a learnéd crown counsel. - -Not infrequently the trend of a case depends on whether the C.O. -lunched well, or if the G.O.C. strafed or complimented him the last -time they held palaver. Even colonels are human. - -“Charge against Private Maconochie, No. 170298, drunk,” etc., reads the -Adjutant. - -After the evidence has been heard the Colonel, having had no -explanation or defence from the accused, proceeds to pass sentence. -This being a first “drunk” he cannot do very much but talk, and talk he -does. - -“You were drunk, Thomkins. You were found in a state of absolutely -sodden intoxication, found in the main street of Ablain-le-Petit at -4 P.M. in the afternoon. You were so drunk that the evidence quotes -you as sleeping on the side-walk. You are a disgrace to the regiment, -Thomkins! You outrage the first principles of decency, you cast a -slur on your battalion. You deliberately, of set purpose, intoxicate -yourself at an early hour of the afternoon. I have a good mind to -remand for a Field General Court-martial. Then you would be shot! Shot, -do you understand? But I shall deal with you myself. I shall not permit -the name of this battalion to be besmirched by _you_. Reprimanded! -Reprimanded! Do you hear, sir!” - -(Voice of the R.S.M., north front.) “Right turn. Right wheel; quick -marrch!” - - - - -OUR FARM - - - _July 30th, 1916._ - -We are staying at a farm; quite an orthodox, Bairnsfather farm, except -that in lieu of one (nominal) dead cow, we possess one (actual) portion -of Dried Hun. The view from our doorway is somewhat extensive, and -full of local colour! There are “steen” other farms all around us, -all of which look as though they had been played with by professional -house-wreckers out on a “beno.” “AK” Company--what there is left of -it--has at present “gone to ground,” and from the lake to “Guildhall -Manor” (we are very Toney over here!) there is no sign of life. A -Fokker dropped in to call half an hour ago, but Archie & Sons awoke -with some alacrity, and he has gone elsewhere. It is too hot even to -write, and the C.O. of “AK” Coy., who _will_ wash every day, is a -disturbing influence. He splashes about in two inches of “wipers swill” -as though he really liked it, and the nett result is that somewhere -around 4 “pip emma” the rest of us decide to shave also, which ruins -the afternoon siesta. - -This is a great life. Breakfast at 2 A.M., lunch at noon, dinner at 4 -P.M., and supper any old time. - -Macpherson--one of those enthusiastic blighters--insisted on taking -me for a walk this morning. Being pure Edinburgh, Mac collects rum, -whisky, and miscellaneous junk of all descriptions. When he returns to -Canada he intends to run a junk shop in rear of a saloon. - -The Boche was in a genial mood this morning. As we squelched along -Flossy way, “out for bear,” he began to tickle up poor old Paradise -Wood with woolly bears, and Mount Sparrow with Minnies. Mac has no -sense of humour, he failed to see the joke. “There is a pairfectly -good pair of field-glasses to the left of Diamond Copse,” he said -mournfully, “and we cannot get them.” Diamond Copse is the sort of -place one reads about, and wishes one had never seen. It is about an -acre and a half in extent, and was once a pretty place enough, with a -few fine oak trees, and many young saplings. Nowadays, it can hardly -show a live twig, while shell-holes, bits of shrapnel, stinking pools -tinged with reddy-brown, and forlorn remnants of trench--not to speak -of dead bodies--make it into a nightmare of a place. - -“There is a sniper in Paradise Wood, and I do not like him,” Mac -announced gravely, after the fifth bullet, so we dodged over a -grave, under a fallen oak, and into a shell-wrecked dug-out full of -torn web equipment, machine-gun belts, old bully-beef, biscuits, a -stained blanket, and a boot with part of the wearer’s leg in it. The -horse-flies were very annoying, and a dead donkey in a narrow street -of Cairo would be as violets to patchouli compared with the smell. Mac -kept nosing around, and finally retrieved a safety razor and a box of -number nine pills from an old overcoat. “There is some one over there -in need of burial,” he said, “I can see the flies.” The flies were -incidental, but Mac is that kind of chap. - -We found what was left of the poor fellow near by. There was nothing -but bone and sinew, and torn remnants of clothing. It was impossible -to identify the man, and equally impossible to move him. By his side -lay a bunch of letters, dirty and torn, and in a pocket which I opened -gingerly with a jack-knife, a photograph of a girl--“With love, from -Mary.” The letters had no envelopes, and all began, “Dear Jimmy.” Mac -read one, and passed it over to me: “Dear Jimmy,--Enclosed you will -find a pair of socks, some chewing gum, and a pair of wool gloves I -knitted myself. The baby is well, and so am I. Peraps you will get -leeve before long. Take care of yourself, Jim dear. The pottatoes have -done good, an’ I am growing some tommatos. My separashun allowence -comes reglar, so don’t worry. You will be home soon, Jim, for the -papers say the Germans is beaten. I got your letter written in May. -Alice is well. Your lovin’ wife, Mary.” “Och, it’s a shame,” said Mac, -not looking at me. “A Tragedy, and but one of thousands.” - -We covered poor Jim over with old sand-bags, as best we might, and -his letters and photograph with him. Then we came back to our farm to -lunch. - - - - -AEROPLANES AND “ARCHIE” - - -There is something fascinating about aeroplanes. However many thousands -of them one may have seen, however many aerial combats one may have -witnessed, there is always the desire to see these things again, and, -inwardly, to marvel. - -Ten thousand feet above, round balls of black smoke appear in the blue -sky, coming, as it were, out of the nowhere into here. After long -listening you hear the echo of the distant explosion, like the clapping -together of the hands of a man in the aisle of an empty church, and -if you search very diligently, you will at last see the aeroplane, a -little dot in the ether, moving almost slowly--so it appears--on its -appointed course. Now the sun strikes the white-winged, bird-like thing -as it turns, and it glitters in the beams of light like a diamond in -the sky. Now it banks a little higher, now planes down at a dizzy -angle. Suddenly, short, sharp, distinct, you catch the sound of -machine-gun fire. Quick stuttering bursts, as the visible machine and -the invisible enemy circle about each other, seeking to wound, wing, -and destroy. Ah! There it is! The Fokker dives, steep and straight, -at our machine, and one can clearly see the little darts of flame as -the machine-guns rattle. Our man quite calmly loops the loop, and then -seems almost to skid after the Fokker which has carried on downwards, -evidently hit. He swoops down on the stricken plane, pumping in lead -as he goes. The twain seem to meet in collision, then--yes, the Fokker -is plunging, nose-diving, down, down, at a terrific rate of speed. Our -aviator swings free in a great circle, banks, and at top speed makes -back to his air-line patrol, while the German Archies open up on him -with redoubled violence, as, serenely confident, he hums along his way. - -It is truly wonderful what a fire an aeroplane can pass through quite -unscathed as far as actual hinderance to flight is concerned. Many a -time you can count nearly two hundred wreathing balls of smoke in the -track of the machine, and yet it sails placidly onward as though the -air were the native element of its pilot and the attentions of Archie -nonexistent. - -It is Tommy who first gave the anti-aircraft gun that euphonious name. -Why, no one knows. It must be intensely trying to be an Archie gunner. -Rather like shooting at driven partridges with an air-gun, though far -more exciting. The shells may burst right on the nose of the aeroplane, -to all intents and purposes, and yet the machine goes on, veering this -way or that, dropping or rising, apparently quite indifferent to the -bitter feelings it is causing down below. It is the most haughty and -inscrutable of all the weapons of war, to all outward appearances, and -yet when misfortune overtakes it, it is a very lame duck indeed. - -Archie is very much like a dog, his bark is worse than his bite--until -he has bitten! His motto is “persevere,” and in the long run he meets -with some success. Halcyon days, when he wags his metaphorical tail and -the official communiqués pat him on the head. He does not like other -dogs, bigger dogs, to bark at him. They quite drown his own bark, so -that it is useless to bark back, and their highly explosive nature -forces him to put his tail between his legs and run for it, like a chow -pursued by a mastiff. No common-sense Archie stops in any place long -after the five-nines and the H.E. shrapnel begin to burst around it. In -that case discretion is indubitably the better part of valour. - -Aeroplanes have a nasty habit of “spotting” Archies, whereby they -even up old scores and prove their superiority. For even the lordly -aeroplane does not charge an Archie barrage by preference. - -It is when the planes come out in force, a score at a time, that -poor Archibald has a rough time, and, so to speak, scratches his ear -desperately with his hind leg. The planes do not come in serried mass, -but, wheeling this way and that, diving off here and down yonder, -so confuse poor Archie that he even stops barking at all, wondering -which one he ought to bark at first! By this time most of the planes -have sidled gracefully out of range, rounded up and driven down the -iron-cross birds, and, having dropped their “cartes de visite” at the -rail-head, are returning by ways that are swift and various to the -place whence they came. All of which is most unsettling to the soul of -Archibald. - -In the evening, when the west is pink and gold, Archie’s eyes grow -wearied. He sees dimly many aeroplanes, here and there, going and -coming, and he _has_ been known to bark at the wrong one! Wherefore the -homing aeroplane drops a star-signal very often to let him know that -all is well, and that no German hawks menace the safety of the land -over which he is the “ethereal” guardian, in theory, if not always in -practice. - -At night Archie slumbers profoundly. But the birds of the air do not -always sleep. Many a night one hears the throb and hum of a machine -crossing the line, and because Archie is asleep we pay him unconscious -tribute: “Is it ours, or theirs?” - -Once, not a mile from the front line, Archie dreamed he saw a Zeppelin. -He awoke, stood to, and pointed his nose straight up in the air. Far -above him, many thousands of feet aloft, a silvery, menacing sphere -hung in the rays of the searchlights. And he barked his loudest and -longest, but without avail, for the distance was too great. And the -imaginative French folk heaped unintentional infamy upon him when they -spoke quite placidly of “Archie baying at the moon!” - - - - -STIRRING TIMES - - -At the corner of the Grande Route de Bapaume near the square, stands -the little old Estaminet of La Veuve Matifas. - -It is only a humble Estaminet, where, in the old days, Pierre Lapont -and old Daddy Duchesne discussed a “chope,” and talked over the -failings of the younger generation, but nowadays it bears a notice -on the little door leading into the back room, “For officers only.” -The men have the run of the larger room, during hours, but the little -parlour in rear is a spot sacred to those wearing from one star upwards. - -Madame Matifas is old, and very large. - -“Mais, Monsieur le Capitaine, dans ma jeunesse.... Ah! Alors!”--and -she dearly loves a good hearty laugh. She also sells most excellent -champagne, and--let it be murmured softly--Cointreau, Benedictine, -and very rarely a bottle of “Skee” (“B. & W.” for choice). She has -twinkling brown eyes, fat comfortable-looking hands, and we all call -her “Mother,” while she calls those of us who please her “Mon brave -garçon.” - -But La Veuve Matifas is not the sole attraction of the Bon Fermier nor -are even her very excellent wines and other drinks, that may inebriate. -She has two children: Cécile and Marie Antoinette. The former is, -strange to say, “petite” and “mignonne”--she is also very pretty and -she knows all the officers of our Division; most of the young and -tender ones write to her from the trenches. You may kiss Cécile on the -cheek if you know her well. - -Marie Antoinette is of the tall, rather rich coloured, passionate type. -She was engaged to a “Little Corporal” of the 77th Infantry of the -Line. Alas, he died of wounds seven months ago. She wears mourning for -him, but Marie is now in love with the Senior Major, or else we are -all blind! (Uneasy rests the arm that wears a crown!) However, that is -neither here not there. We like the widow Matifas, and we all admire -her daughters, while some of us fall in love with them, and we _always_ -have a “stirring time” when we reach rest billets within walking -distance of the “Estaminet du Bon Fermier,” or even gee gee distance. - -In defiance of the A.P.M. we float into town about 8 “pip emma” (the -O.C. signals _will_ bring “shop” into every-day conversation) and -stealthily creep up the little back alley which leads to the back -door of the Estaminet. We gather there--four of us, as a rule--and we -tap thrice. We hear a fat, uneven walk, and the heavy respiration of -“Maman,” and then: - -“Qui est là?” - -“C’est nous, Mère Matifas!” - -The door is unbolted, and we enter. Scholes invariably salutes Maman -on both cheeks, and we--if we have the chance--salute her daughters. -Then we carry on to the parlour. Pelham--who thinks all women love his -goo-goo eyes--tries to tell Marie Antoinette, in simply rotten French, -how much he loves her, and Marie gets very business-like, and wants to -know if we want Moët et Chandon at 12 frcs. a bottle or “the other” at -six. - -So far we have never dared to try “the other,” for fear that we appear -“real mean”! Maman bustles about, and calls us her brave boys, and -_never_ says a word about the war, which is a real kindness to us -war-weary people. - -Cécile makes her entrance usually after the second bottle; probably to -make her sister envious, because she always gets such a warm welcome. -In fact there is an almost scandalous amount of competition for the -honour of sitting next to her. - -La Veuve Matifas stays until after the third bottle. She has tact, that -woman, and a confidence in ourselves and her daughters that no man who -is worthy of the name would take advantage of. - -Last time we were there an incident occurred which literally took -all our breaths away. We were in the middle of what Allmays calls -“Close harmony” and Allmays was mixing high tenor, basso profundo, and -Benedictine, when suddenly the door opened in a most impressive manner. -That little plain deal door _felt_ important, and it had the right to -feel important too. - -The C.O. came in. - -We got up. - -The C.O. turned to Cécile, who was sitting _far_ too close to Pelham, -in my estimation (for I was on the other side), and said, “Cécile, two -more bottles please!” Then to us, “Sit down, gentlemen, carry on.” We -were all fairly senior officers, but Maman nearly fainted dead away -when we conveyed to her the fact that a real, live, active service -Colonel was in her back parlour at 9.15 “pip emma,” ordering up the -bubbly. - -He stayed a whole hour, and we had to sing. And then he told us that -he had been offered a Brigade, and was leaving us. We were all jolly -sorry--and jolly glad too--and we said so. We told the girls. “Un -Général!” cried Cécile. “Mon Dieu!” and before we could stop her she -flung her arms round the C.O.’s neck and kissed him. We all expected to -be shot at dawn or dismissed the service, but the C.O. took it like a -real brick, and Pelham swears he kissed her back--downy old bird that -he is! - -After he had left we had a bully time. Marie Antoinette was peeved -because she had not kissed the Colonel herself, and Cécile was -sparkling because she _had_ kissed him. Which gave us all a chance. -Mère Matifas drank two whole glasses of champagne, and insisted on -dancing a Tarantelle with Allmays, whom she called a “joli garçon,” and -flirted with most shamelessly. Pelham got mixed up with a coon song, -and spent half an hour trying to unmix, and Scholes consoled Marie -Antoinette. As for me, well, there was nothing for it--Cécile _had_ to -be talked to, don’t you know! - -Mother “pro-duced” a bottle of “B. & W.” also. In fact we had a most -stirring time! - -We still go to see La Veuve Matifas. She never speaks to us without -saying at least once, “Ah! Mais le brave Général, image de mon mari, où -est il?” - -I have a photograph of Cécile in the left-hand breast pocket of my -second-best tunic. Scholes says he is going to marry Marie Antoinette, -“Après la Guerre,” in spite of the Senior Major! - - - - -SICK PARADE - - -“The Company,” read the orderly Sergeant, “will parade at 8.45 A.M., -and go for a route march. Dress: Light marching order.” - -A groan went up from the dark shadows of the dimly-lighted barn, which -died down gradually on the order to “cut it out.” “Sick parade at -7.30 A.M. at the M.O.’s billet Menin-lee-Chotaw,” announced the O.S. -sombrely. “Any of you men who wanter go sick give in your names to -Corporal Jones right now.” - -Yells of “Right here, Corporal,” “I can’t move a limb, Corporal,” -and other statements of a like nature, announced the fact that there -were quite a number of gentlemen whose pronounced view it was that -they could not do an eight-mile route march the next day. Corporal -Jones emerged, perspiring, after half an hour’s gallant struggle. -Being very conscientious he took full particulars, according to Hoyle: -name, number, rank, initials, age, religion, and nature of disease. -The last he invariably asked for by means of the code phrase, -“wossermarrerwi_you_?” - -Having refused to admit at least half a dozen well-known scrimshankers -to the roll of sick, lame, and lazy, he finished up with Private -Goodman, who declared himself suffering from “rheumatics hall over. Me -legs is somethin’ tur’ble bad.” - -There were thirteen names on the report. - -Menin-le-Château being a good three kilometres distant, the sick -fell in at 6.30 A.M. the next day. The grey dawn was breaking in -the East, and a drizzling rain made the village street even more -miserable-looking than it was at all times. As on all sick parades, all -the members thereof endeavoured to look their very worst, and succeeded -admirably for the most part. They were unshaven, improperly dressed, -according to military standards, and they shuffled around like a bunch -of old women trying to catch a bus. Corporal Jones was in a very bad -temper, and he told them many things, the least of which would have -made a civilian’s hair turn grey. But, being “sick,” the men merely -listened to him with a somewhat apathetic interest. - -They moved off in file, a sorry-looking bunch of soldiers. Each man -chose his own gait, which no injunctions to get in step could affect, -and a German under-officer looking them over would have reported to his -superiors that the morale of the British troops was hopeless. - -At 7.25 A.M. this unseemly procession arrived in Menin-le-Château. In -the far distance Corporal Jones espied the Regimental Sergeant-Major. -The latter was a man whom every private considered an incarnation of -the devil! The junior N.C.O.’s feared him, and the Platoon Sergeants -had a respect for him founded on bitter experience in the past, when -he had found them wanting. In other words he was a cracking good -Sergeant-Major of the old-fashioned type. He was privately referred to -as Rattle-Snake Pete, a tribute not only to his disciplinary measures, -but also to his heavy, fierce black moustachios, and a lean, eagle-like -face in which was set a pair of fierce, penetrating black eyes. - -“If,” said Corporal Jones loudly, “you all wants to be up for Office -you’ll _walk_. Otherways you’ll _march_! There’s the Sergeant-Major!” - -The sick parade pulled itself together with a click. Collars and -the odd button were furtively looked over and done up, caps pulled -straight, and no sound broke the silence save a smart unison of -“left-right-left” along the muddy road. The R.S.M. looked them over -with a gleam in his eye as they passed, and glanced at his watch. - -“’Alf a minute late, Co’poral Jones,” he shouted. “Break into double -time. Double ... march!” The sick parade trotted away steadily--until -they got round a bend in the road. “Sick!!!” murmured the R.S.M. “My -H’EYE!” - -A little way further on the parade joined a group composed of the sick -of other battalion units, some fifty in all. Corporal Jones handed his -sick report to the stretcher-bearer Sergeant, and was told he would -have to wait until the last. - -In half an hour’s time the first name of the men in his party was -called--Lance-Corporal MacMannish. - -“What’s wrong?” asked the doctor briskly. - -“’A have got a pain in here, sirr,” said MacMannish, “an’ it’s sair, -sorr,” pointing to the centre of his upper anatomy. - -“Show me your tongue? H’m. Eating too much! Colic. Two number nine’s. -Light duty.” - -Lance-Corporal MacMannish about-turned with a smile of ecstatic joy and -departed, having duly swallowed the pills. - -“What did ye get, Jock?” - -“Och! Light duty,” said the hero with the air of a wronged man -justified, “but _you’ll_ be no gettin’ such a thing, Bowering!” - -“And why not?” demanded the latter scowling. However, his name being -then called put an end to the discussion. - -“I have pains in me head and back, sir,” explained Mr. Bowering, “and -no sleep for two nights.” The doctor looked him over with a critical, -expert eye. - -“Give him a number nine. Medicine and duty. Don’t drink so much, -Bowering! That’s enough. Clear out!” - -“_He’s_ no doctor,” declared the victim when he reached the street. -“Huh! I wouldn’t trust a _cat_ with ’im!” - -The next man got no duty, and this had such an effect on him that he -almost forgot he was a sick man, and walloped a pal playfully in the -ribs on the doorstep, which nearly led to trouble. - -Of the remaining ten, all save one were awarded medicine and duty, but -they took so long to tell the story of their symptoms, and managed -to develop such good possible cases, that it was 8.45 before the -parade fell in again to march back to billets, a fact which they all -thoroughly appreciated! - -Wonderful the swinging step with which they set forth, Corporal Jones -at the head, Lance-Corporal MacMannish, quietly triumphant, bringing -up the rear. They passed the Colonel in the village, and he stopped -Corporal Jones to inquire what they were. - -“Your men are marching very well, Corporal. ‘A’ Company? Ah, yes. -Fatigue party, hey?” - -“No-sir, sick-parade-sir!” - -“Sick Parade! God bless my soul! Sick! How many men were given medicine -and duty?” - -“Nine, sir.” - -“Nine, out of thirteen.... ‘A’ Company is on a route march this -morning, is it not?” - -“Yessir.” - -“My compliments to Major Bland, Corporal, and I would like him to -parade these nine men in heavy marching order and send them on a -nine-mile route march, under an officer.” - -“Very good, sir!” - -Next day there were no representatives of “A” Coy. on sick parade! - - - - -BATMEN - - -This war has produced a new breed of mankind, something that the army -has never seen before, although they have formed a part of it, under -the same name, since Noah was a boy. They are alike in name only. -Batmen, the regular army type, are professionals. What they don’t know -about cleaning brass, leather, steel, and general valeting simply isn’t -worth knowing. They are super-servants, and they respect their position -as reverently as an English butler respects his. With the new batman it -is different. Usually the difficulty is not so much to discover what -they do not know, as what they do! A new officer arrives at the front, -or elsewhere, and he has to have a batman. It is a rather coveted -job, and applicants are not slow in coming forward. Some man who is -tired of doing sentry duty gets the position, and his “boss” spends -anxious weeks bringing him up in the way he should go, losing, in the -interval, socks, handkerchiefs, underwear, gloves, ties, shirts, and -collars galore! What can be said to the wretched man when in answer to -“Where the ---- is my new pair of socks?” he looks faint and replies: -“I’ve lost them, sir!” Verily, as the “professional” scornfully -remarks, are these “Saturday night batmen!” - -Yet even batmen are born, not made. Lucky is he who strikes on one -of the former; only the man is sure to get killed, or wounded, or go -sick! There is always a fly in the ointment somewhere. The best kind -of batman to have is a kleptomaniac. Treat him well and he will never -touch a thing of your own, but he will, equally, never leave a thing -belonging to any one else! - -“Cozens, where did you get this pair of pants?” - -“Found them, sir!” - -“Where did you find them?” - -“Lying on the floor, sir,” with an air of injured surprise. - -“_Where!_” - -“I don’t justly remember, sir.” - -Voice from right rear: “The Major’s compliments, sir, and have you -seen his new pants?” - -“Cozens!” - -“Yessir.” - -“Give me those pants.... Are those the Major’s?” - -“Yes, sir, them’s them.” - -Cozens watches the pants disappear with a sad, retrospective air of -gloom. - -“You ain’t got but the _one_ pair now, sir.” This with reproach. - -“How many times have I got to tell you to leave other people’s clothes -alone? The other day it was pyjamas, now it’s pants. You’ll be taking -somebody’s boots next. Confound it. I’ll--I’ll return you to duty if -you do it again!... How about all those handkerchiefs? Where did _they_ -come from?” - -“All yours, sir, back from the wash!” With a sigh, one is forced to -give up the unequal contest. - -Albeit as valets the batmen of the present day compare feebly with the -old type, in certain other ways they are head and shoulders above them. -The old “pro” refuses to do a single thing beyond looking after the -clothing and accoutrements of his master. The new kind of batman can -be impressed to do almost anything. He will turn into a runner, wait -at table, or seize a rifle with gusto and help get Fritz’s wind up. Go -long journeys to find souvenirs, and make himself generally useful. He -will even “bat” for the odd officer, when occasion arises, as well as -for his own particular boss. - -No man is a hero in the eyes of his own batman. He knows everything -about you, even to the times when your banking account is nil. He knows -when you last had a bath, and when you last changed your underwear. He -knows how much you eat, and also how much you drink; he knows all your -friends with whom you correspond, and most of your family affairs as -revealed by that correspondence, and nothing can hide from his eagle -eye the fact that you are--lousy! Yet he is a pretty good sort, after -all; he never tells. We once had a rather agéd sub. in the Company -whose teeth were not his own, not a single one of them. One night, -after a somewhat heavy soirée and general meeting of friends, he -went to bed--or, to be more accurate, was tucked in by his faithful -henchman--and lost both the upper and lower sets in the silent watches. -The following morning he had a fearfully worried look, and spake not at -all, except in whispers to his batman. Finally, the O.C. Company asked -him a question, and he _had_ to say something. It sounded like “A out -mo,” so we all instantly realised something was lacking. He refused -to eat anything at all, but took a little nourishment in the form of -tea. His batman was to be observed crawling round the floor, perspiring -at every pore, searching with his ears aslant and his mouth wide open -for hidden ivory. We all knew it; poor old Gerrard knew we knew it, -but the batman was faithful to the last, even when he pounced on the -quarry with the light of triumph in his eye. He came to his master -after breakfast was over and asked if he could speak to him. Poor -Gerrard moved into the other room, and you could have heard a pin drop. -“Please, sir,” in a stage whisper from his batman, “please, sir, I’ve -got hold of them TEETH, sir! But the front ones is habsent, sir, ’aving -bin trod on!” - -The biggest nuisance on God’s earth is a batman who spends all his -spare moments getting drunk! Usually, however, he is a first-class -batman during his sober moments! He will come in “plastered to the -eyes” about eleven o’clock, and begin to hone your razors by the pallid -rays of a candle, or else clean your revolver and see if the cartridges -fit! In his cups he is equal to anything at all. Unless the case is -really grave the man wins every time, for no one hates the idea of -changing his servant more than an officer who has had the same man for -a month or so and found him efficient. - -Not infrequently batmen are touchingly faithful. They will do anything -on earth for their “boss” at any time of the day or night, and never -desert him in the direst extremity. More than one batman has fallen -side by side with his officer, whom he had followed into the fray, -close on his heels. - -Once, after a charge, a conversation ensued between the sergeant of a -certain officer’s platoon and that officer’s batman, in this fashion: - -“What were _you_ doin’ out there, Tommy?” - -“Follerin’.” - -“And why was you close up on his heels, so clost I could ’ardly see -’im?” - -“Follerin’ ’im up.” - -“And why wasn’t you back somewhere _safe_?” (This with a touch of -sarcasm.) - -“Lord, Sargint, you couldn’t expect me to let _’im_ go out by ’isself! -’E might ha’ got hurt!” - - - - -RATIONS - - -“Bully-beef an’ ’ard-tack,” said Private Boddy disgustedly. “Bully-beef -that’s canned dog or ’orse, or may be cats, an’ biscuits that’s _fit_ -for dawgs.... This is a ’ell of a war. W’y did I ever leave little old -Walkerville, w’ere the whiskey comes from? Me an’ ’Iram we was almost -pals, as you may say. I worked a ’ole fortnight in ’is place, at $1.75 -per, an’ then I----” Mr. Boddy broke off abruptly, but not soon enough. - -“Huh!” broke in a disgusted voice from a remote corner of the dug-out, -“then I guess you went bummin’ your way till the bulls got you in -Windsor. To hear you talk a chap would think you didn’t know what -pan-handlin’ was, or going out on the stem.” - -“Look ’ere,” said Boddy with heat, “you comeralong outside, you great -long rubberneck, you, an’ I’ll teach you to call me a pan-’andler, I -will. You low-life Chicago bum, wot never _did_ ’ave a better meal -than you could steal f’m a Chink Chop Suey.” - -“Say, fellers,” a quiet voice interposed, “cut it out. This ain’t a -Parliament Buildings nor a Montreal cabaret. There’s a war on. If youse -guys wants to talk about rations, then go ahead, shoot, but cut out the -rough stuff!” - -“Dat’s what _I_ say, Corporal,” interrupted a French-Canadian. “I’m a -funny sort of a guy, I am. I likes to hear a good spiel, widout any -of dis here free cussin’ an’ argumentation. Dat ain’t no good, fer it -don’t cut no ice, _no’ d’un ch’en_!” - -“Talkin’ of rations,” drawled a Western voice, “when I was up to -Calgary in ’08, an’ was done gone busted, save for two bits, I tuk a -flop in one of them houses at 15 cents per, an’ bot a cow’s heel with -the dime. You kin b’lieve me or you needn’t, but I _tell_ you a can of -that bully you’re shootin’ off about would ha’ seemed mighty good to -_me_, right then, an’ it aren’t so dusty naow.” - -Private Boddy snorted his contempt. “An’ the jam they gives you,” he -said, “w’y at ’ome you couldn’t _give_ it away! Plum an’ happle! Or -wot they call plain happle! It ain’t never seed a plum, bar the stone, -nor a happle, bar the core. It’s just colourin’ mixed up wiv boiled -down turnups, that’s what it is.” - -“De bread’s all right, anyways,” said Lamontagne, “but dey don’t never -git you more’n a slice a man! An dat cheese. Pouff! It stink like a -Fritz wot’s laid dead since de British takes Pozières.” - -Scottie broke in. - -“Aye, but hold yerr maunderin’. Ye canna verra weel have aught to clack -aboot when ’tis the Rum ye speak of.” - -“Dat’s all right,” Lamontagne responded, “de rum’s all right. But -who gets it? What youse gets is one ting. A little mouthful down de -brook wot don’t do no more than make you drier as you was before. What -does de Sargents get? So much dey all is so rambunctious mad after a -feller he dasn’t look dem in de face or dey puts him up for office! -Dat’s a fine ways, dat is! An’ dem awficers! De limit, dat’s what -dat is. I was up to de cook-house wid a--wid a rifle----”--“a dirty -rifle too, on inspection, by Heck,” the Corporal supplemented--“wid -a rifle, as I was sayin’,” continued Lamontagne, with a reproachful -look in the direction of his section commander, “an’ I sees wot was -in de cook-house a cookin’ for de awficers” (his voice sunk to an -impressive whisper). “D’ere was eeggs, wid de sunny side up, an’ dere -was bif-steaks all floatin’ in gravy, an’ pottitters an’ _beans_, an’ -peaches an’ peyers.” - -“Quit yer fool gabbin’,” said Chicago. “H’aint you got no sense in that -mutt-head o’ yourn? That’s food them ginks BUYS!” - -Boddy had been silent so long he could bear it no longer. - -“’Ave a ’eart,” he said, “it gives me a pain ter fink of all that -food the horficers heats. Pure ’oggery, I calls it. An’ ter fink of -th’ little bit o’ bread an’ biscuit an’ bacon--wot’s all fat--wot we -fellers gets to eat. _We_ does the work, an’ the horficers sits in easy -chairs an’ Heats!! Oh _w’y_ did I join the Harmy?” - -At this moment, Private Graham, who had been slumbering peacefully -until Lamontagne, in his excitement, put a foot in the midst of his -anatomy, added his quota to the discussion. Private Graham wore the -King and Queen’s South African medal and also the Somaliland. Before -drink reduced him, he had been a company Q.M.S. in a crack regiment. -His words were usually respected. “Strike me pink if you Saturday night -soldiers don’t give me the guts-ache,” he remarked with some acerbity. -“In Afriky you’d ha’ bin dead an’ buried months ago, judgin’ by the way -you talks! There it was march, march, march, an’ no fallin’ out. Little -water, a ’an’ful o’ flour, an’ a tin of bully wot was fly-blowed two -minutes after you opened it, unless you ’ad eat it a’ready. An’ you -talks about food! S’elp me if it ain’t a crime. Rations! W’y, never in -the ’ole ’istory of the world ’as a Army bin better fed nor we are. You -young soldiers sh’d learn a thing or two afore you starts talkin’ abaht -yer elders an’ betters. Lord, in th’ old days a hofficers’ mess was -somethin’ to dream abaht. Nowadays they can’t ’old a candle to it. Wot -d’yer expec’? D’yer think a horficer is goin’ to deny ’is stummick if -’e can buy food ter put in it? ’E ain’t so blame stark starin’ mad as -all that. You makes me sick, you do!” - -“Dat’s what _I_ say,” commented Lamontagne! - -From afar came a voice crying, “Turn out for your rations.” - -In thirty seconds the dug-out was empty! - - - - -OUR SCOUT OFFICER - - -We have a certain admiration for our scout officer; not so much for his -sleuth-hound propensities, as for his completely _dégagé_ air. He is a -Holmes-Watson individual, in whom the Holmes is usually subservient to -the Watson. - -Without a map--he either has several dozen or none at all--he is purely -Watson. With a map he is transformed into a Sherlock, instanter. The -effect of a _new_ map on him is like that of a new build of aeroplane -on an aviator. He pores over it, he reverses the north and south gear, -and gets the magnetic differential on the move; with a sweep of the -eye he climbs up hills and goes down into valleys, he encircles a wood -with a pencil-marked forefinger--and asks in an almost pained way for -nail-scissors. Finally, he sends out his Scout Corporal and two men, -armed to the teeth with spy-glasses and compasses (magnetic, mark -VIII), to reconnoitre. When they come back (having walked seventeen -kilometres to get to a point six miles away) and report, he says, -wagging his head sagely: “Ah! I knew it. According to this map, 81×D -(parts of), 82 GN, south-west (parts of), 32 B^1, N.W. (parts of), and -19 CF, East (parts of), the only available route is the main road, -marked quite clearly on the map, and running due east-north-east by -east from Bn. H.Q.” - -But he is a cheerful soul. The other day, when we were romancing around -in the Somme, we had to take over a new line; one of those “lines” -that genial old beggar Fritz makes for us with 5.9’s. He--the Scout -Officer--rose to the occasion. He went to the Commanding Officer, and -in his most ingratiating manner, his whole earnest soul in his pale -blue eyes, offered to take him up to his battle head-quarters. - -This offer was accepted, albeit the then Adjutant had a baleful glitter -in _his_ eye. - -After he had led us by ways that were strange and peculiar through the -gathering darkness, and after the Colonel had fallen over some barbed -wire into a very damp shell-hole, he began to look worried. We struck -a very famous road--along which even the worms dare not venture--and -our Intelligence Officer led us for several hundred yards along it. - -An occasional high explosive shrapnel shell burst in front and to rear -of us, but, map grasped firmly in the right hand, our Scout Officer -led us fearlessly onwards. He did not march, he did not even walk, he -sauntered. Then with a dramatic gesture wholly unsuited to the time -and circumstances, he turned and said: “Do you mind waiting a minute, -sir, while I look at the map?” After a few brief comments the C.O. went -to earth in a shell-hole. The Scout Officer sat down in the road, and -examined his map by the aid of a flash-light until the Colonel threw a -clod of earth at him accompanied by some very uncomplimentary remarks. -“I think, sir,” said the Scout Officer, his gaunt frame and placid -countenance illumined by shell-bursts, “that if we cross the road and -go North by East we may perhaps strike the communication trench leading -to the Brewery. _Personally_, I would suggest going overland, but----” -His last words were drowned by the explosion of four 8.1’s 50 yards -rear right. “Get out of this, sir! Get out of this DAMN quick,” roared -the C.O. The Scout Officer stood to attention slowly, and saluted with -a deprecating air. - -He led. - -We followed. - -He took us straight into one of the heaviest barrages it had ever been -our misfortune to encounter, and when we had got there he said he was -lost. So for twenty minutes the C.O., the Adjutant, nine runners, and, -last but not least, the Scout Officer, sat under a barrage in various -shell-holes, and prayed inwardly--with the exception of the Scout -Officer--that _he_ (the S.O.) would be hit plump in the centre of his -maps by a 17-inch shell. - -It were well to draw a veil over what followed. Even Holmes-Watson -does not like to hear it mentioned. Suffice to say that the C.O. (with -party) left at 5.30 P.M. and arrived at battle head-quarters at 11.35 -P.M. The Scout Officer was then engaged in discovering a route between -Battle H.Q. and the front line. He reported back at noon the following -day, and slept in a shell-hole for thirteen hours. No one could live -near the C.O. for a week, and he threatened the S.O. with a short-stick -MILLS. - -If there is one thing which the Scout Officer does not like, it is -riding a horse. He almost admits that he cannot ride! The other day he -met a friend. The friend had one quart bottle of Hennessey, three star. -The Scout Officer made a thorough reconnaissance of the said bottle, -and reported on same. - -A spirited report. - -Unhappily the C.O. ordered a road reconnaissance an hour later, and our -Scout Officer had to ride a horse. The entire H.Q. sub-staff assisted -him to mount, and the last we saw of Holmes-Watson, he was galloping -down the road, sitting well on the horse’s neck, hands grasping the -saddle tightly, rear and aft. Adown the cold November wind we heard his -dulcet voice carolling: - - “I put my money on a bob-tailed nag!... - Doo-dah ... Doo-dah! - _I_ put my money on a bob-tailed nag; - ... Doo-dah! ... Doo-dah!! ... _DEY!!!_” - - - - -MARTHA OF DRANVOORDE - - -Martha Beduys, in Belgium, was considered pretty, even handsome. Of -that sturdy Flemish build so characteristic of Belgian women, in whom -the soil seems to induce embonpoint, she was plump to stoutness. She -was no mere girl; twenty-seven years had passed over her head when the -war broke out, and she saw for the first time English soldiers in the -little village that had always been her home. There was a great deal -of excitement. As the oldest of seven sisters, Martha was the least -excited, but the most calculating. - -The little baker’s shop behind the dull old church had always been a -source of income, but never a means to the attainment of wealth. Martha -had the soul of a shop-keeper, a thing which, in her father’s eyes, -made her the pride of his household. - -Old Hans Beduys was a man of some strength of mind. His features -were sharp and keen, his small, blue eyes had a glitter in them -which seemed to accentuate their closeness to each other, and his -hands--lean, knotted, claw-like--betokened his chief desire in life. -Born of a German mother and a Belgian father, he had no particular love -for the English. - -When the first British Tommy entered his shop and asked for bread, old -Beduys looked him over as a butcher eyes a lamb led to the slaughter. -He was calculating the weight in sous and francs. - -That night Beduys laid down the law to his family. - -“The girls will all buy new clothes,” he said, “for which I shall -pay. They will make themselves agreeable to the English mercenaries, -but”--with a snap of his blue eyes--“nothing more. The good God has -sent us a harvest to reap; I say we shall reap it.” - -During the six months that followed the little shop behind the church -teemed with life. The Beduys girls were glad enough to find men to -talk to for the linguistic difficulty was soon overcome--to flirt with -mildly, and in front of whom to show off their newly-acquired finery. -From morn till dewy eve the shop was crowded, and occasionally an -officer or two would dine in the back parlour, kiss Martha if they felt -like it, and not worry much over a few sous change. - -In the meantime old Hans waxed financially fat, bought a new Sunday -suit, worked the life out of his girls, and prayed nightly that the -Canadians would arrive in the vicinity of his particular “Somewhere in -Belgium.” - -In a little while they came. - -Blossoming forth like a vine well fertilised at the roots, the little -shop became more and more pretentious as the weekly turnover increased. -Any day that the receipts fell below a certain level old Beduys raised -such a storm that his bevy of daughters redoubled their efforts. - -Martha had become an enthusiastic business woman. Her fair head with -its golden curls was bent for many hours in the day over a crude -kind of ledger, and she thought in terms of pickles, canned fruits, -chocolate, and cigarettes. The spirit of commerce had bitten deep into -Martha’s soul. - -More and more officers held impromptu dinners in the back parlour. -Martha knew most of them, but only one interested her. Had he not -shown her the system of double entry, and how to balance her accounts? -He was a commercial asset. - -As for Jefferson, it was a relief to him, after a tour in the trenches, -to have an occasional chat with a moderately pretty girl. - -One rain-sodden, murky January night, very weary, wet, and muddy, -Jefferson dropped in to see, as he would have put it, “the baker’s -daughter.” - -Martha happened to be alone, and welcomed “Monsieur Jeff” beamingly. - -Perhaps the dim light of the one small lamp, perhaps his utter war -weariness, induced Jefferson to overlook the coarseness of the girl’s -skin, her ugly hands, and large feet. Perhaps Martha was looking -unusually pretty. - -At all events he suddenly decided that she was desirable. Putting -his arm around her waist as she brought him his coffee, he drew her, -unresisting, on to his knee. Then he kissed her. - -Heaven knows what possessed Martha that evening. She not only allowed -his kisses, but returned them, stroking his curly hair with a -tenderness that surprised herself as much as it surprised him. - -Thereafter Martha had two souls. A soul for business and a soul for -Jefferson. - -The bleak winter rolled on and spring came. - -About the beginning of April old Beduys received, secretly, a letter -from a relative in Frankfurt. The contents of the letter were such -that the small pupils of the old man’s eyes dilated with fear. He hid -the document away, and his temper for that day was execrable. That -night he slept but little. Beduys lay in bed and pictured the sails of -a windmill--HIS windmill--and he thought also of ten thousand francs -and his own safety. He thought of the distance to the mill--a full two -kilometres--and of the martial law which dictated, among other things, -that he be in his home after a certain hour at night, and that his -mill’s sails be set at a certain angle when at rest. Then he thought -of Martha. Martha of the commercial mind. Martha the obedient. Yes! -That was it, obedient! Hans Beduys rose from his bed softly, without -disturbing his heavily-sleeping wife, and read and re-read his -brother’s letter. One page he kept, and the rest he tore to shreds, and -burned, bit by bit, in the candle flame. - -High up on the hill stood the windmill--the Beduys windmill. Far -over in the German lines an Intelligence Officer peered at it in the -gathering dusk through a night-glass. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the -sails of the mill turned, and stopped for a full minute. Slowly, almost -imperceptibly, they turned again, and stopped again. This happened -perhaps twenty times. The German made some notes and went to the -nearest signalling station. - -Five minutes later a salvo of great shells trundled, with a noise like -distant express trains, over to the left of the mill. - -There were heavy casualties in a newly-arrived battalion bivouacked not -half a mile from the baker’s shop. The inhabitants of the village awoke -and trembled. “Hurrumph-umph!” Again the big shells trundled over the -village, and again. There was confusion, and death and wounding. - -In his bed lay Hans Beduys, sweating from head to foot, while his brain -hammered out with ever-increasing force: “Ten thousand francs--Ten -Thousand Francs.” - -In the small hours a shadow disengaged itself from the old mill, -cautiously. Then it began to run, and resolved itself into a woman. -By little paths, by ditches, by side-tracks, Martha reached home. She -panted heavily, her face was white and haggard. When she reached her -room she flung herself on her bed, and lay there wide-eyed, dumb, -horror-stricken, until the dawn broke. - -Jefferson’s Battalion finished a tour in the trenches on the following -night. Jefferson marched back to billet with a resolve in his mind. -He had happened to notice the windmill moving the night before, as he -stood outside Company head-quarters in the trenches. He had heard the -shells go over--away back--and had seen the sails move again. The two -things connected themselves instantly in his mind. Perhaps he should -have reported the matter at once, but Jefferson did not do so. He meant -to investigate for himself. - -Two days later Jefferson got leave to spend the day in the nearest -town. He returned early in the afternoon, put his revolver in the -pocket of his British warm coat, and set out for the windmill. He did -not know to whom the mill belonged, nor did that trouble him. - -An Artillery Brigade had parked near the village that morning. -Jefferson got inside the mill without difficulty. It was a creaky, -rat-haunted old place, and no one lived within half a mile of it. -Poking about, he discovered nothing until his eyes happened to fall on -a little medallion stuck between two boards on the floor. - -Picking it up, Jefferson recognised it as one of those little -“miraculous medals” which he had seen strung on a light chain around -Martha’s neck. He frowned thoughtfully, and put it in his pocket. - -He hid himself in a corner and waited. He waited so long that he fell -asleep. The opening of the little wooden door of the mill roused him -with a start. There was a long pause, and then the sound of footsteps -coming up the wooden stairway which led to where Jefferson lay. The -window in the mill-face reflected the dying glow of a perfect sunset, -and the light in the mill was faint. He could hear the hum of a -biplane’s engines as it hurried homeward, the day’s work done. - -A peaked cap rose above the level of the floor, followed by a stout, -rubicund face. A Belgian gendarme. - -Jefferson fingered his revolver, and waited. The gendarme looked -around, grunted, and disappeared down the steps again, closing the door -that led into the mill with a bang. Jefferson sat up and rubbed his -head. - -He did not quite understand. - -Perhaps ten minutes had passed when for the third time that night the -door below was opened softly, closed as softly, and some one hurried up -the steps. - -It was Martha. She had a shawl over her head and shoulders, and she was -breathing quickly, with parted lips. - -Jefferson noiselessly dropped his revolver into his pocket again. - -With swift, sure movements, the girl began to set the machinery of the -mill in motion. By glancing over to the window, Jefferson could see the -sails move slowly--very, very slowly. Martha fumbled for a paper in her -bosom, and, drawing it forth, scrutinised it tensely. Then she set -the machinery in motion again. She had her back to him. Jefferson rose -stealthily and took a step towards her. A board creaked and, starting -nervously, the girl looked round. - -For a moment the two gazed at each other in dead silence. - -“Martha,” said Jefferson, “Martha!” - -There was a mixture of rage and reproach in his voice. Even as he spoke -they heard the whine of shells overhead, and then four dull explosions. - -“Your work,” cried Jefferson thickly, taking a stride forward and -seizing the speechless woman by the arm. - -Martha looked at him with a kind of dull terror in her eyes, with utter -hopelessness, and the man paused a second. He had not known he cared -for her so much. Then, in a flash, he pictured the horrors for which -this woman, a mere common spy, was responsible. - -He made to grasp her more firmly, but she twisted herself from his -hold. Darting to the device which freed the mill-sails, she wrenched at -it madly. The sails caught in the breeze, and began to circle round, -swiftly and more swiftly, until the old wooden building shook with the -vibration. - - * * * * * - -From his observation post a German officer took in the new situation at -a glance. A few guttural sounds he muttered, and then turning angrily -to an orderly he gave him a curt message. “They shall not use it if we -cannot,” he said to himself, shaking his fist in the direction of the -whirring sails. - - * * * * * - -In the little village part of the church and the baker’s shop lay in -ruins. Martha had sent but a part of her signal, and it had been acted -upon with characteristic German promptitude. - -In the windmill on the hill, which shook crazily as the sails tore -their way through the air, a man and a woman struggled desperately, the -woman with almost superhuman strength. - -Suddenly the earth shook, a great explosion rent the air, and the mill -on the hill was rent timber from timber and the great sails doubled up -like tin-foil. - -“Good shooting,” said the German Forward Observation Officer, as he -tucked his glass under his arm and went “home” to dinner. - - - - -COURCELETTE - - -“It was one of the nastiest jobs any battalion could be called on to -perform; to my mind far more difficult than a big, sweeping advance. -The First Battalion has been in the trenches eighteen days, on the -march four days, and at rest one day, until now. No men could be asked -to do more, and no men could do more than you have done. I congratulate -you, most heartily.” - -In the above words, addressed to the men and officers of the First -Canadian Infantry Battalion, Western Ontario Regiment, Major-General -Currie made it plain to all that among the Honours of the First -Battalion few will take higher place than that which will be inscribed -“COURCELETTE.” - -On the night of September 20th, 1916, the First Battalion moved up from -support to the firing-line, beyond the ruins of the above-mentioned -little hamlet. For the past few days it had rained incessantly, and -all ranks had been working night and day, in mud and slush, carrying -material of all kinds to the front line. The men were soaked to the -skin, caked with mud, and very weary, but they went “up-along” with -an amazing cheeriness, for rumour had whispered that the regiment was -to attack, and the men were in that frame of mind when the prospect -of “getting their own back” appealed to them hugely. Although the -enemy opened up an intense barrage during the relief, casualties -were comparatively few, and by morning the First Battalion was, -Micawber-like, “waiting for something to turn up.” - -Three companies, “A,” “B,” and “D,” held the front line, with -“C” Company in close support. The positions were to the east of -Courcelette, opposite a maze of German trenches which constituted a -thorn in the side of the Corps and Army Commanders, and which had for -several days checked the advance and were therefore a serious menace -to future plans. Just how great was the necessity to capture this -highly organised and strongly manned defensive system may be gauged -by the letter received by the Commanding Officer from the Divisional -Commander on the eve of the attack. In it the G.O.C. expressed his -confidence in the ability of “The Good Old First” to capture the -position, and to hold it, and he added that it _must_ be taken at all -costs--“if the first attack fails, you must make a second.” On the -capture of this strong point hung the fate of other operations on the -grand scale. - -It was the key position, and it fell to the First Canadian Battalion to -be honoured with the task of taking it. - -Until two and a half hours previous to the attack (when the Operation -Order had been issued, and final instructions given), the latest _maps_ -of the German defences had been all the C.O. and his staff could work -upon. Then, truly at the eleventh hour, an aerial _photograph_, taken -but twenty-four hours before, was sent to Bn. Head-quarters with the -least possible delay. This showed such increase in the enemy defences, -and trenches in so much better shape to withstand attack, that the -whole tactical situation was changed, and it became necessary not only -to alter the operation order completely, but also to draw a map, -showing the most recent German lines of defence. This was done. - -It is difficult to single out for praise any special portion of a -regiment, or any member of it, especially when _all_ the units have -been subjected to intense and violent bombardment prior to attack, -not to mention the activities of numerous snipers. One Company alone -lost half their effectives through the fire of a “whizz-bang” battery -which completely enfiladed their position. The Battalion and Company -runners cannot be too highly praised--they were the sole means of -communication--and risked their lives hourly, passing through and over -heavily-pounded trenches, and in and out of the village of Courcelette, -which was subjected to “strafing” at all hours of the day and night, -without cessation. Tribute is also due to the carrying parties, who -took from beyond the Sugar Refinery, and through the village, bombs, -ammunition, water, and rations, leaving at every trip their toll of -dead and wounded. - -Zero hour was at 8.31 P.M., preceded for one minute by hurricane -artillery fire. Previous to this the heavy guns had carried out a -systematic bombardment of the German defences, yet, as was subsequently -discovered, failing to do them great damage, and not touching the main -fire trench at all. - -At 8.28½ P.M. the Germans suddenly opened with a murderous artillery -and machine-gun fire along our front. They had by some means or other -discovered that an attack was about to take place. At this time the -assaulting waves were in position, “A” Coy. on the left flank, “D” -Coy. in the centre, and “B” Coy. on the right flank, while a Battalion -Reserve of eighteen men--five of whom became casualties three minutes -later--waited for orders a little in rear. These men belonged to -“C” Company, the major portion of which had already been sent to -reinforce the front line. All our guns then opened up with an electric -spontaneity. To such an extent that one charging company was forced -to halt a full minute in No Man’s Land until the barrage lifted a few -hundred yards in rear of the German lines, to catch their reserves -coming up. - -Among the _Fragments from France_ there is a Bairnsfather picture -entitled “We shall attack at Dawn” and “We do!” The situation much -resembled it. - -One could hear nothing but the vicious “splack” of high explosive -shrapnel, the deep “Krrumph” of 6-inch and 8.2’s, “coal-boxes” and -“woolly bears”; great herds of shells whined and droned overhead, and -now and then emerged from the tumult the coughing, venomous spit of -machine-guns. One could see myriads of angrily-bursting yellow and -orange-coloured flames, and all along the front dozens of green Verey -lights, and red, as the Germans called frantically on their artillery, -and at the same time showed that some of their own batteries were -firing short (a thing which always gives great joy to all ranks). Now -and then a deeper series of booms announced a bombing battle, and the -air was heavy with the odour of picric fumes and thick with smoke. - -On the left flank “A” Coy. met with stubborn opposition. Four -machine-guns opened on their first wave, cutting it to pieces, as -it was enfiladed from the flanks. The Company reformed at once, and -charged again. This time they were met by a heavy counter-attack in -force. In the cold words of official phraseology, “This opposition was -overcome.” It was here that two very gallant officers were lost--Lieut. -B. T. Nevitt and Major F. E. Aytoun--while leading their men. The -last seen of Lieut. Nevitt, he was lying half in and half out of a -shell-hole, firing his revolver at the enemy who were almost on top of -him, and calling to his men to come on. Major Aytoun’s last words were, -“Carry on, men!” - -“B” Coy., on the left flank, met with little opposition, attained the -whole of their objective, and established communication by patrol -with the troops on their right flank, a difficult operation. Here -Lieut. Unwin, a splendid young officer, laid down his life, and -Lieut. MacCuddy, who had carried on in the most exemplary manner, was -mortally wounded. This Company captured a German Adjutant from whom -much valuable information was obtained. Thoroughly demoralised, his -first words were: “Take me out of this, and I will tell you anything, -but anything.” On this German’s reaching head-quarters he amused every -one by saying: “I come me to the West front September 22nd, 1914, as -a German officer. I go me from the West front September 22nd, 1916, -Heaven be thanked, as a German prisoner. For me the war is over, -hurrah!” - -In the centre “D” Coy. also attained their objective and captured a -trophy, in the shape of a Vickers gun (which had been converted to -German usage). This gun was taken by Lieut. J. L. Youngs, M.C., who -bombed the crew, which thereon beat a hasty retreat, leaving half their -number killed and wounded. This was one of the best pieces of work done -individually in this action. Major W. N. Ashplant was wounded here, at -the head of his men, and is now missing, and believed killed. - -Bombing posts were thrown out at once, and manned by Battalion and -Company bombers, who, time and again, repulsed German bombing attacks. -“A” Coy. linked up with “D” and “D” Coy. with “B,” while the Lewis gun -sections worked admirably, but one gun being lost, despite the heavy -artillery fire. The whole line was at once consolidated. Hundreds of -German bombs, Verey lights and pistols, many rifles, and quantities of -ammunition were captured, and also forty prisoners, the great majority -of whom were unwounded. - -“C” Coy.’s reserve was almost immediately used up, a company of the 4th -Bn. coming up in support, at the request of the Commanding Officer of -the First Battalion. - -“Your attack was so vicious,” declared a prisoner, “that no troops -could withstand it.” - -“Too good troops”--this from a tall, fair member of the Prussian -Guard--“better than we are!” - -The Germans opposed to the First Battalion were picked troops, among -whom the iron-cross had been freely distributed. - -On capturing this network of enemy lines to the east of Courcelette, -the First Battalion discovered that what was at first deemed a small -stronghold, was in reality a formidable position, held by the enemy in -large numbers. Not only was there a deep, fire-stepped main trench, in -which they had dug many “funk-holes,” but also a series of support and -communication trenches, and numerous bombing posts. - -During the thirty hours following the capture of this ground, numerous -counter-attacks took place, all of which were repulsed with heavy enemy -losses. Bombing actions were frequent along the whole line, and at -least two attacks were made in force. - -A small post, held by two men, on the right flank of “D” Coy., to -communicate with “B,” accounted for six Germans in the following -manner: Early in the morning six of the enemy advanced with their hands -up. Our men watched them closely, albeit they called out “Kamerad” and -were apparently unarmed. The foremost suddenly dropped his hands and -threw a bomb. Our men thereupon “went to it” and killed three of the -Germans, wounding the remainder with rifle fire as they ran back to -their own lines. - -At dusk on the 23rd the Germans tried another ruse before attempting -an attack in force. Two of them were sent out, calling “Mercy, mercy, -Kamerad,” and as usual with their hands up, and no equipment. But the -officer in charge saw a number of Germans advancing behind them, and at -once ordered heavy rifle and machine-gun fire to be opened on them. -This, and bombs, resulted in the attack being broken up completely. “B” -Coy. dispersed several bombing attacks, and “A” Coy. broke up a heavy -attack, as well as bombing attacks. Fog at times rendered the position -favourable for the enemy, but not one inch of ground was lost. - -Every man of the fighting forces of the First Battalion was engaged -in this action, and much valuable assistance during consolidation and -counter-attack was rendered by the Company of the Fourth Battalion sent -up to support. For over thirty hours after the assault the regiment -held on, heavy fog rendering relief in the early hours of the 24th -a difficult undertaking, all the more so in view of the intense and -long-continued barrage opened by the enemy during the hours of relief. -In fact, during the whole tour of the First Canadian Battalion in the -Courcelette sector, the regiment was subjected to intense and incessant -fire. - -When the remainder of the First Battalion marched out to rest, with Hun -helmets and other souvenirs hanging to their kits, they marched with -the pride of men who knew they had done their bit. - -The Corps Commander rode over to congratulate the Commanding Officer -and the regiment, and such terms were used from the Highest Command -downwards that the “Old First” knows and is proud of the fact, that -another laurel has been added to the wreaths of the battalion, the -brigade, the division, and the Canadian Army. - -We have but one sorrow, one deep regret, and that is for Our Heroic -Dead. - - - - -CARNAGE - - -There is a little valley somewhere among the rolling hills of the Somme -district wherein the sun never shines. It is a tiny little valley, once -part of a not unattractive landscape, now a place of horror. - -Half a dozen skeletons of trees, rotting and torn, fringe the southern -bank, and the remnants of a sunken road curve beneath the swelling -hill that shields the valley from the sun. Flowers may have grown -there once, children may have played under the then pleasant green of -the trees; one can even picture some dark-eyed, black-haired maid of -Picardy, sallying forth from the little hamlet not far off with her -milking-stool and pail, to milk the family cow in the cool shade of the -trees and the steep above. - -But that was long ago--at least, it seems as though it _must_ have been -long ago--for to-day the place is a shambles, a valley of Death. Those -who speak of the glory of war, of the wonderful dashing charges, the -inspiring mighty roar of cannon--let them come to this spot and look on -this one small corner of a great battle-field. Within plain view are -villages that will have a place in history--piles of broken brick and -crushed mortar that bear silent, eloquent testimony to the Kultur of -the twentieth century. Round about the land is just a series of tiny -craters, fitted more closely together than the scars on the face of a -man who has survived a severe attack of small-pox; and here and there, -scattered, still lie the dead. No blade of grass dare raise its sheath -above ground, for the land is sown with steel and iron and lead, and -the wreckage and wrack and ruin of the most bitter strife. - -Even those who have seen such things for many months past pause -involuntarily when they reach this valley of the shadow. It is a -revelation of desolation--the inner temple of death. In that little -space, perhaps three hundred feet long and a bare forty wide, lie the -bodies of nearly a hundred men, friend and foe, whose souls have gone -on to the happy hunting ground amid circumstances of which no tongue -could give a fitting account, no pen a fitting description. - -Once a German stronghold, this place passed into our hands but a short -while since. Two guns were tucked away in under the hill, and the -infantry, suddenly ejected from their forward position, fell back on -them, and taking advantage of a pause strengthened their position, and -brought up reinforcements. Thereupon our guns concentrated on them -with fearful results, although when the infantry swept forward, there -were still enough men in the deep, half-filled in trench to put up a -desperate resistance. - -It is not difficult to read the story of that early morning struggle. -The land is churned in all directions, two of the bigger trees have -fallen, and now spread out gnarled branches above the remnants of some -artillery dugouts. Pools of water, thick glutinous mud--both are tinged -in many spots a dark red-brown--and portions of what were once men, lie -scattered around in dreadful evidence. - -But for his pallor, one might think that man yonder is still living. He -is sitting in an easy attitude, leaning forward, one hand idle in his -lap, his rifle against his knee, and with the other hand raised to his -cheek as though he were brushing off a fly. But his glassy eyes stare, -and his face is bloodless and grey, while a large hole in his chest -shows where the enemy shrapnel smote him. - -Corpses of dead Germans are piled, in places, one over the other, some -showing terrible gaping wounds, some headless, some stripped of all -or part of their clothing, by the terrific explosion of a great shell -which rent their garments from them. In more than one place old graves -have been blown sky-high, and huddled skeletons, still clad in the rags -of a uniform, lie stark under the open sky. - -Papers, kits, water-bottles, rifles, helmets, bayonets, smoke goggles, -rations, and ammunition are scattered everywhere in confusion. Some -of the _débris_ is battered to bits, some in perfect condition. -Shell-cases, shell-noses, and shrapnel pellets lie everywhere, and -there arises from the ground that peculiar, terrible odour of blood, -bandages, and death, an odour always dreaded and never to be forgotten. -In one German dug-out three men were killed as they lay, and sat, -sleeping. Some one has put a sock over their faces; it were best to let -it remain there. Yonder, a Canadian and a German lie one on top of the -other, both clutching their rifles with the bayonets affixed to them, -one with a bayonet thrust through his stomach, the other with a bullet -through his eye. - -At night the very lights shine reluctant over the scene, but the moon -beams impassive on the dead. Burial parties work almost silently, -speaking in whispers, and, shocking anomaly, one now and then hears -some trophy hunter declare, “Say, this is some souvenir, look at this -‘Gott mit Uns’ buckle!” - - - - -“A” COMPANY RUSTLES - - -When we got into the bally place it was raining in torrents, and the -air was also pure purple because the Colonel found some one in his old -billet, and the Town-Major, a cantankerous old dug-out who seemed to -exist chiefly for the purpose of annoying men who did go into the front -line, was about as helpful as the fifth wheel to a wagon. Finally, -the Colonel shot out of his office like an eighteen-pounder from a -whizz-bang battery, and later on the tattered remnants of our once -proud and haughty Adjutant announced to us, in the tones of a dove who -has lost his mate, that there were no billets for us at all, and that -officers and men would have to bivouac by the river. - -Under all circumstances the Major is cheerful--and he has a very -clear idea of when it is permissible to go around an order. Also the -Town-Major invariably has the same effect on him as such an unwelcome -visitor as a skunk at a garden-party would have on the garden-party. -Having consigned the aforesaid T.-M. to perdition in Canadian, English, -French, and Doukhobor, he said: “We are going to have billets for -the men, and we are going to have billets for ourselves.” That quite -settled the matter, as far as we Company officers were concerned. In -the course of the next half-hour we had swiped an empty street and a -half for the men, and put them into it, and then we gathered together, -seven strong, and proceeded to hunt for our own quarters. - -There is a very strongly developed scouting instinct among the -Canadian forces in the Field. Moreover, we are not overawed by outward -appearances. In the centre of the town we found a château; and an hour -later we were lunching there comfortably ensconed in three-legged -arm-chairs, with a real bowl of real flowers on the table, and certain -oddments of cut-glass (found gleefully by the batmen) reflecting the -bubbling vintage of the house of Moët et Chandon. Our dining-hall -was about sixty feet by twenty, and we each had a bedroom of -proportionate size, with a bed of sorts in it. Moreover, the place was -most wonderfully clean--it might almost have been prepared for us--and -McFinnigan, our cook, was in the seventh heaven of delight because he -had found a real stove with an oven. - -“I cannot understand,” said the Major, “how it is no one is in this -place. It’s good enough for a Divisional Commander.” - -There was actually a bath in the place with water running in the taps. -Jones, always something of a pessimist, shook his head when he saw the -bath. - -“Look here, all you boys,” he said, “this is no place for us. There is -an unwritten law in this outfit that no man, unless he wears red and -gold things plastered all over his person, shall have more than one -bath in one month. Now _I_ had one three weeks ago, and I am still---- -but why dwell on it?” - -Needless to say he was ruled out of order. - -Just to show our darned independence, we decided to invite most of -the other officers of the battalion to dinner that evening, “plenty -much swank” and all that kind of thing. Would that we had thought -better of it. Of course we eventually decided to make a real banquet -of it, appointed a regular mess committee, went and saw the Paymaster, -and sent orderlies dashing madly forth to buy up all the liqueurs, -Scotch, soda, and other potations that make glad the heart of man. We -arranged for a four-course dinner, paraded the batmen and distributed -back-sheesh and forcible addresses on the subjects of table-laying and -how to balance the soup and unplop the bubbly. - -Nobody came near us at all. As far as the Town-Major was concerned we -might have been in Kamtchatka. The Major had gone to the C.O. (_after_ -lunch) and told him we had “found a little place to shelter in,” and -as the latter had written a particularly biting, satirical, not to -say hectic note to the Brigadier on the subject of the Town-Major’s -villainy, and was therefore feeling better, he just told the Major to -carry on, and did not worry about us in the least. - -Nineteen of us--Majors, Captains, and “Loots”--sat down to dinner. It -was a good dinner, the batmen performed prodigies of waitership; the -wine bubbled and frothed, frothed and bubbled, and we all bubbled too. -It was a red-letter night. After about the seventeenth speech, in which -the Doc. got a little mixed concerning the relationship of Bacchus and -a small statue of the Venus de Milo which adorned one corner of the -room, some one called for a song. It was then about 11 “pip emma.” - -We were in the midst of what the P.M. called a little “Close -Harmony”--singing as Caruso and McCormack NEVER sang--when we heard the -sound of feet in the passage, feet that clanked and clunk--feet with -spurs on. - -A hush fell over us, an expectant hush. The door opened, without -the ceremony of a knock, and in walked not any of your common or -garden Brigadiers, not even a Major-General, but a fully-fledged -Lieutenant-General, followed by his staff, and the Town-Major. - -In our regiment we have always prided ourselves on the fact that we can -carry on anywhere and under any circumstances. But this fell night our -untarnished record came very near to disaster. It was as though Zeus -had appeared at a Roman banquet being held in his most sacred grove. - -The General advanced three paces and halted. Those of us who were able -to do so got up. Those who could not rise remained seated. The silence -was not only painful, it was oppressive. A steel-grey, generalistic -eye slowly travelled through each one of us, up and down the table, -unadorned with the remnants of many bottles, the half-finished glasses -of many drinks. Just then the Town-Major took a step forward; he was a -palish green, with an under-tinge of yellow. - -“WHAT is the meaning of----” said the General, in a voice tinged with -the iciest breath of the far distant Pole, but he got no further. - -There was a sudden rending, ear-splitting roar, the lights went out, -the walls of the château seemed to sway, and the plaster fell in great -lumps from the frescoed ceiling. - -That (as we afterwards discovered) no one was hurt was a marvel. It is -the one and only time when we of this regiment have thanked Fritz for -shelling us. In the pale light of early dawn the last member of the -party slunk into the bivouac ground. The General, where was he? We knew -not, neither did we care. - -But it was the first and last time that “A” Company rustled a Corps -Commander’s Château! - - - - -“MINNIE AND ‘FAMILY’” - - -When first I met her it was a lush, lovely day in June; the birds were -singing, the grass was green, the earth teemed with life, vegetable and -animal, and the froglets hopped around in the communication trenches. -Some cheery optimist was whistling “Down by the Old Mill Stream,” and -another equally cheery individual was potting German sniping plates -with an accuracy worthy of a better cause. It was, in sooth, “A quiet -day on the Western Front.” - -And then _she_ came. Stealing towards me silently, coming upon me like -a brigand in the leafy woods. I did not see her ere she was descending -upon me, but others did. There came distant yells, which I failed -to interpret for a moment; then, glancing upward, I saw her bobbing -through the air, her one leg waving, her round ugly head a blot on -the sky’s fair face. The next thing that happened was that the trench -gathered unto itself wings, rose and clasped me lovingly from the neck -down in a cold, earthy embrace, the while the air was rent with an -ear-splitting roar, like unto a battery of 17-inch naval guns firing a -salvo. After that I respected Minnie; I feared her--nay, I was deadly -scared of her. - -Of all the nasty things “old Fritz” has invented, the Minenflamm -is perhaps the nastiest of all. She is purely vicious, utterly -destructive, and quite frightful. The very slowness with which she -sails through the air is in itself awe-inspiring. I never see Minnie -without longing for home, or the inside of the deepest German dug-out -ever digged by those hard-working German Pioneer blighters, who must -all have been moles in their respective pre-incarnations. Minnie -reminds one of Mrs. Patrick Campbell in _The Second Mrs. Tangueray_: -all fire and flame and perdition generally. - -If you are a very wide-awake Johnny, absolutely on the spot, -don’t-you-know--you may hear her sigh ere she leaves the (temporary) -Vaterland to take flight. It is a gentle sigh, which those -verblitzender English artillery-men are not meant to hear. If you _do_ -happen by chance to hear it, then the only thing to do, although it is -not laid down in K. R. & O. or Divisional Orders (you see they only -_hear_ about these things), is to silently steal away; to seek the -seclusion which your dug-out grants. Later, if you are a new officer, -and want to impress the natives, as it were, you saunter jauntily -forth, cigarette at the correct slope, cane pending vertically from the -right hand, grasped firmly in the palm, little finger downwards, cap at -an angle of 45°, and say: “Minnie, by Jove! Eh what? God bless my soul. -Did it fall over heah or over theah?” Which is a sure way of making -yourself really popular. - -Fortunately Minnie has her dull days. Days when she positively refuses -to bust, and sulks, figuratively speaking, in silent wrath and -bitterness on the upper strata of “sunny” France, or Belgium, as the -case may be. After many Agags have trodden very delicately around her, -and she has proved incurably sulky and poor-spirited, some one infused -with the Souvenir spirit carts her away, and pounds her softly with a -cold-chisel and a mallet, until he has either dissected her interior -economy, or else she has segmented _his_. - -Minnie has her little family. The eldest male child is called by the -euphonious name of Sausage, and he has brothers of various sizes, from -the pure-blood Hoch-geboren down to the bourgeois little chap who -makes an awful lot of fuss and clatter generally. I remember meeting -little Hans one day, about the dinner hour, when he was a very naughty -boy indeed. The Company was waiting to get a half-canteenful of the -tannin-cum-tea-leaves, called “tea” on the Western front (contained in -one large dixie placed in a fairly open spot in the front line), when -suddenly little Hans poked his blunt nose into the air, and all notions -of tea-drinking were banished _pro tem_. In other words, the Company -took cover automatically, as it were, without awaiting any word of -command. Personally I tripped over a bath-mat, came into close contact -with an old shell-hole full of mud, and offered up a little prayer in -the record time of one-fifth of a second. Instead of entering Nirvana -I only heard a resounding splash, followed by a sizzling sound, like -that made by an exhausted locomotive. Little Hans had fallen into the -dixie, and positively refused to explode. I think the tannin (or the -tea leaves) choked him! - -There is also an infant--a female infant--who deserves mention. Her -name is Rifle-grenade, and, according to the very latest communication -from official sources, the gentleman who states with some emphasis -that he is divinely kingly, refuses to sanction any further production -of her species. Like many females she is one perpetual note of -interrogation. She starts on her wayward course thus: “Whrr-on? -Whrr-oo? Whoo? Whoo? Whe-oo? Whe-_oo_?” And then she goes off with -a bang, just as Cleopatra may have done when Antony marked a pretty -hand-maid. - -To sum up: Minnie and her children are undoubtedly the product of -perverted science and Kultur, aided and abetted by the very Devil! - - - - -AN OFFICER AND GENTLEMAN - - -He was a tall well-built chap, with big, blue eyes, set far apart, and -dark wavy hair, which he kept too closely cropped to allow it to curl, -as was meant by nature. He had a cheery smile and a joke for every one, -and his men loved him. More than that, they respected him thoroughly, -for he never tolerated slackness or lack of discipline for an instant, -and the lips under the little bronze moustache could pull themselves -into an uncompromisingly straight line when he was justly angry. - -When he strafed the men, he did it directly, without sparing them or -their failings, but he never sneered at them, and his direct hits were -so patently honest that they realised it at once, and felt and looked -rather like penitent little boys. - -He never asked an N.C.O. or man to do anything he would not do himself, -and he usually did it first. If there was a dangerous patrol, he -led. If there was trying work to do, under fire, he stayed in the -most dangerous position, and helped. He exacted instant obedience -to orders, but never gave an order that the men could not understand -without explaining the reason for it. He showed his N.C.O.’s that he -had confidence in them, and did not need to ask for their confidence in -him. He had it. - -In the trenches he saw to his men’s comfort first--his own was a -secondary consideration. If a man was killed or wounded, he was -generally on the spot before the stretcher-bearers, and, not once, but -many times, he took a dying man’s last messages, and faithfully wrote -to his relations. A sacred duty, but one that wrung his withers. He -went into action not only _with_ his men, but at their head, and he -fought like a young lion until the objective was attained. Then, he -was one of the first to bind up a prisoner’s wounds, and to check any -severity towards unwounded prisoners. He went into a show with his -revolver in one hand, a little cane in the other, a cigarette between -his lips. - -“You see,” he would explain, “it comforts a fellow to smoke, and the -stick is useful, and a good tonic for the men. Besides, it helps me -try to kid myself I’m not scared--and I _am_, you know! As much as any -one could be.” - -On parade he was undoubtedly the smartest officer in the regiment, and -he worked like a Trojan to make his men smart also. At the same time -he would devote three-quarters of any leisure he had to training his -men in the essentials of modern warfare, his spare time being willingly -sacrificed for their benefit. - -No man was ever paraded before him with a genuine grievance that he did -not endeavour to rectify. In some manner he would, nine times out of -ten, turn a “hard case” into a good soldier. One of his greatest powers -was his particularly winning smile. When his honest eyes were on you, -when his lips curved and two faint dimples showed in his cheeks, it was -impossible not to like him. Even those who envied him--and among his -brother officers there were not a few--could not bring themselves to -say anything against him. - -If he had a failing it was a weakness for pretty women, but his manner -towards an old peasant woman, even though she was dirty and hideous, -was, if anything, more courteous than towards a woman of his own class. -He could not bear to see them doing work for which he considered they -were unfit. One day he carried a huge washing-basket full of clothes -down the main street of a little village in Picardy, through a throng -of soldiers, rather than see the poor old dame he had met staggering -under her burden go a step farther unaided. - -The Colonel happened to see him, and spoke to him rather sharply about -it. His answer was characteristic: “I’m very sorry, sir. I forgot about -what the men might think when I saw the poor old creature. In fact, -sir, if you’ll pardon my saying so, I would not mind much if they did -make fun of it.” - -He loved children. He never had any loose coppers or small change -long, and two of his comrades surprised him on one occasion slipping a -five-franc note into the crinkled rosy palm of a very, very new baby. -“He looked so jolly cute asleep,” he explained simply. - -Almost all his fellow-officers owed him money. He was a poor financier, -and when he had a cent it belonged to whoever was in need of it at the -time. - -One morning at dawn, he led a little patrol to examine some new work in -the German front line. He encountered an unsuspected enemy listening -post, and he shot two of the three Germans, but the remaining German -killed him before his men could prevent it. They brought his body back -and he was given a soldier’s grave between the trenches. There he lies -with many another warrior, taking his rest, while his comrades mourn -the loss of a fine soldier and gallant gentleman. - - - - -“S.R.D.” - - -When the days shorten, and the rain never ceases; when the sky is ever -grey, the nights chill, and the trenches thigh deep in mud and water; -when the front is altogether a beastly place, in fact, we have one -consolation. It comes in gallon jars, marked simply “S.R.D.” It does -not matter how wearied the ration party may be, or how many sacks of -coke, biscuits, or other rations may be left by the wayside, the rum -always arrives. - -Once, very long ago, one of a new draft broke a bottle on the way up -to Coy. H.Q. (The rum, by the way, _always_ goes to Coy. H.Q.) For a -week his life was not worth living. The only thing that saved him from -annihilation was the odour of S.R.D., which clung to him for days. The -men would take a whiff before going on a working-party, and on any -occasion when they felt low and depressed. - -There are those who would deny Tommy his three spoonfuls of rum in the -trenches; those who declare that a man soaked to the skin, covered -with mud, and bitterly cold, is better with a cayenne pepper lozenge. -Let such people take any ordinary night of sentry duty on the Western -front in mid-winter, and their ideas will change. There are not one, -but numberless occasions, on which a tot of rum has saved a man from -sickness, possibly from a serious illness. Many a life-long teetotaler -has conformed to S.R.D. and taken the first drink of his life on the -battle-fields of France, not because he wanted to, but because he -had to. Only those who have suffered from bitter cold and wet, only -those who have been actually “all-in” know what a debt of gratitude is -owing to those wise men who ordered a small ration of rum for every -soldier--officer, N.C.O., and man--on the Western front in winter. - -The effect of rum is wonderful, morally as well as physically. In -the pelting rain, through acres of mud, a working-party of fifty men -plough their weary way to the Engineers’ dump, and get shovels and -picks. In single file they trudge several kilometres to the work -in hand, possibly the clearing out of a fallen-in trench, which -is mud literally to the knees. They work in the mud, slosh, and -rain, for at least four hours. Four hours of misery--during which -any self-respecting Italian labourer would lose his job rather than -work--and then they traipse back again to a damp, musty billet, distant -five or six kilometres. To them, that little tot of rum is not simply -alcohol. It is a God-send. Promise it to them before they set out, and -those men will work like Trojans. Deny it to them, and more than half -will parade sick in the morning. - -It is no use, if the rum ration is short, to water it down. The men -know it is watered, and their remarks are “frequent and painful, and -free!” Woe betide the officer who, through innocence or intentionally, -looks too freely on the rum when it is brown! His reputation is gone -for ever. If he became intoxicated on beer, champagne, or whisky, he -would only be envied by the majority of his men, but should he drink -too much rum--that is an unpardonable offence! - -As a rule, one of the hardest things in the world to do is to awaken -men once they have gone to sleep at night. For no matter what purpose, -it will take a company a good half-hour to pull itself together and -stand to. But murmur softly to the orderly Sergeant that there will be -a rum issue in ten minutes, and though it be 1 A.M. or the darkest hour -before dawn, when the roll is called hardly a man will be absent! That -little word of three letters will rouse the most soporific from their -stupor! - -Few men take their rum in the same fashion or with the same expression. -The new draft look at it coyly, carry the cup gingerly to their lips, -smell it, make a desperate resolution, gulp it down, and cough for five -minutes afterwards. The old hands--the men of rubicund countenance and -noses of a doubtful hue--grasp the cup, look to see if the issue is a -full one, raise it swiftly, and drain it without a moment’s hesitation, -smacking their lips. You can see the man who was up for being drunk -the last pay-day coming from afar for his rum. His eyes glisten, his -face shines with hopefulness, and his whole manner is one of supreme -expectation and content. - -It is strange how frequently the company staff, from the -Sergeant-Major down to the most recently procured batman, find it -necessary to enter the inner sanctum of H.Q. after the rum has come. -The Sergeant-Major arrives with a large, sweet smile, acting as guard -of honour. “Rum up, sir.” “Thank you, Sergeant-Major.” “I’ve detailed -that working-party, sir.” “Thank you, Sergeant-Major.” “Is that all, -sir?” “Yes, thank you, Sergeant-Major.” He vanishes, to reappear a -minute later. “Did you CALL me, sir?” “No” ... long pause ... “Oh! -Still there? Er, have a drink, Sergeant-Major?” “Well, sir, I guess I -_could_ manage a little drop! Thank you, sir. _Good_-night, sir!” - - - - -BEDS - - -“Think of my leave coming in two weeks, and of getting a decent bed to -sleep in, with sheets!” - -Sancho Panza blessed sleep, but perhaps he always had a good bed to -sleep in; we, who can almost slumber on “apron” wire, have a weakness -for good beds. - -To appreciate fully what a good bed is, one must live for a time -without one, and go to rest wrapped in a martial cloak--to wit a -British warm or a trench coat, plus the universal sand-bag, than which -nothing more generally useful has been seen in this war. Any man who -has spent six months (in the infantry) at the front knows all about -beds. Any man with a year’s service is a first-class, a number one, -connoisseur. The good bed is so rare that whoever spends a night in one -talks about it for a week, and brings it up in reminiscences over the -charcoal brazier. - -“You remember when we were on the long hike from the salient? And the -little place we struck the third night--Cattelle-Villeul I think it -was called? By George, I had a good bed. A peach! It had a spring -mattress and real linen sheets--not cotton--and two pillows with frilly -things on them, and a ripping quilt, with a top-hole eider-down. I was -afraid to get into it until my batman produced that new pair of green -pyjamas with the pink stripes. It simply hurt to give that bed up!” - -And if you let him he will continue in like vein for half an hour. -Recollections of that bed have entered into his soul; it is one of the -bright spots in a gloomy life. - -Needless to say, the farther you go back from the line, the better the -beds. They can be roughly classified as follows: Battle beds. Front -line beds. Support beds. Reserve beds. Divisional rest beds. Corps -reserve beds, and Army Reserve beds. Beyond this it is fifty-fifty you -will get a good bed, provided there are not too many troops in the -place you go to. - -Battle beds, as such, are reserved for battalion commanders, seconds -in command, and adjutants. Sometimes Os.C. units have a look-in, but -the humble sub. has _not_, unless he is one of those Johnnies who can -always make something out of nothing. - -When there is a “show” on nobody expects to sleep more than two hours -in twenty-four, and he’s lucky if he gets that. The C.O. takes his -brief slumber on some bare boards raised above the floor-level in a -dug-out. The Os.C. units use a stretcher, with a cape for a pillow, and -the others sleep any old where--on a broken chair, in a corner on the -ground, on the steps of a dug-out, on the fire-step of a parapet, or -even leaning against the parapet. One of the best snoozes we ever had -was of the last variety, while Fritz was plastering the communication -trenches with a barrage a mouse could not creep through. - -There is one thing about battle beds; one is far too weary to do -anything but flop limply down, and go instantly to sleep. The nature -of your couch is of secondary importance. Possibly the prize goes to -the man who slept through an intense bombardment, curled up between two -dead Germans, whom he thought were a couple of his pals, asleep, when -he tumbled in to rest. - -Front line beds vary according to sector. Usually they are simply a -series of bunks, tucked in one above the other as in a steamer-cabin, -and made of a stretch of green canvas nailed to a pair of two by fours. -Sometimes an ingenious blighter introduces expanded metal or chicken -wire into the general make-up, with the invariable result that it gets -broken by some 200-pounder, and remains a menace to tender portions -of the human frame until some one gets “real wild” and smashes up the -whole concern. - -In support, the “downy couch” does not improve very much. Sometimes it -is worse, and it is always inhabited by a fauna of the largest and most -voracious kind. - -There is a large element of chance as to reserve beds. They are -generally snares of disillusionment, but once in a while the -connoisseur strikes oil. It will not have sheets--clean sheets, at -all events--but it may possess the odd blanket, and the room may have -been cleaned a couple of weeks ago. If Madame is clean the bed will be -clean; if otherwise, otherwise also. - -All the beds at the front are the same in some respects. They are all -wooden, and they nearly all have on them huge piles of mattresses, -four or five deep. It is wisest not to investigate too thoroughly the -inner consciousnesses of the latter, or the awakening may be rude. In -the old days, long, long ago, when the dove of Peace billed and cooed -over the roof of the world, no self-respecting citizen would sleep in -them, but now with what joy do we sink with a sigh of relief into the -once abominated feather-bed of doubtful antecedents, which has been -slept in for two years by one officer after another, and never, never, -never been aired. - -C’est la guerre! - -Divisional rest beds are at least two points superior to the last. They -are the kind of beds run by a sixth-rate lodging-house in Bloomsbury, -taken on the whole. Usually there is one bed short per unit, so some -one has to double up, with the result that the stronger of the twain -wraps _all_ the bed-clothes around him, and the other chap does not -sleep at all, or is ignominiously rolled out on to the brick _pavé_. - -Every one in French villages must go to bed with their stockings on. - -Judging by the permanent kinks in all the beds, they must have been -beds _solitaire_ for a life-time, before the soldiers came. - -Once we were asked to share a bed with _bébé_, who was three. We -refused. On another occasion, when we were very tired indeed, we were -told that the only bed available was that usually dwelt in by “Jeanne.” -We inspected it, and made a peaceful occupation. “Jeanne” came home -unexpectedly at midnight, and slipped indoors quietly to her room. It -was a bad quarter of an hour, never to be forgotten! Especially when -we found out in the morning that “Jeanne” was twenty years old, and -decidedly pretty. Our reputation in that household was a minus quantity. - -In corps reserve one gets beds with coffee in the morning at 7 A.M. -“Votre café, M’sieu.” “Oui, oui, mercy; leave it outside the door--la -porte--please!” “Voiçi, M’sieu! Vous avez bien dormi?” And of course -you can’t say anything, even if Madame stands by the pillow and tells -you the whole story of how Yvonne makes the coffee! - -They are fearless, these French women! - - - - -MARCHING - - -We have left the statue of the Virgin Mary which pends horizontally -over the Rue de Bapaume far behind us and the great bivouacs, and the -shell-pitted soil of the Somme front. Only at night can we see the -flickering glare to the southward, and the ceaseless drum of the guns -back yonder is like the drone of a swarm of bees. Yesterday we reached -the last village we shall see in Picardy, and this morning we shall -march out of the Departement de la Somme, whither we know not. - -It is one of those wonderful mid-October days when the sun rises red -above a light, low mist, and land sparkling with hoar-frost; when the -sky is azure blue, the air clean and cold, and the roads white and -hard. A day when the “fall-in” sounds from rolling plain to wooded -slope and back again, clear and mellow, and when the hearts of men are -glad. - -“Bat-ta-lion ... Shun!” - -It does one good to hear the unison of sound as the heels come -together, and a few moments later we have moved off, marching to -attention down the little main street of Blondin-par-la-Gironde, with -its 300 inhabitants, old, old church, and half-dozen estaminets. -Madame, where we billeted last night, and her strapping daughter -Marthe, are standing on the doorstep to see us go by. “Bonjour, -M’sieurs, Au revoir, Bonne chance!” - -“Left, left, left--ri--left,” the pace is short, sharp, and decisive, -more like the Rifle Brigade trot. Even the backsliders, the men who -march as a rule like old women trying to catch a bus, have briskened up -this morning. Looking along the column from the rear one can see that -rhythmical ripple which betokens the best marching, and instinctively -the mind flashes back to that early dawn three days ago--no, four--when -they came out of the trenches, muddy, dead-beat, awesomely dirty, just -able to hobble along in fours. - -Ninety-six hours and what a change! - -“March at ease.” - -The tail of the column has passed the last little low cottage in the -village, and the twenty-one kilometre “hike” has begun. Corporal -McTavish, mindful that he was once a staff bugler, unslings his -instrument, and begins--after a few horrid practice notes--to play -“Bonnie Dundee,” strictly according to his own recollection of that -ancient tune. The scouts and signallers are passing remarks of an -uncomplimentary nature anent the Colonel’s second horse, which, when -not trying to prance on the Regimental Sergeant-Major’s toes, shows an -evil inclination to charge backwards through the ranks. The bombers are -grousing, as usual; methodically, generally, but without bitterness. -“They will not sing, they cannot play, but they can surely fight.” - -“A” Company band consisting of the aforesaid Corporal McTavish, three -mouth-organs, an accordion, a flute, and a piccolo, plus sundry -noises, is heartily engaged with the air “I want to _go_ back, I -WANT to _go back_ (_cres._), I want to go back (_dim._), To the farm -(_pizzicato_),” which changes after the first kilometre to “Down in -Arizona where the Bad Men are.” They are known as the “Birds,” and not -only do they whistle, but they also sing! - -“B” Company is wrapped in gloom; they march with a grim determination, -a “just-you-wait-till-I-catch-you” expression which bodes ill for -somebody. Did not a rum-jar--a full jar of rum--vanish from the -rations last night? Isn’t the Quartermaster--and the C.S.M.’s batman -too--endowed with a frantic “hang-over” this morning? This world is an -unfair, rotten kind of a hole anyhow. The Company wit, one Walters, -starts to sing “And when I die.” He is allowed to proceed as far as -“Just pickle my bones,” but “in alcohol” is barely out of his mouth -when groans break in upon his ditty, coupled with loud-voiced protests -to “Have a heart.” - -For six months past “C” Company has rejoiced in the generic title -of “Scorpions.” Their strong suit is limerics, the mildest of which -would bring a blush to the cheek of an old-time camp-follower. Within -the last twenty-four hours their O.C. has been awarded the Military -Cross. His usually stern visage--somewhat belied by a twinkling blue -eye--is covered with a seraphic smile. Cantering along the column -comes the Colonel. The artists of the limeric subside. Pulling up, -the C.O. about turns and holds out his hand. “I want to congratulate -you, Captain Bolton. Well deserved. Well deserved. Honour to the -regiment ... yes, yes ... excellent, excellent ... ahem ... thank you, -thank you...!” With one accord the old scorpions, led by the Company -Sergeant-Major, break into the refrain “See him smi-ling, see him -smi-ling, see him smi-i-ling just now.” And Bolton certainly does smile. - -By this time we have marched for an hour, and the signal comes to halt, -and fall out on the right of the road. The men smoke, and the officers -gather together in little groups. It is wonderful what ten minutes’ -rest will do when a man is carrying all his worldly goods on his back. - -A few minutes after starting out again we see ahead of us a little -group of horses, and a red hat or twain, and red tabs. The Divisional -Commander _and_ the Brigadier. The Battalion takes a deep breath, -slopes arms, pulls itself together generally, dresses by the right, and -looks proud and haughty. There is a succession of “Eyes Rights” down -the column, as each unit passes the reviewing base, and then we all -sigh again. _That’s_ over for to-day! - -On we march, through many quaint little old-world villages, every one -of which is filled with troops, up hill and down dale, through woods, -golden and brown, tramping steadily onward, a long green-brown column a -thousand strong. Cussing the new drafts who fall out, cussing the old -boots that are worn out, cussing the war in general, and our packs in -detail, but none the less content. For who can resist the call of the -column, the thought of the glorious rest when the march is done, and -the knowledge that whatever we may be in years to come, just now we are -IT! - - - - -THE NATIVES - - -“Bonn joor, Madame!” - -“Bonjour, M’sieu!” - -“Avvy voo pang, Madame?” - -“Braëd? But yes, M’sieu. How much you want? Two? Seize sous, M’sieu.” - -“_How_ much does the woman say, Buster?” - -“Sixteen sous, cuckoo!” - -“Well, here’s five francs.” - -“Ah, but, M’sieu! Me no monnaie! No chanch! Attendez, je vous donnerai -du papier.” - -Madame searches in the innermost recesses of an old drawer, and -produces one French penny, two sous, a two-franc bill of the Commune -of Lisseville, stuck together with bits of sticking-paper, a very -dirty one-franc bill labelled St. Omer, and two 50-centimes notes from -somewhere the other side of Amiens. - -“Je regrette, M’sieu,” Madame waves her hands in the air, “mais c’est -tout ce que j’ai.... All dat I ’ave, M’sieu!” - -The transaction, which has taken a full ten minutes, is at last -completed. They are very long-suffering, the natives, taken on the -whole. In the first place “C’est la guerre.” Secondly, they, too, have -soldier husbands, sons, and brothers and cousins serving in the Grandes -Armées. Is it to be expected that they be well treated unless _we_ do -_our_ share? And--these British soldiers, they have much money. And -they are generous for the most part. - -So Madame, whose husband is in Champagne, gives up the best bedroom to -Messieurs les Officiers, and sleeps with her baby in the attic. The -batmen use her poële, and sit around it in the evening drinking her -coffee. Le Commandant buys butter, milk, eggs--“mais, mon dieu, one -would think a hen laid an egg every hour to hear him! Trois douzaine! -But, Monsieur, I have but six poules, and they overwork themselves -already! There is not another egg above eleven dans tous le pays, -M’sieu. Champagne? But yes, certainement. Bénédictine? Ah, non, M’sieu, -it is défendu, and we sold the last bottle to an officier with skirts -a week ago. Un treès bon officier, M’sieu; he stay two days, and make -love to Juliette. Juliette fiancée? Tiens, she has a million, M’sieu, -to hear them talk, like every pretty girl in France. So soon you enter -the doorway, M’sieu, and see Juliette, you say ‘Moi fiancé, vous?’ You -are très taquin--verree bad boys--les Anglais!” - -Sometimes there is war, red war. Madame enters, wringing her hands, her -hair suggestive of lamentation and despair. She wishes to see M’sieu -l’Officier who speaks a little French. - -“Ah, M’sieu, but it is terrible. I give to the Ordonnances my fire, -my cook-pots, and a bed of good hay in the stable, next to the cows, -and what do they do? M’sieu, they steal my gate that was put there by -my grandfather--he who won a decoration in soixante et six--and they -get a little axe and make of it fire-wood! And in the early morning -they milk the cows. Ah, but, M’sieu, I will go to the Maire and make a -réclammation! Fifteen francs for a new gate, and seventeen sous for the -milk that they have stolen! And the cuillers! Before the war I buy a -new set, with Henri, of twenty-four cuillers. Where are they? All but -three are volées, M’sieu! It is not juste. M’sieu le Capitaine who was -here a week ago last Dimanche--for I went to Mass--say it is a dam -shame, M’sieu. I do not like to make the trouble, M’sieu, but I must -live. La veuve Marnot over yonder, two houses down the street on the -left-hand side, she could have a hundred gates burned and say nothing. -She is très riche. They say the Mayor make déjà his advances. But me, -what shall I do, my gate a desecration in the stoves, M’sieu, and the -milk of my cows drunk by the maudits ordonnances!” - -Note in the mess president’s accounts: “To one gate (burned) and milk -stolen, 7.50 francs.” - -All over France and Belgium little stores have grown and flourished. -They sell tinned goods without limit, from cigarettes, through lobster, -to peaches. - -Both are practical countries. - -In nearly all these boutiques there is a pretty girl. Both nations have -learned the commercial value of a pretty girl. It increases the credit -side of the business 75 per cent. In the Estaminets it is the same, -only more so. Their turnover is a thing which will be spoken of by -their great-grandchildren with bated breath. - -More cases than one are known where the lonely soldier has made a -proposal, in form, to the fair débitante who nightly handed him his -beer over the bar of a little Estaminet. Sometimes he has been accepted -pour l’amour de sa cassette--sometimes “pour l’amour de ses beaux yeux!” - -In a little hamlet several days’ march behind the firing-line, lived -a widow. She was a grass-widow before Verdun, and there she became -“veuve.” She was a tall, handsome woman, twenty-seven or twenty-eight -perhaps, and her small feet and ankles, the proud carriage of her head, -and the delicate aquiline nose bespoke her above the peasantry. She -kept a little café at the junction of three cross-roads. The natives -know her as Madame de Maupin. - -Why “de” you ask? Because her father was a French count and her mother -was a femme de chambre. The affair made an esclandre of some magnitude -many years ago. Madame de Maupin was fille naturelle. She married, at -the wishes of her old harridan of a mother, a labourer of the village. -She despised her husband. He was uncouth and a peasant. In her the -cloven hoof showed little. Despite no advantages of education she had -the instincts of her aristocratic father. The natives disliked her for -that reason. - -Madame de Maupin kept a café. Until the soldiers came it did not pay, -but she would not keep an Estaminet. It was so hopelessly “vulgaire.” -After closing hours, between eight and ten, Madame de Maupin held her -Court. Officers gathered in the little back room, and she entertained -them, while they drank. She had wit, and she was very handsome. One of -her little court, a young officer, fell in love with her. Her husband -was dead. - -Her lover had money, many acres, and position. He proposed to her. She -loved him and--she refused him, “because,” she said simply, “you would -not be happy.” - -He was sent to the Somme. - -Madame de Maupin closed her Estaminet and vanished. - -There is a story told, which no one believes, of a woman, dressed in a -private’s uniform of the British army, who was found, killed, among the -ruins of Thiepval. She lay beside a wounded officer, who died of his -wounds soon after. He had been tended by some one, for his wounds were -dressed. In his tunic pocket was a woman’s photograph, but a piece of -shrapnel had disfigured it beyond recognition. - -But, as I said, no one believes the story. - - - - -“OTHER INHABITANTS” - - -There is a little story told of two young subalterns, neither of whom -could speak the lingua Franca, who went one day to the Estaminet des -Bons Copins, not five thousand miles from Ploegstraete woods, to buy -some of the necessities of life, for the Estaminet was a little store -as well as a road-house. Both of the said subalterns had but recently -arrived in Flanders, from a very spick and span training area, and -neither was yet accustomed to the ways of war, nor to the minor -discomforts caused by inhabitants other than those of the country, -albeit native to it from the egg, as it were. - -They entered the Bons Copins, and having bought cigarettes and a few -odds and ends, one of them suddenly remembered that he wanted a new -pair of braces, to guarantee the safety of his attire. But the French -word for braces was a knock-out. Neither himself nor his friend could -think of it, and an Anglo-French turning of the English version met -with dismal failure. - -At last a bright idea smote him. He smiled benignly, and vigorously -rubbed the thumbs of both hands up and down over his shoulders and -chest. Madame beamed with the light of immediate understanding. “Oui, -Monsieur, mais oui ... _oui_!” She disappeared into the back of the -store, to return a moment later, bearing in her hand a large green box, -labelled distinctly: “Keating’s Powder!” - -There are few things that will have the least effect on a vigorous -young section of “other inhabitants.” - -Those good, kind people who send out little camphor balls, tied up in -scarlet flannel bags, and tins of Keating’s without number, little know -what vast formations in mass these usually deadly articles must deal -with. We have suspended camphor balls--little red sacks, tapes, and -all--in countless numbers about our person. We have gone to bed well -content, convinced of the complete route of our Lilliputian enemies. -And on the morrow we have found them snugly ensconced--grandmamma, -grandpapa, and their great-great-grandchildren--right plumb in the -centre of our batteries. Making homes there; waggling their little -legs, and taking a two-inch sprint now and then round the all-red -route. What is camphor to them? This hardy stock has been known to live -an hour in a tin of Keating’s powder, defiant to the last! What boots -it that a man waste time and substance on a Sabbath morn sprinkling his -garments over with powders and paraffins. He is sure to miss a couple, -and one of them is certain to be the blushing bride of the other. - -From deep below the calf comes the plaintive wail, spreading far and -wide, to the very nape of the neck: “Husband, where are you? I am lost -and alone, and even off my feed!” With no more ado hubby treks madly -down the right arm and back again, hits a straight trail, and finds the -lost one. - -And the evening and the morning see the grandchildren. - -Grandpa leads them bravely to the first collision mat, an area -infected with coal-oil. “Charge, my offspring!” he cries, waggling -his old legs as hard as he can, “prove yourselves worthy scions of -our race!” And the little blighters rush madly over the line--with -their smoke-helmets on, metaphorically speaking--and at once set about -establishing a new base. - -Henry goes to Mabel, and says: “Mabel, darling! I have found a sweet -little home for two--or (blushing!) perhaps _three_--in the crook of -the left knee. Will you be my bride?” And Mabel suffers herself to be -led away, and duly wed, at once. So they dance a Tarantelle under the -fifth rib, and then proceed to the serious business of bringing up -little Henrys and Mabels in the way they should go! - -There is only one way to deal with them, cruel and ruthless though -it be. Lay on the dogs! Remove each garment silently, swiftly, -relentlessly. Pore over it until you see Henry hooking it like Billy-oh -down the left leg of your--er, pyjamas. Catch him on the wing, so to -speak, and squash him! Then look for Mabel and the children, somewhere -down the other leg, and do ditto! Set aside two hours _per diem_ for -this unsportsmanlike hunt, and you may be able to bet evens with -the next chappy inside a couple of months! Even then the odds are -against you, unless you hedge with the junior subaltern, who gets the -worst--and therefore most likely to be tenanted--bed! - -If you see a man, en déshabille, sitting out in the sun, with an -earnest, intent look on his face, and a garment in his hands, you can -safely bet one of two things. He is either (1) mad, (2) hunting. - -It adds variety to life to watch him from afar, and then have a -sweepstake on the total with your friends. You need not fear the -victim’s honesty. He will count each murdered captive as carefully as -though he were (or she were!) a batch of prisoner Fritzes. There is a -great element of luck about the game, too; you never can tell. Some men -develop into experts. Lightning destroyers, one might say. A brand-new -subaltern joined the sweepstake one day, and he bet 117. The chap had -only been at it half an hour by the clock, too! - -The new sub. won. - -You can always tell a new sub. You go up to him and you say politely: -“Are you--er ... yet?” If he looks insulted he is new. If he says, -“Yes, old top, millions of ’em!” and wriggles, he is old! - -There was a man once who had a champion. He said he got it in a German -dug-out; anyhow, it was a pure-blooded, number one mammoth, and it won -every contest on the measured yard, against all comers. He kept it in -a glass jar, and fed it on beef. It died at the age of two months and -four days, probably from senility brought on by over-eating and too -many Derbies. Thank heaven the breed was not perpetuated, albeit the -Johnny who owned it could have made a lot of money if he had not been -foolishly careful of the thing. - -He buried it in a tin of Keating’s--mummified, as it were--and enclosed -an epitaph: “Here lie the last ligaments of the largest louse the Lord -ever let loose!” - -Some people think Fritz started the things, as a minor example of -frightfulness. One of them caused a casualty in the regiment, at -all events. A new sub., a very squeamish chappie, found _one_--just -one!--and nearly died of shame. He heard petrol was a good thing, so -he anointed himself all over with it, freely. Then his elbow irritated -him, and he lighted a match to see if it was another! - -He is still in hospital! - - - - -BOMBS - - -We counted them as they came up the communication trench, and the -Commander of “AK” Company paled; yet he was a brave man. He cast a -despairing glance around him, and then looked at me. - -“George,” he said (you may not believe it, but there can be a world of -pathos put into that simple name). “_George_, we are Goners.” - -By this time they had reached the front line. - -My thoughts flew to the Vermoral sprayer, last time it had been the -Vermoral sprayer. Was the V.S. filled, or was it not...? - -They came from scent to view, and pulling himself together with a click -of the heels closely imitated by the S.I.C., the O.C. “AK” Coy. saluted. - -“Good morning, sir!” - -The General acknowledged the salute, but the ends of his moustache -quivered. G.S.O. one, directly in rear, frowned. The Colonel looked -apprehensive, and glared at both of us. The Brigadier was glum, the -Brigade Major very red in the face. Two of those beastly supercilious -Aides looked at each other, smiled, glanced affectionately at their red -tabs and smiled again. - -It was exactly 2.29 “pip emma” when the mine went up. - -“Discipline, sir,” said the General, “discipline is lacking in your -company! You have a sentry on duty at the head of Chelwyn Road. A -sentry! What does he do when he sees me? Not a damn thing, sir! Not a -damn thing!” - -Of course the O.C. “AK” made a bad break; one always does under such -circumstances. - -“He may not have seen you, sir.” - -G.S.O. one moved forward in support, so that if overcome the General -could fall back on his centre. - -A whizz-bang burst in 94--we were in 98--and the Staff ducked, -taking the time from the front. The Aides carried out the movement -particularly smartly, resuming the upright position in strict rotation. - -The General fixed us with a twin Flammenwerfer gaze. - -“What’s that? Not _see_ me? What the devil is he there for, sir? I -shall remember this, Captain--ah, Roberts--I shall remember this!” - -Pause. - -“Where is your Vermoral sprayer?” - -Like lambkins followed by voracious lions, we lead them to the Vermoral -sprayer. - -I was at the retaking of Hill 60, at Ypres long months ago, at -Festubert and Givenchy, but never was I so inspired with dread as now. - -Praise be to Zeus, the V.S. was full! - -We passed on, until we reached a bomber cleaning bombs. The General -paused. The bomber, stood to attention, firmly grasping a bomb in the -right hand, knuckles down, forearm straight. - -“Ha!” said the General. “Ha! Bombs, what?” - -The bomber remained apparently petrified. - -“What I always say about these bombs,” the General continued, turning -to the Brigadier, “is that they’re so damn simple, what? A child can -use them. You can throw them about, and, provided the pin is in, no -harm will come of it. But”--looking sternly at me--“_always_ make sure -the pin is safely imbedded in the base of the bomb. That is the first -duty of a man handling bombs.” - -We all murmured assent, faintly or otherwise, according to rank. - -“Give me that bomb,” said the General to the bomber, waxing -enthusiastic. The man hesitated. The General glared, the bomb became -his. - -We stood motionless around him. “You see, gentlemen,” the General -continued jocularly. “I take this bomb, and I throw it on the -ground--so! It does not explode, it cannot explode, the fuse is not -lit, for the pin----” - -Just then the bomber leapt like a fleeting deer round the corner, but -the General was too engrossed to notice him. - -“As I say, the pin----” - -A frightened face appeared round the bay, and a small shaky voice broke -in: - -“Please, sir, it’s a five-second fuse--an’ _I ’ad took HOUT the pin_!” - - * * * * * - -After all the General reached the traverse in time and we were not shot -at dawn. But G.S.O. one has gone to England “Wounded and shell-shock.” - - - - -SOFT JOBS - - -This war has produced a new type of military man--so-called--to -wit: the seeker after soft jobs. He flourishes in large numbers in -training areas; he grows luxuriantly around head-quarters staffs, and -a certain kind of hybrid--a combination of a slacker and a soldier--is -to be found a few miles to the rear of the firing-line in France and -Flanders. There are some of him in every rank, from the top of the tree -to the bottom. If he is a natural-born soft-jobber he never leaves -his training area--not even on a Cook’s tour. Should the virus be -latent, he will develop an attack, acute or mild, after one tour in the -trenches, or when one of our own batteries has fired a salvo close by -him. - -If he is affected by very mild germs he may stand a month or two in the -firing-line in some sector where fighting troops are sent for a rest -and re-organisation. Broadly speaking, therefore, he belongs to one of -three classes, of which the second class is perhaps the worst. - -There are some men who join the army without the least intention of -ever keeping less than the breadth of the English Channel between -themselves and fighting territory. Not for them the “glorious” -battle-fields, not for them the sweat and toil and purgatory of -fighting for their country. Nothing at all for them in fact, save a -ribbon and a barless medal, good quarters, perfect safety, staff pay, -weekend leave, with a few extra days thrown in as a reward for their -valuable services, and--a soft job! - -They are the militaresques of our armies. The men who try hard to be -soldiers, and who only succeed in being soldier-like beings erect upon -two legs, with all the outward semblance of a soldier. Yet even _their_ -lives are not safe. They run grave risks by day and by night in the -service of their country. - -Zeppelins! - -There is an air of bustle and excitement around the officers’ quarters -in the training camp to-day. Batmen--hoary-haired veterans with six -ribbons, whom no M.O. could be induced to pass for active service, -even by tears--rush madly hither and thither, parleying in odd moments -of Ladysmith, Kabul to Kandahar, and “swoddies.” Head-quarters look -grave, tense, strained. - -In the ante-room to the mess stand soda syphons and much “B. & W.” -There are gathered there most of the officers of two regiments--base -battalions, with permanent training staffs. In the five seats of honour -recline nonchalantly two majors, one captain, and two subalterns. (O.C. -Lewis gun school, O.C. nothing in particular, Assistant O.C. Lewis -gun school, Assistant Assistant Lewis gun school, Deputy Assistant -Adjutant.) They are smoking large, fat cigars, and consuming many -drinks. Are they not the heroes of the hour? When the sun rises well -into the heavens to-morrow they will set forth on a desperate journey. - -They are going on a Cook’s tour of two weeks’ duration to the trenches! -(So that they can have the medal!) In the morning, with bad headaches, -they depart. In Boulogne they spend twelve hours of riotous life. -(“Let us eat and drink,” says the O.C. nothing in particular, “for -to-morrow, dont-cher-know!”) They arrive in due course at Battalion -battle H.Q. The majors have the best time, as they stay with the C.O., -drink his Scotch, and do the bombing officer and the M.G.O. out of a -bed. - -The rest of them are right up among the companies, where they are an -infernal nuisance. About 11 “pip emma” Fritz starts fire-works, and -finishes up with a bombing attack on the left flank. The O.C. nothing -in particular stops at B.H.Q. The O.C. Lewis gun school mistakes the -first general head-quarters line (one kilometre in rear) for the front -line, and goes back with shell-shock, having been in the centre of -a barrage caused by one 5.9 two hundred yards north. The Assistant -Assistant gets into the main bomb store in the front line, and stops -there, and the Assistant O.C. Lewis gun school remains in Coy. H.Q. and -looks after the batmen. The Deputy Assistant Adjutant gets out into -the trench, finds some bombers doing nothing, gets hold of a couple of -bombs, makes for the worst noise, and carries on as a soldier should. - -After the show the O.C. nothing in particular tells the Colonel all -_his_ theories on counter-attack, and goes sick in the morning for -the remaining period of his tour; the other twain stand easy, and the -Deputy Assistant Adjutant makes an application for transfer to the -Battalion. Incidentally he is recommended for the military cross. - -When the four previously mentioned return to England they all of them -apply for better soft jobs, on the strength of recent experiences at -the front. The one man who threw up his soft job to become junior -subaltern in a fighting regiment is killed in the next “show” before -his recommendation for a decoration has been finally approved. - -_Fiat justitia, ruat cœlum._ - - - - -“GROUSE” - - -We aren’t happy; our clothes don’t fit, and we ain’t got no friends! -Rations are not up yet--confound the Transport Officer--it’s raining -like the dickens, as dark as pitch, and we’ve only got one bit of -candle. Some one has pinched a jar of rum, that idiot batman of mine -can’t find a brazier, and young John has lost his raincoat. In fact -it’s a rotten war. - -We had lobster for lunch; it has never let us forget we had it! The -Johnny we “took over” from _said_ there were 7698 million bombs in the -Battalion grenade store, and there are only 6051. The Adjutant has -just sent a “please explain,” which shows what you get for believing a -fellow. - -The little round fat chap has left his gumboots (thigh) “Somewhere in -France,” and fell into the trench tramway trying to wear an odd six on -the right foot, and an odd nine on the left. George has busted the D -string of the mandoline, and A. P. has lost the only pack of cards we -had to play poker with. - -It’s a simply _rotten_ war! - -John has a working-party out of sixty “other ranks” and says they are -spread in two’s and three’s over a divisional frontage. He has made two -trips to locate them, and meditates a third. His language is positively -hair-raising. If he falls into any more shell-holes no one will let him -in the dug-out. - -Those confounded brigade machine gunners are firing every other second -just in front of the dug-out. Heaven knows what they are firing at, or -where, but how a man could be expected to sleep through the noise only -a siege artillery man could tell you. - -George went out on a “reconnaissance” recently. George is great on -doing reconnaissances and drawing maps. This time the reconnaissance -did _him_, and the only map he’s yet produced is mud tracings on his -person. Incidentally he says that _all_ the communication trenches are -impassable, and that no one but a cat could go over the top and keep on -his feet for more than thirty seconds. (N.B.--George fell into the main -support line and had to be pulled out by some of John’s working-party.) -George says that if the Germans come over it’s all up. Cheerful sort -of beggar, George. - -My new smoke-helmet--the one you wear round your neck all the time, -even in your dreams--is lost again. This is the third time in the -course of six hours. The gas N.C.O. has calculated that with the wind -at its present velocity we should be gassed in one and three-quarter -seconds, not counting the recurring decimal. - -John has just told a story about a bayonet. It would be funny at any -other time. Now, it simply sticks! - -The cook has just come in to say our rations have been left behind by -mistake. Troubles never come singly. May heaven protect the man who -is responsible if we get him! John has told another story, about an -Engineer. It can’t be true, for he says this chap was out in No Man’s -Land digging a trench. No one ever knew a Canadian Engineer do anything -but tell the infantry how to work. It’s a rotten story, anyhow. - -Just look at this dug-out; a bottle of rum on the table--empty. The odd -steel helmet, some dirty old newspapers, and a cup or two (empty!), -and a pile of strafes from the Adjutant six inches thick. My bed has -a hole in it as big as a “Johnson ’ole,” and there are rats. Also the -place is inhabited by what the men call “crumbs.” Poetic version of a -painful fact. - -John says this is the d--est outfit he has ever been in. John is right. -My gumboots were worn by the Lance-Corporal in No. 2 platoon, and they -are wet, beastly wet. Also my batman has forgotten to put any extra -socks in my kit-bag. Also he’s lost my German rifle--the third I’ve -bought for twenty francs and lost. - -This is a _deuce_ of a war! - -The mail has just arrived. George got five, the little round fat fellow -_nine_, A. P. two, and John and me shake hands with a duck’s-egg. Still -the second mentioned has his troubles. One of his many inamoratas has -written to him in French. He knows French just about as well as he -knows how to sing! Nuff said! - -John has “parti’d” to his triple-starred working-party. The men have -not got any letters either. You should hear them! The most expert -“curser” of the Billingsgate fishmarket would turn heliotrope with -envy. George is feeling badly too. He lent his flash-light to dish out -rations with. That is to say, to illuminate what the best writers of -nondescript fiction call the “Cimmerian gloom!” - -A. P. has had letters from his wife. Lucky dog! She takes up four pages -telling him how she adores him. - -This is a _beastly_ rotten war. - -Fritz is a rotter too. My dug-out is two hundred yards north by -nor’-east. Every time I have to make the trip he never fails to keep -the Cimmerian gloom strictly “Cim.” And the bath-mats are broken in two -places, and I’ve found both of them every time. - -Another strafe from the Adjutant. May jackals defile his grave, but -he’ll never have one in France, anyhow. “Please render an account -to Orderly Room of the number of men in your unit who are qualified -plumbers.” - -We haven’t any. - -If we had we should have mended the hole in the roof, which leaks on -John’s bed. It has only just begun to leak. It will be fun to hear -what John says when he comes back. Only he may be speechless. - -The little round fat fellow is still reading letters, and A. P. is -hunting in his nether garments. “Kinder scratterin’ aroun’!” So far the -bag numbers five killed and two badly winged, but still on the run. - -Somebody has turned out the guard. Yells of fire. After due inspection -proves to be the C.O.’s tunic. It was a new one! May his batman -preserve himself in one piece. - -More yells of “Guard turn out!” Support my tottering footsteps! -Our--that is to say _my_ dug-out is on fire.... Confusion.... Calm.... -I have no dug-out, no anything.... This is, pardonnez-moi, a Hell of a -war! - - - - -PANSIES - - -There are some pansies on my table, arranged in a broken glass one of -the men has picked up among the rubble and débris of this shattered -town. Dark mauve and yellow pansies, pretty, innocent looking little -things. “Pansies--that’s for thoughts.” - -Transport is rattling up and down the street--guns, limbers, G.S. -wagons, water-carts, God knows what, and there are men marching along, -mud-caked, weary, straggling, clinging fast to some German souvenir as -they come one way; jaunty, swinging, clean, with bands a-blowing as -they go the other. It is a dull grey day. There is “something doing” up -the line. I can hear the artillery, that ceaseless artillery, pounding -and hammering, and watch the scout aeroplanes, dim grey hawks in the -distance, from the windows of the room above--the broken-down room with -the plasterless ceiling, and the clothes scattered all over the floor. - -“Pansies--that’s for thoughts.” - -The regiment is up yonder--the finest regiment God ever made. They -are wallowing in the wet, sticky mud of the trenches they have dug -themselves into, what is left of them. They are watching and waiting, -always watching and waiting for the enemy to attack. - -And they are being bombarded steadily, pitilessly, without cessation. -Some will be leaning against the parapet, sleeping the sleep of -exhaustion, some will be watching, some smoking, if they have got any -smokes left. I know them. Until the spirit leaves their bodies they -will grin and fight, fight and grin, but always “Carry On.” - -Last night they went up to relieve the --th, after they had just come -out of the line, and were themselves due to be relieved. Overdue, in -fact, but the General knew that he could rely on them, knew that THEY -would never give way, while there was a man left to fire a rifle. So -he used them--as they have always been used, and as they always will -be--to hold the line in adversity, to take the line when no one else -could take it. - -We have been almost wiped out five times, but the old spirit still -lives, the Spirit of our mighty dead. There are always enough “old -men” left, even though they number but a score, with whom to leaven -the lump of raw, green rookies that come to us, and to turn them into -soldiers worthy of the Regiment. - -Dark mauve pansies. - -I knew all the old soldiers of the Brigade, I have fought with them, -shaken hands with them afterwards--those who survived--mourned with -them our pals who were gone--buried many a one of them. - -This time I am out of it. Alone with the pansies ... and my thoughts. -Thomson was killed last night; Greaves, Nicholson, Townley, between -then and now. Nearly all the rest are wounded. Those who come back will -talk of this fight, they will speak of hours and events of which I -shall know nothing. For the first time I shall be on the outer fringe, -mute ... with only ears to hear, and no heart to speak. - -Perhaps they will come out to-morrow night. Or, early, very early the -following morning. They will be tired--so tired they are past feeling -it--unshaven, unwashed, and covered with mud from their steel helmets -down to the soles of their boots. But they will be fairly cheerful. -They will try to sing on the long, long march back here, as I have -heard them so many times before. When they reach the edge of the town -they will try to square their weary shoulders, and to keep step--and -they will do it, too, heaven only knows _how_, but they will do it. -Their leader will feel very proud of them, which is only right and -proper. He will call them “boys,” encourage the weak, inwardly admire -and bless the strong. And he will be proud of the mud and dirt, proud -of his six days’ growth of beard. Satisfied; because he has just done -one more little bit, and the Good Lord has pulled him through it. - -When they get to their billets they will cheer; discordantly, but cheer -none the less. They will crowd into the place, and drop their kits -and themselves on top of them, to sleep the sleep of the just--the -well-earned sleep of utter fatigue. - -In the morning they will feel better, and they will glance at you with -an almost affectionate look in their eyes, for they know--as the men -always know--whether you have proved yourself, whether you have made -good--or failed. - -“Pansies ... that’s for thoughts....” - -And I am out of it--out of it _ALL_ ... preparing “To re-organise what -is left of the regiment.” - -For God’s sake, Holman, take away those flowers! - - - - -GOING BACK - - -A large crowd packed the wide platform, hemmed in on one side by -a barrier, on the other by a line of soldiers two paces apart. -The boat-train was leaving in five minutes. That a feeling of -tension permeated the crowd was evident, from the forced smiles and -laughter, and the painful endeavours of the departing ones to look -preternaturally cheerful. In each little group there were sudden -silences. - -Almost at the last moment a tall, lean officer pressed through the -crowd, made for a smoking-carriage, and got in. He surveyed the scene -with a rather compassionate interest, while occasionally a wistful look -passed over his face as he watched for a moment an officer talking with -a very pretty girl, almost a child, who now and then mopped her eyes -defiantly with a diminutive handkerchief. - -“All aboard.” - -The pretty girl lifted up her face, and the lonely one averted his -eyes, pulled a newspaper hastily from his overcoat pocket, and -proceeded to read it upside down! - -As the train pulled out of the station a cheer went up and -handkerchiefs fluttered. The sole other occupant of the carriage, a -young--very young--subaltern who had just said good-bye to his mother, -muttered to himself and blinked hard out of the window. The Lonely -One shrugged himself more deeply into his seat, and abstractedly -reversed the newspaper. A paragraph caught his eye: “Artillery activity -developed yesterday in the sector south of Leuville St. Vaast. An enemy -attempt to raid our trenches at this point was foiled.” He smiled a -trifle, and putting down the paper fell to thinking. Unable to contain -himself any longer, the boy in the corner spoke. - -“Rotten job, this going back show,” he said. The other assented -gravely, and they fell to talking, spasmodically, of the Front. Pure, -undiluted shop, but very comforting. - -Finally the train arrived at the port of embarkation. A crowd of -officers of all ranks surged along the platform, glanced at the -telegram board, and passed on towards the boat. The Lonely One -stopped, however, for his name in white chalk stared at him. He got the -telegram eventually and opened it. It contained only two words and no -signature: “Good luck.” Flushing a trifle he walked down to the waiting -mail-boat, and getting his disembarkation card passed up the gangway. - -An air of impenetrable gloom hung over the dirty decks. Here and there -a few men chatted together, but for the most part the passengers kept -to themselves. The lonely man found the young lieutenant waiting for -him, and together they mounted to the upper deck, and secured two -chairs aft, hanging their life-belts on to them. - -A little later the boat cast off, and they watched the land fade from -sight as many others were watching with them. “Ave atque Vale.” - -“I wonder ...” said the youngster, and then bit his lips. - -“Come below and have some grub,” the other said cheerily. They ate, -paid for it through the nose, and felt better. Half an hour later they -were in Boulogne. - -As they waited outside the M.L.O.’s office for their turn, the younger -asked: - -“I say, what Army are you?” - -“First.” - -“So’m I,” joyfully, “p’raps we’ll go up together.” - -“I hope so, but we shall have to stop here the night, I expect.” - -Even as he said so a notice was hung outside the little wooden office: -“Officers of the First Army returning from leave will report to the -R.T.O., Gare Centrale, at 10.00 A.M. to-morrow, Saturday, 17th instant.” - -“That settles it,” said the elder man, “come along, and we’ll go to the -Officers’ Club and bag a couple of beds.” - -“Nineteen hours,” wailed the other, “in this beastly place! What on -earth shall we find to do?” - -“Don’t worry about that--there is usually some one to whom one can -write.” It was both a hint and a question. - -“Yes--ra--_ther_!” - -They had tea, and afterwards the boy wrote a long letter, in which he -said a great deal more to the mother who received it than was actually -written on the paper. The Lonely One sat for some time in front of the -fire, and finally scribbled a card. It was addressed to some place in -the wilds of Scotland, and it bore the one word “Thanks.” - -After dinner they sat and smoked awhile. The Lonely One knew much of -the life-history of the other by now. It had burst from the boy, and -the Lonely One had listened sympathetically and with little comment, -and had liked to hear it. It is good to hear a boy talk about his -mother. - -“What shall we do now?” - -“We might go to the cinema show; it used to be fairly good.” - -“Right-oh! I say”--a little diffidently--“last time I was on -leave, the first time too, I came back with some fellows who were -pretty--well--pretty hot stuff. They wanted me to go to a--to a place -up in the town, and I didn’t go. I think they thought I was an awful -blighter, don’t-you-know, but----” - -“What that kind of chap thinks doesn’t matter in the least, old man,” -interposed the other. “You were at Cambridge, weren’t you?” - -“Yes.” - -“Well, you may have heard the old tag? Besides, I don’t think--some -one--somebody ...” he hesitated and stopped. The youngster flushed. - -“Yes, I know,” he said softly. - -They boarded the train together, and shared the discomforts of the -long tedious journey. Every hour, or less, the train stopped, for many -minutes, and then with a creak and a groan wandered on again like an -ancient snail. Rain beat on the window-panes, and the compartment was -as drafty as a sieve. - -It was not until the small hours that they reached their destination, a -cold, bleak, storm-swept platform. - -“This is where we say good-bye,” the youngster began regretfully, -“thanks awf’ly for----” - -“Rot,” broke in the other brusquely, taking the proffered hand in his -big brown one. “Best of luck, old man, and don’t forget to drop me a -card.” - -“A nice boy, a _very_ nice boy,” he mused, as he climbed into the -military bus, and was rattled off, back to the mud and slush and -dreariness of it all. - -“Have a good time?” asked the Transport Officer the next morning, -as the Lonely One struggled into his fighting kit, preparatory to -rejoining the battalion in the trenches. - -“Yes, thanks. By the way, any mail for me?” - -“One letter. Here you are.” - -He took it, looked an instant at the handwriting, and thrust it inside -his tunic. The postmark was the same as that of the wire he had -received at the port of embarkation. - - - - -THREE RED ROSES - - -In the distance rose the spires of Ypres, and the water-tower, useless -now for the purpose for which it was built, but still erect on its -foundations. The silvery mist of early April hung very lightly over -the flat surrounding land, hiding one corner of Vlamertinghe from -sight, where the spire of the church still raised its head, as yet -unvanquished. A red sun was rising in the East, and beyond Ypres a -battle still raged, though nothing to the battle of a few short days -before. Hidden batteries spoke now and then, and the roads were a cloud -of dust, as men, transport, guns, and many ambulances passed along -them. Overhead aeroplanes droned, and now and again shells whistled -almost lazily overhead, to fall with a thunderous “crrumph” in Brielen -and Vlamertinghe. - -By the canal there was a dressing-station. The little white flag with -its red cross hung listless in the still air. Motor ambulances drove up -at speed and departed with their burdens. Inside the dressing-station -men worked ceaselessly, as they had been working for days. Sometimes -shells fell near by. No one heeded them. - -Beyond the dressing-station, down the road, the banks of which were -filled with little niches hollowed out with entrenching tools, hurried -a figure. He was but one of many, but there was that about him which -commanded the attention of all who saw him. His spurs and boots were -dirty, his uniform covered with stains and dust, his face unshaven. He -walked like a man in a dream, yet as of set purpose. Pale and haggard, -he strode along, mechanically acknowledging salutes. - -Arrived at the dressing-station, without pausing he entered, and went -up to one of the doctors who was bandaging the remnants of an arm. - -“Have they come yet?” he asked. - -The other looked at him gravely with a certain respect and pity, and -with the eye also of a medical man. - -“Not yet, Colonel,” he answered. “You had better sit down and rest, you -are all in.” - -The Colonel passed a weary hand over his forehead. - -“No,” he said. “No, Campbell; I shall go back and look for the party. -They may have lost their way, and--they were three of my best officers, -three of my boys.... I--I----” - -“Here, sir! Take this.” - -It was more of a command than a request. The Colonel drained what was -given him, and went out without a word. - -Back he trudged, along the shell-pitted road, even now swept by -occasional salvos of shrapnel. He took no notice of anything, but -continued feverishly on his way, his eyes ever searching the distance. -At last he gave vent to an exclamation. Down the road was coming a -stretcher party. They had but one stretcher, and on it lay three -blanketed bundles. - -The Colonel met them, and with bowed head accompanied them back to the -dressing-station. - -“You found them--all?” It was his only question. - -“Yes, sir, all that was left.” - -The stretcher was taken to a little empty dug-out, and with his own -hands the C.O. laid the Union Jack over it. - -“When will the--the graves be ready?” he asked the doctor. - -“By five o’clock, sir.” - -“I will be back at 4.30.” - -“You must take some rest, Colonel, or you’ll break down.” - -“Thank you, Campbell, I can look after myself!” - -“Very good, sir.” - -As he went away Captain Campbell looked after him rather anxiously. - -“Never would have thought _he could_ be so upset,” he mused. “He’ll be -in hospital, if----” - -Straight back to Brielen the Colonel walked, and there he met his -orderly with the horses. He mounted without a word, and rode on, -through Vlamertinghe, until he reached Popheringe. There he dismounted. - -“I shall be some time,” he said to the orderly. - -He went through the square, up the noisy street leading to the -Vehrenstraat, and along it, until he reached a little shop, in which -were still a few flowers. He entered, and a frightened-looking woman -came to serve him. - -“I want three red roses,” he said. - -It took the saleswoman several minutes to understand, but finally she -showed him what she had. The roses were not in their first bloom, -but they were large and red. The Colonel had them done up, and left -carrying them carefully. The rest of his time he spent in repairing as -well as might be the ravages of battle on his clothes and person. At -4.20 he was again at the dressing-station. - -A quiet-voiced padre awaited him there, a tall, ascetic-looking man, -with the eyes of a seer. - -They carried the bundles on the stretcher to the graves, three among -many, just behind the dressing-station. - -“Almighty God, as it has pleased Thee to take the souls of these, our -dear brothers ...” the sonorous voice read on, while the C.O. stood, -bare-headed, at the head of the graves, holding in his hand the three -red roses. The short burial service came to an end. - -The Colonel walked to the foot of each grave in turn, and gently threw -on each poor shattered remnant a red rose. Straightening himself, he -stood long at the salute, and then, with a stern, set face, he strode -away, to where the Padre awaited him, not caring that his eyes were -wet. The Padre said nothing, but took his hand and gripped it. - -“Padre,” said the Colonel, “those three were more to me than any other -of my officers; I thought of them as my children.” - - - - -ADJUTANTS - - -If Fate cherishes an especial grievance against you, you will be made -an Adjutant. - -One of those bright beautiful mornings, when all the world is young -and, generally speaking, festive, the sword of Damocles will descend -upon you, and you will be called to the Presence, and told you are to -be Adjutant. You will, perhaps, be rather inclined to think yourself a -deuce of a fellow on that account. You will acquire a pair of spurs, -and expect to be treated with respect. You will, in fact, feel that -you are a person of some importance, quite the latest model in good -little soldiers. You may--and this is the most cruel irony of all--be -complimented on your appointment by your brother officers. - -Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, saith the preacher! - -As soon as you become the “voice of the C.O.,” you lose every friend -you ever possessed. You are just about as popular as the proverbial -skunk at a garden-party. It takes only two days to find this out. - -The evening of the second day you decide to have a drink, Orderly Room -or no Orderly Room. You make this rash decision, and you tell the -Orderly-Room Sergeant--only heaven knows when _he_ sleeps--that you are -going out. - -“I will be back in half an hour,” you say. - -Then you go forth to seek for George--George, your pal, your intimate, -your bosom friend. You find George in your old Coy. head-quarters, and -a pang of self-pity sweeps over you as you cross the threshold and see -the other fellows there: George, Henry, John, and the rest. - -“Come and have a----” you begin cheerily. Suddenly, in the frosty -silence you hear a cool, passionless voice remark, - -“Good evening, SIR!” - -It is George, the man you loved and trusted, whom you looked on as a -friend and brother. - -“George, come and have a----” again the words stick in your throat. - -George answers, in tones from which all amity, peace, and goodwill -towards men have vanished: - -“Thanks very much, sir”--oh baleful little word--“but I’ve just started -a game of poker.” - -Dimly light dawns in your reeling brain; you realise the full extent -of your disabilities, and you know that all is over. You are the -Adjutant--the voice of the C.O.! - -Sadly, with the last glimmer of Adjutant pride and pomp cast from out -your soul, you return to Orderly Room, drinkless, friendless, and alone. - -“The Staff Captain has been ringing you up, sir. He wants to know if -the summary of evidence ...” and so on. In frenzied desperation you -seize the telephone. Incidentally you call the Staff Captain away -from his dinner. What he says, no self-respecting man--not even an -Adjutant--could reveal without laying bare the most lacerated portions -of his innermost feelings. - -You go to bed, a sadder and a wiser man, wondering if you could go -back to the Company, even as the most junior sub., were you to make an -impassioned appeal to the C.O. - -About 1 A.M. some one comes in and awakens you. - -“Message from Brigade, sir.” - -With an uncontrite heart you read it: “Forward to this office -immediately a complete nominal roll of all men of your unit who have -served continuously for nine months without leave.” That takes two -hours, and necessitates the awakening of all unit commanders, as the -last Adjutant kept no record. In psychic waves you feel curses raining -on you through the stilly night. Having made an application--in -writing--to the C.O., to be returned to duty, you go to bed. - -At 3.30 A.M. you are awakened again. “Movement order from Brigade, sir!” - -This time you say nothing. All power of speech is lost. The entire -regiment curses you, while by the light of a guttering candle you write -a movement order, “operation order number”--what the deuce _is_ the -number anyhow. The Colonel is--shall we say--indisposed as to temper, -and the companies get half an hour to fall in, ready to march off. One -Company loses the way, and does not arrive at the starting-point. - -“Did you specify the starting-point quite clearly, Mr. Jones?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Where did you say it was?” - -“One hundred yards south of the ‘N’ in CANDIN, sir.” - -“There are _two_ ‘N’s’ in CANDIN, Mr. Jones; _two_ ‘N’s’! How can you -expect a company commander to know _which_ ‘N’? Gross carelessness. -Gross carelessness. Go and find the Company, please.” - -“Yessir.” - -You find the Company only just out of billets, after scouring the -miserable country around the wrong ‘N’ for fifteen minutes, and falling -off your horse into one of those infernal ditches. - -The battalion moves off half an hour later, and the C.O. has lots -to say about it. He also remarks that his late Adjutant was “a good -horseman”--a bitter reflection! - -There is absolutely no hope for an Adjutant. If he is a good man at -the “job” everybody hates him. If he is feeble the C.O. hates him. -The Brigade staff hate him on principle. If he kow-tows to them they -trample on him with both feet, if he does _not_ they set snares for -him, and keep him up all night. He is expected to know everything: K. -R. and O. backwards and forwards, divisional drill, and the training of -a section. Routine for the cure of housemaid’s knee in mules, and the -whole compendium of Military Law. He is never off duty, and even his -soul is not his own. He is, in fact, The Adjutant. - -Sometimes people try to be nice to him. They mean well. They will -come into the Orderly Room and say: “Oh, Mr. Jones, can you tell me -where the 119th Reserve Battery of the 83rd Reserve Stokes Gun Coy. is -situated?” Of course, Adjutants know _everything_. - -And when you admit ignorance they look at you with pained surprise, and -go to Brigade. - -“I asked the Adjutant of the --th Battalion, but he did not seem to -know.” - -Adjutants die young. - - - - -HOME - - -There is one subject no man mentions at the Front unless it be very -casually, _en passant_. Even then it brings with it a sudden silence. -There is so much, so very much in that little word “Home.” - -If a man were to get up at a sing-song and sing “Home, Sweet Home,” his -life would be imperilled. His audience would rise and annihilate him, -because they could not give vent to their feelings in any other way. -There are some things that strike directly at the heart, and this is -one of them. - -You see the new officer, the men of the new draft, abstracted, with a -rather wistful look on their faces, as they gaze into the brazier, or -sit silently in billets when their work is done. You have felt like -that, and you know what is the matter. The symptoms are not to be -encouraged in the individual nor the mass. They lead to strong drink -and dissipation, for no man can preserve his inward calm for long, if -he dwells much on his dearest recollections of Home. There is but one -remedy: work, and lots of it, action, movement, anything to distract. - -Many a man has committed some small “crime” that brought him to Orderly -Room because he allowed his mind to wander ... Home--and realised too -fully the percentage of his chances of ever seeing that home again. The -Front is not a garden of Allah, or a bed of roses, or even a tenth-rate -music-hall as some people would have us believe. It has to be made -bearable by the spirit of those who endure it. - -There is enough that is grim and awe-inspiring--aye! and heart-rending, -without seeking it. That is why we do not like certain kinds of music -at the Front, why the one-time student of “intense” music develops -an uncontrollable predilection for wild and woolly rag-time strains, -and never winces at their execution however faulty. That is why the -Estaminets sell so much bad beer, and so much _vin mousseux_ under the -generic title of Champagne. - -Men want to forget about Home, for they dare not think of it too much. -I have never heard a man speak of Home without a little hush in his -voice, as though he spoke of something sacred that was, and might not -be again. - -How often one heard the remark, a kind of apologia: “One must do -something.” Yet, in spite of all they do to forget Home, they are -least happy who have none to forget. Fortunately they are few. It is -a strange provision of Providence that lends zest to the attempt at -oblivion, and induces a frame of mind that yearns through that attempt -for the very things it would fain forget! - -After all, it is very much like the school-boy who longs for privacy -where he can blubber unseen, and is at the same time very glad that he -has not got it, and _can’t_ blubber, because his school-fellows would -see him! - -A superficial observer might think that the men at the Front are purely -callous, intent on seizing lustily on every possible chance of doubtful -and other pleasures that they can obtain. He may think that war has -brutalised them, numbed their consciences, steeled their hearts. Or he -may class them as of low intellect. In all of which he is wrong, and -has utterly failed to grasp the morale of the man who lives to fight -to-day, never knowing of a certainty if he will see another dawn. - -The soldier knows that he may not dwell in his heart on all he holds -most dear. It “takes the stuffing out of him.” So, according to -his lights, he works very hard indeed to keep up his spirits; to -forget. Not _really_ to forget, only to pretend to himself that he is -forgetting. - -What good is it for the man whose sweetheart ran away with the other -fellow to think about it? Therefore, Tommy rises above his thoughts, he -puts them away from him--as best he can. And if that best is not all -that people at home might wish it to be, surely some allowance may be -made for what may be called the exigencies of the military situation! - -Perhaps it is the last thing some people would imagine, but -homesickness is a very real disease at the Front, and he may count -himself lucky who escapes it. - -“Wot price the Hedgeware Road?” says Bill, ruminatively, as he drinks -his glass of mild--very mild--beer. - -And his pal sums up _his_ feelings in the one word “Blimey!” - -If you have seen men go into action, not once, but many times; if you -have heard them sing, “Oh _my_, I _don’t_ want to die; _I_ want to -go Home,” “My Little Grey Home in the West,” and many other similar -ditties, then you will understand. - -The very trenches shout it at you, these universal thoughts of Home. -Look at some of the names: Oxford Street, Petticoat Lane, The Empire, -Toronto Avenue, Bayou Italien--even the German trenches have their -Wilhelmstrasse! Each nation in arms is alike in this respect. Every -front-line soldier longs for Home. - -A singer whose voice was chiefly remarkable for its sympathetic -quality, gave a concert within sound of the guns. A battalion, just -out of the trenches, went to hear her. She sang several bright little -songs, every one encored uproariously, and finally she sang one of -those beautiful Kashmir love songs which go straight to the depths. -There was a moment’s tense silence when she had finished, and then -the “house” rocked with applause, followed by a greater trumpeting of -handkerchiefed noses than was ever before indulged in by any regiment -_en masse_. She had awakened memories of Home. - -There are many who rest beneath foreign skies for whom all earthly -homes are done with. _They_ have been gathered to the greatest Home of -all. - - - - -ACTION - - -“Message from Head-quarters, sir.” The runner was breathing hard, -and his eyes were strained and tense-looking. He had not shaved for -days. Fritz’s “thousand guns on the Somme,” that the papers talk of so -glibly, were tuning up for business. - -Major Ogilvie took the message, read it, and handed it on to me. “Zero -hour will be at 6.30 P.M. AAA. Our artillery will bombard from 5.30 -to 6.20 P.M., slow continuous, and from 6.20 to 6.29 P.M. hurricane -fire AAA. You will give all possible assistance, by means of rifle -and machine-gun fire to ULTRAMARINE, and arrange to reinforce, if -necessary, in case of heavy counter-attack AAA. ULTRAMARINE will -indicate that objective has been gained by firing two red rockets -simultaneously AAA. Please render situation reports every half-hour to -B.H.Q., A.21.d.1.4½.AAA.” - -We looked at each other and smiled a little grimly. To be on the flank -of an attack is rather worse than to attack, for it means sitting -tight while Fritz pounds the life out of you. - -“You stop here,” said Ogilvie, “in this glory-hole of ours, while I go -up and see Niven. He will have to put his men in those forward saps. If -you get any messages, deal with them, and make sure that Townley keeps -those bombers of his on both sides of the road. They _must_ stop there, -as long as there are any of them left, or the Hun might try to turn our -flank. So long.” - -He set out towards the north, leaving me in “AK” Coy.’s -“head-quarters.” The latter consisted of a little niche, three feet -wide, ran back a foot, and was four feet high, cut in the parapet of -the front line. The runner, Thomson, one of our own company, was curled -up in a little cubby-hole at my feet, and had fallen asleep. - -It was lonely in that trench, although there were invisible men, not -thirty feet away, on both sides of me. - -The time was 5.25 P.M. - -Our guns were still silent. Fritz was warming up more and more. He was -shelling our right most persistently, putting “the odd shell” around -head-quarters. - -Punctually to the minute our artillery started in. Salvos of heavies, -way back, shrapnel all along the front line and supports. - -A wickedly pretty sight along a thousands yard front: Fritz began to -get irritated, finally to be alarmed. Up went his red lights, one after -the other, as he called on his guns, called, and kept on calling. -They answered the call. Above us the air hissed unceasingly as shells -passed and exploded in rear. He was putting a barrage on our supports -and communication trenches. Then he opened up all along our trench. -High explosive shrapnel, and those thunder-crackling “woolly bears.” I -wondered where Ogilvie was, if he was all right, and I huddled in close -to the damp crumbling earth. - -It was 5.50 P.M. - -“Per-loph-UFF.” An acrid smell of burnt powder, a peculiar, weird -feeling that my head was bursting, and a dreadful realisation that -I was pinned in up to my neck, and could not stir. A small shell, -bursting on graze, had lit in the parapet, just above my head, -exploded, and buried me up to the neck, and the runner also. He called -out, but the din was too great for me to hear what he said. I struggled -until my hands were free, and then with the energy of pure fear tore -at the shattered sand-bags that weighed me down. Finally I was free to -bend over to Thomson. - -“Are you hurt?” - -“No, sir, but I can’t move. I thought you was dead.” - -I clawed him out with feverish haste. The air reeked with smoke, and -the shelling was hellish. Without any cessation shells burst in front -of, above, and behind the trench; one could feel their hot breath on -one’s cheek, and once I heard above the din a cry of agony that wrung -my torn and tattered nerves to a state of anguish. - -“Get out of here,” I yelled, and we crawled along the crumbling trench -to the right. - -“Hrrumph!” A five-nine landed just beyond us. I stopped a second. -“Stretcher-bearer!” came weakly from a dim niche at my side. Huddled -there was one of my boys. He was wounded in the foot, the leg, the -chest, and very badly in the arm. It took five minutes to put on a -tourniquet, and while it was being done a scout lying by my side was -killed. He cried out once, turned, shivered, and died. I remember -wondering how his soul could go up to Heaven through that awful -concentration of fire and stinging smoke. - -It was 6.15 P.M. - -There were many wounded, many dead, one of those wonderfully brave -men, a stretcher-bearer, told me, when he came crawling along, with -blood-stained hands, and his little red-cross case. None of the wounded -could be moved then, it was impossible. I got a message, and read it -by the light of the star shells: “Please report at once if enemy are -shelling your area heavily AAA.” The answer was terse: “Yes AAA.” - -Suddenly there was a lull. One of those inexplicable, almost terrifying -lulls that are almost more awesome than the noise preceding them. I -heard a voice ten yards away, coming from a vague, shadowy figure lying -on the ground: - -“Are you all right, ‘P.’?” It was Ogilvie. - -“Yes. Are you?” - -We crawled together, and held a hurried conversation at the top of our -voices, for the bombardment had now started in with violent intensity -from our side, as well as from Fritz’s. - -“We’ll have to move to the sap, with Niven ... bring ... runners ... -you ... make ... dash for it.” - -“How ... ’bout Townley?” - -“’S’all right.” - -Then we pulled ourselves together and went for it, stumbling along the -trench, over heaped-up mounds of earth, past still forms that would -never move again. On, on, running literally for our lives. At last we -reached the saps. Two platoons were out there, crowded in a little -trench a foot and a half wide, nowhere more than four feet deep. Some -shrapnel burst above it, but it was the old front line, thirty yards in -rear, on which the Germans were concentrating a fire in which no man -could live long. - -The runners, Major Ogilvie, Niven, and myself, and that amazing -Sergeant-Major of ours, who would crack a joke with Charon, were all -together in a few yards of trench. - -Our fire ceased suddenly. It was zero hour. In defiance of danger -Ogilvie stood up, perfectly erect, and watched what was going on. Our -guns opened again, they had lifted to the enemy supports and lines of -communication. - -“They’re over!” we cried all together. - -Machine-guns were rattling in a crescendo of sound that was like the -noise of a rapid stream above the roar of a water-wheel. The enemy -sent up rocket upon rocket--three’s, four’s, green and red. Niven, as -plucky a boy as ever lived, watched eagerly. Then a perfect hail of -shells began to fall. One could almost see our old trench change its -form as one glanced at it. It was almost as light as day. Major Ogilvie -was writing reports. One after another he sent out the runners to -head-quarters, those runners every one of whom deserves the Victoria -Cross. Some went never to return. - -All at once two red rockets burst away forward, on the right, falling -slowly, slowly to earth. - -ULTRAMARINE had attained the objective. - -It was then 6.42 P.M. - -Curious, most curious, to see the strain pass momentarily from men’s -faces. Two runners took the message down. It proved to be the earliest -news received at H.Q. that the objective was reached. - -But the bombardment did not cease, did not slacken. It developed more -and more furiously. Niven, one of the very best--the boy was killed -a few weeks after--lay with his body tucked close to the side of the -trench. I lay with my head very close to his, so that we could talk. -Major Ogilvie’s legs were curled up with mine. Every now and then he -sent in a report. - -My conversation with Niven was curious. “Have another cigarette?” -“Thanks, Bertie.” “Fritz is real mad to-night.” “He’s got a reason!” -“Thank the Lord it isn’t raining.” “Yes.” Pause. “Did you get any -letters from home?” “Two.... Good thing they can’t see us now!” -“_Jolly_ good thing!” “Whee-ou, that was close!” “So’s that,” as a -large lump of earth fell on his steel hat. Pause. “I must get a new -pair of breeches.” “When?” “Oh, to go on leave with.” “So must I.” We -relapsed into silence, and from sheer fatigue both of us fell asleep -for twenty minutes. - -I was awakened by Ogilvie, who kicked me gently. “I have had no -report from Townley or Johnson for nearly two hours”--it was past -eleven. “I want you to go up to the right and see if you can establish -communication with them. Can you make it?” “I’ll try, sir.” Our guns -had quieted down, but Fritz was still pounding as viciously as ever, -and with more heavy stuff than hitherto. My experience in travelling -perhaps a quarter of a mile of trench that night was the most awful -that has befallen me in nearly two years of war at the Front. - -The trench was almost empty, for the men had been put in advance of -it, for the most part. In places it was higher than the level of the -ground, where great shells had hurled parapet on parados, leaving a -gaping crater on one side or the other. Fear, a real personal, loathly -fear, ran at my side. Just as I reached the trench an eight-five -exploded on the spot I had crossed a second before. The force of the -explosion threw me on my face, and earth rained down on me. I knelt, -crouching, by the parapet, my breath coming in long gasps. “Lord, have -mercy on my soul.” I rushed a few yards madly, up, down, over; another -pause, while the shells pounded the earth, and great splinters droned. -I dared not move, and I dared not stay. Every shadow of the trenches -loomed over me like the menacing memory of some past unforgettable -misdeed. Looking down I saw a blood-stained bandage in a pool of blood -at my side, and I could smell that indescribable, fœtid smell of blood, -bandages, and death. As I went round a traverse, speeding like a hunted -hare, I stumbled over a man. He groaned deeply as I fell on him. It was -one of my best N.C.O.’s, mortally wounded. An eternity passed before -I could find his water-bottle. His face was a yellow mask, his teeth -chattered against the lip of the water-bottle, his lips were swollen -and dreadful. He lay gasping. “Can I do anything for you, old man?” -With a tremendous effort he raised his head a little, and opened wide -his glazing eyes. “Write ... sir ... to my ... mother.” Then, his head -on my arm, he died. - -On, on, on, the sweat streaming from me, the fear of death at my -heart. I prayed as I had never prayed before. - -At last I found Johnson. He gave me his report, and that of Townley, -whom he had seen a few moments before. I went back, another awful trip, -but met Major Ogilvie half-way. - -After nine and three-quarter hours, during which they threw all the -ammunition they possessed at us, the German gunners “let up.” And -Ogilvie and I went to sleep, along the trench, too weary to care what -might happen next, to wake at dawn, stiff with cold, chilled to the -bone, to face another day of “glorious war!” - -[Illustration: THE TEMPLE PRESS LETCHWORTH ENGLAND] - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Superscripted text is preceded by a carat character: B^1. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - - The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber using - the original cover as the background and is entered into the - public domain. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANADA IN WAR-PAINT *** - -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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Bell—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> - <style> /* <![CDATA[ */ - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -.tdr {text-align: right;} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; - text-indent: 0; -} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} - -.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} -.ph2 {text-align: center; font-size: xx-large; font-weight: bold;} - -div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} -div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} - -.large {font-size: 125%;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold; text-align: center;} - -.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - -.indentleft {margin-left: 5em;} - -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -2.5em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .first {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} - -@media print { .poetry {display: block;} } -.x-ebookmaker .poetry {display: block;} - -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; - padding: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - - /* ]]> */ </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Canada in war-paint, by Ralph W. Bell</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Canada in war-paint</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Ralph W. Bell</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 30, 2022 [eBook #68654]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: David E. Brown and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANADA IN WAR-PAINT ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<h1>CANADA IN WAR-PAINT</h1> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_004.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<p class="caption">MULES<br /> - -<span class="indentleft">(see page <a href="#Page_26">26</a>)         <i>From a drawing by Bert Thomas.</i></span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="" /></div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="titlepage"> -<p class="ph2">CANADA<br /> -IN WAR-PAINT</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">By</span> CAPT.<br /> -<span class="large">RALPH W. BELL</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_titlelogo.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p>LONDON AND TORONTO<br /> -<span class="large">J. M. DENT & SONS LTD.</span><br /> -PARIS: J. M. DENT ET FILS<br /> -NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p class="center"><i>First Published in 1917</i></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">PREFACE</h2> -</div> - -<p>There is no attempt made in the little -sketches which this book contains to deal -historically with events of the war. It is but -a small <i>Souvenir de la guerre</i>—a series of -vignettes of things as they struck me at the -time, and later. I have written of types, not -of individuals, and less of action than of -rest. The horror of war at its worst is fit -subject for a master hand alone.</p> - -<p>I have to thank the proprietors of <i>The -Globe</i> for their courtesy in allowing the reproduction -of “Canvas and Mud” and -“Tent Music,” and of the <i>Canadian Magazine</i> -for the reproduction of “Martha of Dranvoorde.”</p> - -<p>Finally, I feel that I can have no greater -honour than humbly to dedicate this book<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span> -to the officers, N.C.O.’s and men of the First -Canadian Infantry Battalion, Ontario Regiment, -with whom I have spent some of the -happiest, as well as some of the hardest, days -of my life.</p> - -<p class="right">RALPH W. BELL.</p> - -<p>    <i>December 11th, 1916.</i></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table> - -<tr><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Canvas and Mud!</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9"> 9</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Tent Music</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_15"> 15</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Rattle-Snake Pete</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_21"> 21</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Mules</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_26"> 26</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>“<span class="smcap">Office</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_31"> 31</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Our Farm</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_37"> 37</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Aeroplanes and “Archie”</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_41"> 41</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Stirring Times</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_47"> 47</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Sick Parade</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_53"> 53</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Batmen</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_60"> 60</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Rations</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_67"> 67</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Our Scout Officer</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_73"> 73</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Martha of Dranvoorde</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_78"> 78</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Courcelette</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_89"> 89</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Carnage</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_101"> 101</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">“A” Company Rustles</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_106"> 106</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>“<span class="smcap">Minnie and ‘Family’</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_113"> 113</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">An Officer and Gentleman</span>    </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_118"> 118</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>“S.R.D.”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_123"> 123</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Beds</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_128"> 128</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Marching</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_134"> 134</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Natives</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_140"> 140</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>“<span class="smcap">Other Inhabitants</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_147"> 147</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bombs</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_153"> 153</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Soft Jobs</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_158"> 158</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span></td></tr> - -<tr><td>“<span class="smcap">Grouse</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_163"> 163</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Pansies</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_169"> 169</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Going Back</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_174"> 174</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Three Red Roses</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_181"> 181</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Adjutants</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_187"> 187</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Home</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_193"> 193</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Action</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_198"> 198</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> - -<p class="ph2">CANADA IN WAR-PAINT</p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CANVAS_AND_MUD">CANVAS AND MUD!</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">To</span> those men who, in days of peace, -have trained on the swelling, lightly-wooded -plains round about Salisbury, no doubt this -portion of Old England may seem a very -pleasant land. But they have not been there -in November under canvas. When the old -soldiers of the Canadian contingent heard -that we were to go to “the Plains,” some of -them said, “S’elp me!” and some a great -deal more! It was an ideal day when we -arrived. The trees were russet brown and -beautiful under the October sun, the grass -still green, and the winding road through -picturesque little Amesbury white and hard, -conveying no hint of that mud for which we -have come to feel a positive awe.</p> - -<p>At first we all liked our camp; it was high -and dry, the tents had floor-boards, that -traitorous grass was green and firm withal,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> -and a balmy breeze, follower of the Indian -summer, blew pleasantly over the wide-rolling -land. We liked it after the somewhat arid -climate of Valcartier, the sand and dust. -Then it began to rain. It rained one day, two -days, three days. During that time the camp -named after the fabulous bird became a very -quagmire. The sullen black mud was three -inches deep between the tent lines, on the -parade ground, on the road, where it was -pounded and ridged and rolling-pinned by -transports, troops, and general traffic; it introduced -itself into the tents in slimy blodges, -ruined the flawless shine of every “New -Guard’s” boots, spattered men from head to -foot stickily and persistently. The mud -entered into our minds, our thoughts were -turbid. Some enterprising passer-by called us -mud-larks, and mud-larks we have remained.</p> - -<p>Canadians think Salisbury Plains a hideous -spot. Those who have been there before -know better, but it were suicide to say so, -for we have reached the rubber-boot stage. -When the rain “lets up” we go forth with -picks and spades and clean the highways -and byways. Canadians do it with a settled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> -gloom. If the Kaiser tries to land forces in -England they hope he will come to Salisbury -with his hordes. There they will stick fast. -In the fine intervals we train squelchily and -yearn for the trenches. What matters the -mire when one is at the front, but to slide -gracefully into a pool of turgid water, in -heavy marching order, for practice only, is -hardly good enough. Most Canadians think -the concentration camp might preferably -have been at the North Pole, if Amundsen -would lend it, and we could occupy it without -committing a breach of neutrality.</p> - -<p>That brings us to the cold weather, of which -we have had a foretaste. It was freezing a few -days ago. The ground, the wash-taps, and we -ourselves, all were frozen. A cheerful Wiltshireman -passed along the highway. There -was a bitter damp north wind; despite the -frost everything seemed to be clammy. “Nice -weather for you Canadians,” he shouted -happily. Luckily we had no bayonets. It is -quite natural that in this country it should -be thought that Canadians love cold weather -and welcome it. But there is cold and cold. -The Salisbury Plains type is of the “and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span> -cold” variety! It steals in through the tent -flaps with a “chilth” that damply clings. It -rusts rifles, blues noses, hoarsens the voice, -wheezes into the lungs. It catches on to the -woollen filaments of blankets and runs into -them, it seeks out the hidden gaps in canvas -walls and steals within, it crawls beneath -four blankets—when one has been able to steal -an extra one—through overcoats, sweaters, up -the legs of trousers, into under-garments, and -at last finds gelid rest against the quivering -flesh, eating its way into the marrow-bones. -Like the enemy, it advances in massed formation, -and though stoves may dissipate platoon -after platoon it never ceases to send up reinforcements -until a whining gale has seized -on the tent-ropes, squeaks at the poles, draws -in vain at the pegs, tears open loose flaps, -and veering round brings back sodden rain -and the perpetual, the everlasting mud. We -know the hard, cold bite of “20 below,” the -crisp snow, the echoing land, the crackling of -splitting trees, even frost-bite. But it is a -dry cold, and it comes: “Whish!” This -cold of England’s creeps into the very heart. -It takes mean advantages. “Give me the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> -Yukon any old time,” says the hard-bitten -shivering stalwart of the north-west. “This, -this, it ain’t kinder playin’ the game.”</p> - -<p>It must not be thought that Canadians are -complaining, for they are not. But England’s -climate is to them something unknown and -unspeakably vile! One must have been -brought up in it to appreciate and to anticipate -its vagaries. Canadians feel they have -been misled. They expected English cold -weather to be a “cinch.” But it’s the weather -puts the “cinch” on, not they! There will -come a time when we shall be in huts, and -the leaky old canvas tents that are now our -habitat will have been folded and—we hope -for the benefit of others—stolen away! Those -tents have seen so much service that they -know just as well how to leak as an old charger -how to drill. They become animated—even -gay—when the wind-beaten rain darkens their -grimy flanks, and with fiendish ingenuity they -drip, drip, drip down the nape of the neck, -well into the eye, even plumb down the throat -of the open-mouthed, snoring son of the -maple-land.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>No matter, we shall be old campaigners -when the winter is over; old mud-larkers, as -impervious to wet earth as a worm. Even -the mud is good training for the time we shall -have in the trenches!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">TENT MUSIC</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is not often that Thomas Atkins of any -nationality wears his heart upon his sleeve, -and it is quite certain that the British Tommy -but rarely does so, or his confrere of the -Canadian Contingent. Perhaps he best shows -his thoughts and relieves his feelings in -song.</p> - -<p>Salisbury Plains must have seen and heard -many things, yet few stranger sounds can -have been heard there than the chants which -rise from dimly-lighted canvas walls, when -night has shrouded the earth, and the stars -gleam palely through the mist. It is the habit -of the Canadian Mr. Atkins, ere he prepares -himself for rest, to set his throat a-throbbing -to many a tune both new and old. The result -is not invariably musical—sometimes far from -it, but it is a species of sound the male creature -produces either to show his “gladness or his -sadness,” and by means of which he relieves<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> -a heavy heart, or indicates that in his humble -opinion “all’s well with the world.” On every -side, from almost every tent, there is harmony, -melody, trio, quartette, chorus, or—noise! It -is a strange mixture of thoughts and things, -a peculiar vocal photograph of the men of -the Maple, now admirable, now discordant, -here ribald, there rather tinged with the -pathetic.</p> - -<p>No programme-maker in his wildest -moments, in the throes of the most conflicting -emotions, could begin to evolve such a -varied, such a startling programme as may -be heard in the space of a short half-hour -under canvas—in a rain-sodden, comfortless -tent—anywhere on Salisbury Plains. It does -not matter who begins it; some one is “feeling -good,” and he lifts up his voice to declaim -that “You made me love you; I didn’t want -to do it!” The rest join in, here a tenor, -there a bass or a baritone, and the impromptu -concert has begun.</p> - -<p>Never have the writers of songs, the composers -of music, grave and gay, come more -into their own than among the incorrigibly -cheerful warriors of the Plains. The relative<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> -merits of composers are not discussed. They -are all good enough for Jock Canuck as long -as there is that nameless something in the -song or the music which appeals to him. It is -curious that we who hope to slay, and expect -to be slain—many of us—should sing with -preference of Killarney’s lakes and fells, -“Sunnybrook Farm,” “Silver Threads Among -the Gold,” rather than some War Chant or -Patriotic Ode, something visionary of battle-fields, -guns, the crash of shells. Is not this -alone sufficient to show that beneath his -tunic, and in spite of his martial spirit, Tommy -“has a heart,” and a very warm one?</p> - -<p>Picture to yourself a tent with grimy, -sodden sides, lighted by three or four guttering -candle-ends, stuck wherever space or ingenuity -permits. An atmosphere tobacco -laden, but not stuffy, rifles piled round the -tent-pole, haversacks, “dunnage” bags, -blankets, and oil-sheets spread about, and -their owners, some of them lying on the floor -wrapped in blankets, some seated, one or two -perhaps reading or writing in cramped positions, -yet quite content. Yonder is a lusty -Yorkshireman, big, blue-eyed, and fair, who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> -for some reason best known to himself <i>will</i> -call himself an Irishman. We know him as -“the man with three voices,” for he has a -rich, tuneful, though uncultivated tenor, a -wonderful falsetto, and a good alto. His -tricks are remarkable, but his ear is fine. He -loves to lie sprawled on his great back, and -lift up his voice to the skies. All the words -of half the old and new songs of two peoples, -British and American, he has committed to -memory. He is our “leading man,” a shining -light in the concert firmament. We have heard -and helped him to sing in the course of one -crowded period of thirty minutes the following -varied programme: “Tipperary,” “Silver -Threads Among the Gold,” “My Old Kentucky -Home,” “Fight the Good Fight,” -“A Wee Deoch an’ Doris,” “When the Midnight -Choochoo Leaves for Alabam,” “The -Maple Leaf,” “Cock Robin,” “Get Out and -Get Under,” “Where is My Wandering Boy -To-Night,” “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” and -“I Stand in a Land of Roses, though I Dream -of a Land of Snow.” But there is one song we -never sing, “Home, Sweet Home.” Home is -too sacred a subject with us; it touches the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> -deeper, aye, the deepest, chords, and we dare -not risk it, exiles that we are.</p> - -<p>Very often there are strange paradoxes in -the words we sing, when compared with -reality.... “I stand in a land of roses!” -Well, not exactly, although Salisbury Plains -in the summer time are, like the curate’s egg, -“good in parts.” But the following line is -true enough of many of us. We do “dream -of a land of snow”; of the land, and those -far, far away in it. Sometimes we sing “rag-time -melodee,” but that is only <i>pour passer -le temps</i>. There is something which prompts -us to other songs, and to sacred music. It -often happens that in our tent there are three -or four men with voices above the average -who take a real delight in singing. One of -the most beautiful things of the kind the -writer has ever heard was a quartette’s singing -of “Nearer, My God, to Thee.” Fine, -well-trained voices they possessed, blending -truly and harmoniously, which rang out -almost triumphal in the frosty night. They -sang it once, and then again, and as the last -notes died away the bugles sounded the -“Last Post.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>Taa-Taa, Taa-Taa, Ta-ta-ti-ti-ti-ti-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta. -Ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ta-ta-ta-ta-taa, Taa-Taa, -Taa-Taa, Taaa, Tiii!</p> - -<p>Verily, even under canvas music <i>hath</i> -charms to soothe the savage breast.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">RATTLE-SNAKE PETE</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Very</span> tall, thin, and cadaverous, with a strong -aquiline nose, deep-set, piercing black eyes, -bushy eyebrows matching them in colour, and -a heavy, fiercely waxed moustache, streaked -with grey, he was a man who commanded -respect, if not fear.</p> - -<p>In spite of his sixty years he was as -straight as the proverbial poker, and as -“nippy on his pins” as a boy a third of his -age. Two ribbons rested on his left breast—the -long service ribbon and that of the North-West -Rebellion. His voice was not harsh, -nor was it melodious, but it could be heard -a mile off and struck pure terror into the -heart of the evil-doer when he heard it! -Rattle-Snake Pete was, as a matter of fact, -our Company Sergeant-Major.</p> - -<p>Withering was the scorn with which he -surveyed a delinquent “rooky,” while his -eyes shot flame, and in the terrified imagination -of the unfortunate being on whom that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> -fierce gaze was bent his ears seemed to curve -upwards into horns, until he recalled the -popular conception of Mephistopheles! We -called him—when he was safely beyond hearing—Rattle-Snake -Pete, but that worthy -bravo was far less feared than was his namesake.</p> - -<p>First of all, the Sergeant-Major was a real -soldier, from the nails in his boots to the crown -of his hat. Secondly, he was a man of strong -prejudices, and keen dislikes, and, lastly, a -very human, unselfish, kind-hearted man.</p> - -<p>Discipline was his God, smartness on parade -and off the greatest virtue in man, with the -exception of pluck. He ruled with a rod of -iron, tempered by justice, and his keenness -was a thing to marvel at. At first we all hated -him with a pure-souled hate. Then, as he -licked us into shape, and the seeds of soldiering -were sown, we began to realise that he -was right, and that we were wrong—and that, -after all, the only safe thing to do was to obey!</p> - -<p>One day a man was slow in doing what his -corporal told him to do. As was his habit, -the S.-M. came on the scene suddenly, a lean -tower of steely wrath. After he had poured<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> -out the vials of his displeasure on the head -of the erring one, he added: “I’ll make you -a soldier, lad, or I’ll break your heart!” He -meant it; he could do it; we knew he could, -and it resulted in our company being the -best in the regiment.</p> - -<p>Shortly before we moved to France, a personage -and his consort inspected us. He -shook hands with Rattle-Snake, and spoke -to him for several moments.</p> - -<p>“How old are you?”</p> - -<p>“Forty-five, Your Majesty.”</p> - -<p>“Military age, I suppose?” queried the -Personage with a kindly smile.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>Never in his life was Rattle so happy as he -was that day, and we felt rather proud of -him ourselves.</p> - -<p><i>Our</i> Sergeant-Major had shaken hands with -the King!</p> - -<p>Those who had stood near enough to hear -what had passed achieved a temporary fame -thereby, and in tent and canteen the story -was told, with variations suited to the imagination -of the raconteur, for days after the -event.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>When we moved to France Rattle-Snake -Pete came with us. I think the doctor saw it -would have broken his heart not to come, -although at his age he certainly should not -have done so. But come he did, and never -will the writer forget the day Rattle pursued -him into an old loft, up a broken, almost perpendicular -ladder, to inquire in a voice of -thunder why a certain fatigue party was -minus a man.</p> - -<p>“Come you down out of there, lad, or -you’ll be for it!” And, meekly as a sucking-dove, -I came!</p> - -<p>He was wounded at the second battle of -Ypres, and, according to all accounts, what -he said about the Germans as he lay on that -battle-field petrified the wounded around him, -and was audible above the roar of bursting -Jack Johnsons.</p> - -<p>They sent him to hospital in “Blighty,” -an unwilling patient, and there he has been -eating out his heart ever since, in the face of -adamantine medical boards.</p> - -<p>One little incident. We were billeted in -an old theatre, years ago it seems now, at -Armentières. We had marched many kilometres<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -in soaking rain that afternoon, and we -were deadly weary. Rattle, though he said -no word, was ill, suffering agonies from rheumatism. -One could see it. Being on guard, I -was able to see more than the rest, who, for -the most part, slept the sleep of the tired out. -One fellow was quite ill, and he tossed and -turned a good deal in his sleep. Rattle was -awake too, sitting in front of the dying embers -in the stove, his face every now and then contorted -with pain. Often he would go over to -the sick man and arrange his bed for him as -gently as a woman. Then he himself lay -down. The sick man awoke, and I heard his -teeth chatter. “Cold, lad?” said a deep -voice near by. “Yes, bitter cold.” The old -S.-M. got up, took his own blanket and put -it over the sick man. Thereafter he sat until -the dawn broke on a rickety chair in front of -the dead fire.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">MULES</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Until</span> there was a war, quite a lot of people -hardly knew there were such things as mules. -“Mules?” they would say, “Oh, er, yes ... -those creatures with donkey’s ears, made like -a horse? or do you mean canaries?”</p> - -<p><i>Nous avons changé tout cela!</i> “Gonga Din” -holds no hidden meaning from us now. We -have, indeed, a respect for mules, graded -according to closeness of contact.</p> - -<p>In some Transports they think more of a -mule than of a first-class, No. 1 charger. -Why? Simply because a mule is—a mule. -No one has yet written a theory of the evolution -of mules. We all know a mule is a blend -of horse and donkey, and that reproduction -of the species is mercifully withheld by the -grace of heaven, but further than that we do -not go.</p> - -<p>When the war began our C.O. was talking -about mules. We had not crossed the water<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> -then. He said: “I will <i>not</i> have any mules. -No civilised man should have to look after a -mule. When I was in Pindi once, a mule -... Mr. Jenks”—our worthy Transport -Officer—“there will be no mules in this regiment.” -That settled it for a while.</p> - -<p>Our first mule came a month after we had -landed in Flanders. It was a large, lean, -hungry-looking mule. It stood about 17 feet -2 inches, and it had very large floppy ears -and a long tail: it was rather a high-class -mule, as mules go. It ate an awful lot. In -fact it ate about as much as two horses -and a donkey put together. The first time it -was used some one put it in the Maltese cart, -and it looked round at the cart with an air -of surprise and regret. We were on the move, -and the Transport was brigaded, and inspected -by the Brigadier as it passed the -starting point. James—the mule—behaved -in a most exemplary fashion until he saw the -Brigadier. Then he was overcome by his -emotions. Perhaps the red tabs reminded -him of carrots. (James was a pure hog where -carrots were concerned.) At all events he -proceeded to break up the march. He took<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> -the bit between his teeth, wheeled to the left, -rolled his eyes, brayed, and charged across -an open ditch at the G.O.C. with the Maltese -cart.</p> - -<p>The G.O.C. and staff extended to indefinite -intervals without any word of command.</p> - -<p>James pulled up in a turnip patch and -began to eat contentedly. It took six men -and the Transport Officer to get him on to -the road again, and the Maltese cart was a -wreck.</p> - -<p>After that they tried him as a pack-mule. -He behaved like an angel for two whole weeks, -and then some bright-eyed boy tried him as a -saddle mule. After that the whole of the Transport -tried him, retiring worsted from the fray -on each occasion. One day the Transport -Officer bet all-comers fifty francs on the mule. -The conditions were that riders must stick on -for five minutes. We used to think we could -ride any horse ever foaled. We used to fancy -ourselves quite a lot in fact, until we met -James. Half the battalion came to see the -show, which took place one sunny morning at -the Transport lines. We looked James over -with an appraising eye. We even gave him a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> -carrot, as an earnest of goodwill. James -wore a placid, far-away expression and, now -and then, rolled his eyes sentimentally.</p> - -<p>We gathered up the reins, and vaulted on -to his back. For a full two seconds James -stood stock still. Then he emitted an ear-splitting -squeal, laid back his ears, bared his -teeth, turned round and bit at the near foot, -and sat down on his hind legs. He did all -these things in quick time, by numbers. The -betting, which had started at 2-1 on James, -increased to 3-1 immediately. However, we -stuck. James rose with a mighty heave, then, -still squealing, made a rush of perhaps ten -yards, and stopped dead. We still stuck. The -betting fell to evens, except for the Transport -Sergeant, who in loud tones offered 5-1 -(on James). That kept him busy for two -minutes, during which time James did almost -everything but roll, and bit a toe off one of -my new pair of riding boots.</p> - -<p>There was one minute to go, and there was -great excitement. James gave one squeal of -concentrated wrath, gathered his four hoofs -together tightly, bucked four feet in the air, -kicked in mid-ether, and tried to bite his own<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> -tail. When we next saw him he was being -led gently away.</p> - -<p>Since then we have had many mules. We -have become used to them, and we respect -them. If we hear riot in the Transport lines -we know it is a mule. If we hear some one -has been kicked, we know it is a mule. If we -see one of the G.S. wagons carrying about -two tons we know mules are drawing it. Old -James now pulls the water-cart. He would -draw it up to the mouth of the biggest Fritz -cannon that ever was, but Frank Wootton -could not ride him!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">“OFFICE”</h2> -</div> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Charge</span> against No. 7762543, Private Smith, -J.C.; In the field, 11.11.16, refusing to obey -an order, in that he would not wash out a -dixie when ordered to do so. First witness, -Sergeant Bendrick.”</p> - -<p>“Sirr! On Nov. 11th I was horderly -sergeant. Private Thomas, cook, comes to -me, and he says as ’ow ’e ’ad warned the -pris— the haccused, sir, to wash out a dixie, -which same the haccused refused to do. -Hordered by me to wash hout the dixie, sir, -the haccused refused again, and I places ’im -under hopen arrest, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Cpl. Townsham, what have you to say?”</p> - -<p>“Sirr! On Nov. 11th I was eatin’ a piece -of bread an’ bacon when I was witness to -what took place between Sergeant Bendrick -an’ Private Smith, sir. I corroborates his -evidence.”</p> - -<p>“All right; Private Thomas?”</p> - -<p>“Sirr! I coboriates both of them witnesses.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>“You corroborate what both witnesses -have said?”</p> - -<p>“Yessir.”</p> - -<p>“Now, Smith, what have you got to say? -Stand to attention!”</p> - -<p>“I ain’t got <i>nothin’</i> to say, sir, savin’ that -I never joined the army to wash dixies, an’ I -didn’t like the tone of voice him”—indicating -the orderly Sergeant—“used to me. Also -I’m a little deaf, sir, an’ my ’ands is that cut -with barbed wire that it’s hagony to put ’em -in boilin’ water, sir! An’ I’m afraid o’ gettin’ -these ’ere germs into them, sir. Apart from -which I ain’t got anything to say, sir!”</p> - -<p>After this Private Smith assumes the injured -air of a martyr, casts his eyes up to -heaven, and waits hopefully for dismissal. -(The other two similar cases were dismissed -this morning!)</p> - -<p>The Captain drums his fingers on the table -for a few moments. “This is your first offence, -Smith.”</p> - -<p>“Yessir!”</p> - -<p>“But it is not made any the less serious by -that fact.”</p> - -<p>The gleam of joy in Smith’s eye departs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>“Disobedience of an order is no trivial -matter. A case like this should go before the -Commanding Officer.”</p> - -<p>Long pause, during which the accused -passes from the stage of hope deferred to -gloom and disillusion, and the orderly Sergeant -assumes a fiercely triumphant expression.</p> - -<p>“Twenty-eight days Field Punishment -number one,” murmurs the Captain ruminatively, -“or a court-martial”—this just loud -enough for the accused to hear. The latter’s -left leg sags a trifle, and consternation o’erspreads -his visage.</p> - -<p>“In view, Smith,” says the Captain aloud, -“in view of your previous good record, I will -deal with you myself. Four days dixie washing, -and you will attend all parades!”</p> - -<p>Before Private Smith has time to heave a -sigh of relief the C.S.M.’s voice breaks on the -air, “Left turrn! Left wheel, quick marrch!”</p> - -<p>“A good man, Sergeant-Major,” says the -Captain with a smile. “Have to scare ’em a -bit at times, what?”</p> - -<p>Battalion Orderly Room is generally a very -imposing affair, calculated to put fear into -the hearts of all save the most hardened<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> -criminals. At times the array is formidable, -as many as thirty—witnesses, escort, and -prisoners—being lined up outside the orderly -room door under the vigilant eye of the -Regimental Sergeant-Major. It is easy to -see which is which, even were not the “dress” -different. The prisoners are in clean fatigue, -wearing no accoutrements or equipment beyond -the eternal smoke-helmet. The escort -are in light marching order, and grasp in -their left hands a naked bayonet, point -upwards, resting along the forearm. The -witnesses wear their belts. Most of the accused -have a hang-dog look, some an air of defiance.</p> - -<p>“Escort and prisoners.... Shun!”</p> - -<p>The Colonel passes into orderly room, -where the Adjutant, the Battalion Orderly -Officer, and Officer witnesses in the cases to -be disposed of await him, all coming rigidly -to attention as he enters. In orderly room, or -“office” as the men usually call it, the -Colonel commands the deference paid to a -high court judge. He is not merely a C.O., he -is an Institution.</p> - -<p>The R.S.M. hovers in the background, -waiting for orders to call the accused and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> -witnesses in the first case. The C.O. fusses -with the papers on his desk, hums and haws, -and finally decides which case he will take -first. The Adjutant stands near him, a sheaf -of papers in his hand, like a learnéd crown -counsel.</p> - -<p>Not infrequently the trend of a case depends -on whether the C.O. lunched well, or -if the G.O.C. strafed or complimented him -the last time they held palaver. Even colonels -are human.</p> - -<p>“Charge against Private Maconochie, No. -170298, drunk,” etc., reads the Adjutant.</p> - -<p>After the evidence has been heard the -Colonel, having had no explanation or defence -from the accused, proceeds to pass -sentence. This being a first “drunk” he -cannot do very much but talk, and talk he -does.</p> - -<p>“You were drunk, Thomkins. You were -found in a state of absolutely sodden intoxication, -found in the main street of Ablain-le-Petit -at 4 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> in the afternoon. You were -so drunk that the evidence quotes you as -sleeping on the side-walk. You are a disgrace -to the regiment, Thomkins! You outrage the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> -first principles of decency, you cast a slur on -your battalion. You deliberately, of set purpose, -intoxicate yourself at an early hour of -the afternoon. I have a good mind to remand -for a Field General Court-martial. Then you -would be shot! Shot, do you understand? -But I shall deal with you myself. I shall -not permit the name of this battalion to be -besmirched by <i>you</i>. Reprimanded! Reprimanded! -Do you hear, sir!”</p> - -<p>(Voice of the R.S.M., north front.) “Right -turn. Right wheel; quick marrch!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">OUR FARM</h2> -</div> - -<p class="right"><i>July 30th, 1916.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">We</span> are staying at a farm; quite an orthodox, -Bairnsfather farm, except that in lieu of one -(nominal) dead cow, we possess one (actual) -portion of Dried Hun. The view from our -doorway is somewhat extensive, and full of -local colour! There are “steen” other farms -all around us, all of which look as though they -had been played with by professional house-wreckers -out on a “beno.” “AK” Company—what -there is left of it—has at present -“gone to ground,” and from the lake to -“Guildhall Manor” (we are very Toney over -here!) there is no sign of life. A Fokker -dropped in to call half an hour ago, but -Archie & Sons awoke with some alacrity, and -he has gone elsewhere. It is too hot even to -write, and the C.O. of “AK” Coy., who <i>will</i> -wash every day, is a disturbing influence. -He splashes about in two inches of “wipers -swill” as though he really liked it, and the -nett result is that somewhere around 4 “pip<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> -emma” the rest of us decide to shave also, -which ruins the afternoon siesta.</p> - -<p>This is a great life. Breakfast at 2 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span>, -lunch at noon, dinner at 4 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span>, and supper -any old time.</p> - -<p>Macpherson—one of those enthusiastic -blighters—insisted on taking me for a walk -this morning. Being pure Edinburgh, Mac -collects rum, whisky, and miscellaneous junk -of all descriptions. When he returns to Canada -he intends to run a junk shop in rear of a -saloon.</p> - -<p>The Boche was in a genial mood this morning. -As we squelched along Flossy way, “out -for bear,” he began to tickle up poor old -Paradise Wood with woolly bears, and Mount -Sparrow with Minnies. Mac has no sense of -humour, he failed to see the joke. “There is -a pairfectly good pair of field-glasses to the -left of Diamond Copse,” he said mournfully, -“and we cannot get them.” Diamond Copse -is the sort of place one reads about, and -wishes one had never seen. It is about an -acre and a half in extent, and was once a -pretty place enough, with a few fine oak -trees, and many young saplings. Nowadays,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> -it can hardly show a live twig, while shell-holes, -bits of shrapnel, stinking pools tinged -with reddy-brown, and forlorn remnants of -trench—not to speak of dead bodies—make -it into a nightmare of a place.</p> - -<p>“There is a sniper in Paradise Wood, and -I do not like him,” Mac announced gravely, -after the fifth bullet, so we dodged over a -grave, under a fallen oak, and into a shell-wrecked -dug-out full of torn web equipment, -machine-gun belts, old bully-beef, -biscuits, a stained blanket, and a boot with -part of the wearer’s leg in it. The horse-flies -were very annoying, and a dead donkey in a -narrow street of Cairo would be as violets to -patchouli compared with the smell. Mac -kept nosing around, and finally retrieved a -safety razor and a box of number nine pills -from an old overcoat. “There is some one -over there in need of burial,” he said, “I -can see the flies.” The flies were incidental, -but Mac is that kind of chap.</p> - -<p>We found what was left of the poor fellow -near by. There was nothing but bone and -sinew, and torn remnants of clothing. It -was impossible to identify the man, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span> -equally impossible to move him. By his -side lay a bunch of letters, dirty and torn, -and in a pocket which I opened gingerly with -a jack-knife, a photograph of a girl—“With -love, from Mary.” The letters had no envelopes, -and all began, “Dear Jimmy.” Mac -read one, and passed it over to me: “Dear -Jimmy,—Enclosed you will find a pair of -socks, some chewing gum, and a pair of wool -gloves I knitted myself. The baby is well, -and so am I. Peraps you will get leeve before -long. Take care of yourself, Jim dear. The -pottatoes have done good, an’ I am growing -some tommatos. My separashun allowence -comes reglar, so don’t worry. You will be -home soon, Jim, for the papers say the Germans -is beaten. I got your letter written in -May. Alice is well. Your lovin’ wife, Mary.” -“Och, it’s a shame,” said Mac, not looking at -me. “A Tragedy, and but one of thousands.”</p> - -<p>We covered poor Jim over with old sand-bags, -as best we might, and his letters and -photograph with him. Then we came back -to our farm to lunch.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">AEROPLANES AND “ARCHIE”</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is something fascinating about aeroplanes. -However many thousands of them -one may have seen, however many aerial -combats one may have witnessed, there is -always the desire to see these things again, -and, inwardly, to marvel.</p> - -<p>Ten thousand feet above, round balls of -black smoke appear in the blue sky, coming, -as it were, out of the nowhere into here. After -long listening you hear the echo of the distant -explosion, like the clapping together of the -hands of a man in the aisle of an empty -church, and if you search very diligently, you -will at last see the aeroplane, a little dot in -the ether, moving almost slowly—so it appears—on -its appointed course. Now the -sun strikes the white-winged, bird-like thing -as it turns, and it glitters in the beams of -light like a diamond in the sky. Now it banks -a little higher, now planes down at a dizzy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> -angle. Suddenly, short, sharp, distinct, you -catch the sound of machine-gun fire. Quick -stuttering bursts, as the visible machine and -the invisible enemy circle about each other, -seeking to wound, wing, and destroy. Ah! -There it is! The Fokker dives, steep and -straight, at our machine, and one can clearly -see the little darts of flame as the machine-guns -rattle. Our man quite calmly loops the -loop, and then seems almost to skid after the -Fokker which has carried on downwards, -evidently hit. He swoops down on the stricken -plane, pumping in lead as he goes. The twain -seem to meet in collision, then—yes, the -Fokker is plunging, nose-diving, down, down, -at a terrific rate of speed. Our aviator swings -free in a great circle, banks, and at top speed -makes back to his air-line patrol, while the -German Archies open up on him with redoubled -violence, as, serenely confident, he -hums along his way.</p> - -<p>It is truly wonderful what a fire an aeroplane -can pass through quite unscathed as -far as actual hinderance to flight is concerned. -Many a time you can count nearly two hundred -wreathing balls of smoke in the track of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> -the machine, and yet it sails placidly onward -as though the air were the native element of -its pilot and the attentions of Archie nonexistent.</p> - -<p>It is Tommy who first gave the anti-aircraft -gun that euphonious name. Why, no -one knows. It must be intensely trying to be -an Archie gunner. Rather like shooting at -driven partridges with an air-gun, though far -more exciting. The shells may burst right on -the nose of the aeroplane, to all intents and -purposes, and yet the machine goes on, veering -this way or that, dropping or rising, -apparently quite indifferent to the bitter feelings -it is causing down below. It is the most -haughty and inscrutable of all the weapons -of war, to all outward appearances, and yet -when misfortune overtakes it, it is a very -lame duck indeed.</p> - -<p>Archie is very much like a dog, his bark is -worse than his bite—until he has bitten! His -motto is “persevere,” and in the long run he -meets with some success. Halcyon days, when -he wags his metaphorical tail and the official -communiqués pat him on the head. He does -not like other dogs, bigger dogs, to bark at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> -him. They quite drown his own bark, so that -it is useless to bark back, and their highly -explosive nature forces him to put his tail -between his legs and run for it, like a chow -pursued by a mastiff. No common-sense -Archie stops in any place long after the five-nines -and the H.E. shrapnel begin to burst -around it. In that case discretion is indubitably -the better part of valour.</p> - -<p>Aeroplanes have a nasty habit of “spotting” -Archies, whereby they even up old -scores and prove their superiority. For even -the lordly aeroplane does not charge an Archie -barrage by preference.</p> - -<p>It is when the planes come out in force, a -score at a time, that poor Archibald has a -rough time, and, so to speak, scratches his -ear desperately with his hind leg. The planes -do not come in serried mass, but, wheeling -this way and that, diving off here and down -yonder, so confuse poor Archie that he even -stops barking at all, wondering which one -he ought to bark at first! By this time most -of the planes have sidled gracefully out of -range, rounded up and driven down the iron-cross -birds, and, having dropped their “cartes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> -de visite” at the rail-head, are returning by -ways that are swift and various to the place -whence they came. All of which is most unsettling -to the soul of Archibald.</p> - -<p>In the evening, when the west is pink and -gold, Archie’s eyes grow wearied. He sees -dimly many aeroplanes, here and there, going -and coming, and he <i>has</i> been known to bark -at the wrong one! Wherefore the homing -aeroplane drops a star-signal very often to -let him know that all is well, and that no -German hawks menace the safety of the land -over which he is the “ethereal” guardian, in -theory, if not always in practice.</p> - -<p>At night Archie slumbers profoundly. But -the birds of the air do not always sleep. -Many a night one hears the throb and hum -of a machine crossing the line, and because -Archie is asleep we pay him unconscious -tribute: “Is it ours, or theirs?”</p> - -<p>Once, not a mile from the front line, Archie -dreamed he saw a Zeppelin. He awoke, stood -to, and pointed his nose straight up in the air. -Far above him, many thousands of feet aloft, -a silvery, menacing sphere hung in the rays -of the searchlights. And he barked his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> -loudest and longest, but without avail, for -the distance was too great. And the imaginative -French folk heaped unintentional infamy -upon him when they spoke quite placidly of -“Archie baying at the moon!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">STIRRING TIMES</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the corner of the Grande Route de -Bapaume near the square, stands the little -old Estaminet of La Veuve Matifas.</p> - -<p>It is only a humble Estaminet, where, in -the old days, Pierre Lapont and old Daddy -Duchesne discussed a “chope,” and talked -over the failings of the younger generation, -but nowadays it bears a notice on the little -door leading into the back room, “For officers -only.” The men have the run of the larger -room, during hours, but the little parlour in -rear is a spot sacred to those wearing from -one star upwards.</p> - -<p>Madame Matifas is old, and very large.</p> - -<p>“Mais, Monsieur le Capitaine, dans ma -jeunesse.... Ah! Alors!”—and she dearly -loves a good hearty laugh. She also sells most -excellent champagne, and—let it be murmured -softly—Cointreau, Benedictine, and -very rarely a bottle of “Skee” (“B. & W.” -for choice). She has twinkling brown eyes, -fat comfortable-looking hands, and we all call<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> -her “Mother,” while she calls those of us -who please her “Mon brave garçon.”</p> - -<p>But La Veuve Matifas is not the sole attraction -of the Bon Fermier nor are even her -very excellent wines and other drinks, that -may inebriate. She has two children: Cécile -and Marie Antoinette. The former is, strange -to say, “petite” and “mignonne”—she is also -very pretty and she knows all the officers of -our Division; most of the young and tender -ones write to her from the trenches. You may -kiss Cécile on the cheek if you know her -well.</p> - -<p>Marie Antoinette is of the tall, rather rich -coloured, passionate type. She was engaged -to a “Little Corporal” of the 77th Infantry -of the Line. Alas, he died of wounds seven -months ago. She wears mourning for him, but -Marie is now in love with the Senior Major, -or else we are all blind! (Uneasy rests the arm -that wears a crown!) However, that is neither -here not there. We like the widow Matifas, -and we all admire her daughters, while some -of us fall in love with them, and we <i>always</i> -have a “stirring time” when we reach rest -billets within walking distance of the “Estaminet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span> -du Bon Fermier,” or even gee gee -distance.</p> - -<p>In defiance of the A.P.M. we float into town -about 8 “pip emma” (the O.C. signals <i>will</i> -bring “shop” into every-day conversation) -and stealthily creep up the little back alley -which leads to the back door of the Estaminet. -We gather there—four of us, as a rule—and -we tap thrice. We hear a fat, uneven walk, -and the heavy respiration of “Maman,” and -then:</p> - -<p>“Qui est là?”</p> - -<p>“C’est nous, Mère Matifas!”</p> - -<p>The door is unbolted, and we enter. Scholes -invariably salutes Maman on both cheeks, -and we—if we have the chance—salute her -daughters. Then we carry on to the parlour. -Pelham—who thinks all women love his goo-goo -eyes—tries to tell Marie Antoinette, in -simply rotten French, how much he loves her, -and Marie gets very business-like, and wants -to know if we want Moët et Chandon at 12 -frcs. a bottle or “the other” at six.</p> - -<p>So far we have never dared to try “the -other,” for fear that we appear “real mean”! -Maman bustles about, and calls us her brave<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> -boys, and <i>never</i> says a word about the war, -which is a real kindness to us war-weary -people.</p> - -<p>Cécile makes her entrance usually after the -second bottle; probably to make her sister -envious, because she always gets such a warm -welcome. In fact there is an almost scandalous -amount of competition for the honour of -sitting next to her.</p> - -<p>La Veuve Matifas stays until after the third -bottle. She has tact, that woman, and a confidence -in ourselves and her daughters that -no man who is worthy of the name would take -advantage of.</p> - -<p>Last time we were there an incident occurred -which literally took all our breaths -away. We were in the middle of what Allmays -calls “Close harmony” and Allmays was -mixing high tenor, basso profundo, and -Benedictine, when suddenly the door opened -in a most impressive manner. That little -plain deal door <i>felt</i> important, and it had the -right to feel important too.</p> - -<p>The C.O. came in.</p> - -<p>We got up.</p> - -<p>The C.O. turned to Cécile, who was sitting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> -<i>far</i> too close to Pelham, in my estimation -(for I was on the other side), and said, “Cécile, -two more bottles please!” Then to us, “Sit -down, gentlemen, carry on.” We were all -fairly senior officers, but Maman nearly -fainted dead away when we conveyed to her -the fact that a real, live, active service Colonel -was in her back parlour at 9.15 “pip emma,” -ordering up the bubbly.</p> - -<p>He stayed a whole hour, and we had to sing. -And then he told us that he had been offered a -Brigade, and was leaving us. We were all -jolly sorry—and jolly glad too—and we said -so. We told the girls. “Un Général!” cried -Cécile. “Mon Dieu!” and before we could -stop her she flung her arms round the C.O.’s -neck and kissed him. We all expected to be -shot at dawn or dismissed the service, but the -C.O. took it like a real brick, and Pelham -swears he kissed her back—downy old bird -that he is!</p> - -<p>After he had left we had a bully time. -Marie Antoinette was peeved because she -had not kissed the Colonel herself, and Cécile -was sparkling because she <i>had</i> kissed him. -Which gave us all a chance. Mère Matifas<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> -drank two whole glasses of champagne, and -insisted on dancing a Tarantelle with Allmays, -whom she called a “joli garçon,” and flirted -with most shamelessly. Pelham got mixed up -with a coon song, and spent half an hour -trying to unmix, and Scholes consoled Marie -Antoinette. As for me, well, there was nothing -for it—Cécile <i>had</i> to be talked to, don’t you -know!</p> - -<p>Mother “pro-duced” a bottle of “B. & W.” -also. In fact we had a most stirring time!</p> - -<p>We still go to see La Veuve Matifas. She -never speaks to us without saying at least -once, “Ah! Mais le brave Général, image de -mon mari, où est il?”</p> - -<p>I have a photograph of Cécile in the left-hand -breast pocket of my second-best tunic. -Scholes says he is going to marry Marie -Antoinette, “Après la Guerre,” in spite of -the Senior Major!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">SICK PARADE</h2> -</div> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">The</span> Company,” read the orderly Sergeant, -“will parade at 8.45 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span>, and go for a route -march. Dress: Light marching order.”</p> - -<p>A groan went up from the dark shadows of -the dimly-lighted barn, which died down -gradually on the order to “cut it out.” “Sick -parade at 7.30 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> at the M.O.’s billet Menin-lee-Chotaw,” -announced the O.S. sombrely. -“Any of you men who wanter go sick give in -your names to Corporal Jones right now.”</p> - -<p>Yells of “Right here, Corporal,” “I can’t -move a limb, Corporal,” and other statements -of a like nature, announced the fact that -there were quite a number of gentlemen whose -pronounced view it was that they could not -do an eight-mile route march the next day. -Corporal Jones emerged, perspiring, after -half an hour’s gallant struggle. Being very -conscientious he took full particulars, according -to Hoyle: name, number, rank, initials, -age, religion, and nature of disease. The last<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> -he invariably asked for by means of the code -phrase, “wossermarrerwi<i>you</i>?”</p> - -<p>Having refused to admit at least half a -dozen well-known scrimshankers to the roll -of sick, lame, and lazy, he finished up with -Private Goodman, who declared himself suffering -from “rheumatics hall over. Me legs is -somethin’ tur’ble bad.”</p> - -<p>There were thirteen names on the report.</p> - -<p>Menin-le-Château being a good three kilometres -distant, the sick fell in at 6.30 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> -the next day. The grey dawn was breaking -in the East, and a drizzling rain made the -village street even more miserable-looking -than it was at all times. As on all sick parades, -all the members thereof endeavoured to look -their very worst, and succeeded admirably -for the most part. They were unshaven, improperly -dressed, according to military standards, -and they shuffled around like a bunch -of old women trying to catch a bus. Corporal -Jones was in a very bad temper, and he told -them many things, the least of which would -have made a civilian’s hair turn grey. But, -being “sick,” the men merely listened to him -with a somewhat apathetic interest.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>They moved off in file, a sorry-looking -bunch of soldiers. Each man chose his own -gait, which no injunctions to get in step could -affect, and a German under-officer looking -them over would have reported to his superiors -that the morale of the British troops was -hopeless.</p> - -<p>At 7.25 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> this unseemly procession -arrived in Menin-le-Château. In the far -distance Corporal Jones espied the Regimental -Sergeant-Major. The latter was a -man whom every private considered an incarnation -of the devil! The junior N.C.O.’s -feared him, and the Platoon Sergeants had a -respect for him founded on bitter experience -in the past, when he had found them wanting. -In other words he was a cracking good Sergeant-Major -of the old-fashioned type. He -was privately referred to as Rattle-Snake -Pete, a tribute not only to his disciplinary -measures, but also to his heavy, fierce black -moustachios, and a lean, eagle-like face in -which was set a pair of fierce, penetrating -black eyes.</p> - -<p>“If,” said Corporal Jones loudly, “you all -wants to be up for Office you’ll <i>walk</i>. Otherways<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> -you’ll <i>march</i>! There’s the Sergeant-Major!”</p> - -<p>The sick parade pulled itself together with -a click. Collars and the odd button were -furtively looked over and done up, caps pulled -straight, and no sound broke the silence save -a smart unison of “left-right-left” along the -muddy road. The R.S.M. looked them over -with a gleam in his eye as they passed, and -glanced at his watch.</p> - -<p>“’Alf a minute late, Co’poral Jones,” he -shouted. “Break into double time. Double -... march!” The sick parade trotted away -steadily—until they got round a bend in the -road. “Sick!!!” murmured the R.S.M. -“My <span class="allsmcap">H’EYE</span>!”</p> - -<p>A little way further on the parade joined a -group composed of the sick of other battalion -units, some fifty in all. Corporal Jones handed -his sick report to the stretcher-bearer Sergeant, -and was told he would have to wait -until the last.</p> - -<p>In half an hour’s time the first name of the -men in his party was called—Lance-Corporal -MacMannish.</p> - -<p>“What’s wrong?” asked the doctor briskly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>“’A have got a pain in here, sirr,” said -MacMannish, “an’ it’s sair, sorr,” pointing to -the centre of his upper anatomy.</p> - -<p>“Show me your tongue? H’m. Eating too -much! Colic. Two number nine’s. Light -duty.”</p> - -<p>Lance-Corporal MacMannish about-turned -with a smile of ecstatic joy and departed, -having duly swallowed the pills.</p> - -<p>“What did ye get, Jock?”</p> - -<p>“Och! Light duty,” said the hero with -the air of a wronged man justified, “but -<i>you’ll</i> be no gettin’ such a thing, Bowering!”</p> - -<p>“And why not?” demanded the latter -scowling. However, his name being then -called put an end to the discussion.</p> - -<p>“I have pains in me head and back, sir,” -explained Mr. Bowering, “and no sleep for -two nights.” The doctor looked him over -with a critical, expert eye.</p> - -<p>“Give him a number nine. Medicine and -duty. Don’t drink so much, Bowering! That’s -enough. Clear out!”</p> - -<p>“<i>He’s</i> no doctor,” declared the victim -when he reached the street. “Huh! I -wouldn’t trust a <i>cat</i> with ’im!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>The next man got no duty, and this had -such an effect on him that he almost forgot -he was a sick man, and walloped a pal playfully -in the ribs on the doorstep, which nearly -led to trouble.</p> - -<p>Of the remaining ten, all save one were -awarded medicine and duty, but they took so -long to tell the story of their symptoms, and -managed to develop such good possible cases, -that it was 8.45 before the parade fell in -again to march back to billets, a fact which -they all thoroughly appreciated!</p> - -<p>Wonderful the swinging step with which -they set forth, Corporal Jones at the head, -Lance-Corporal MacMannish, quietly triumphant, -bringing up the rear. They passed the -Colonel in the village, and he stopped Corporal -Jones to inquire what they were.</p> - -<p>“Your men are marching very well, Corporal. -‘A’ Company? Ah, yes. Fatigue -party, hey?”</p> - -<p>“No-sir, sick-parade-sir!”</p> - -<p>“Sick Parade! God bless my soul! Sick! -How many men were given medicine and -duty?”</p> - -<p>“Nine, sir.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>“Nine, out of thirteen.... ‘A’ Company -is on a route march this morning, is it -not?”</p> - -<p>“Yessir.”</p> - -<p>“My compliments to Major Bland, Corporal, -and I would like him to parade these -nine men in heavy marching order and send -them on a nine-mile route march, under an -officer.”</p> - -<p>“Very good, sir!”</p> - -<p>Next day there were no representatives of -“A” Coy. on sick parade!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">BATMEN</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">This</span> war has produced a new breed of mankind, -something that the army has never seen -before, although they have formed a part of -it, under the same name, since Noah was a -boy. They are alike in name only. Batmen, -the regular army type, are professionals. -What they don’t know about cleaning brass, -leather, steel, and general valeting simply -isn’t worth knowing. They are super-servants, -and they respect their position as reverently -as an English butler respects his. With the -new batman it is different. Usually the difficulty -is not so much to discover what they -do not know, as what they do! A new officer -arrives at the front, or elsewhere, and he has -to have a batman. It is a rather coveted -job, and applicants are not slow in coming -forward. Some man who is tired of doing -sentry duty gets the position, and his “boss” -spends anxious weeks bringing him up in the -way he should go, losing, in the interval,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -socks, handkerchiefs, underwear, gloves, ties, -shirts, and collars galore! What can be said -to the wretched man when in answer to -“Where the —— is my new pair of socks?” -he looks faint and replies: “I’ve lost them, -sir!” Verily, as the “professional” scornfully -remarks, are these “Saturday night -batmen!”</p> - -<p>Yet even batmen are born, not made. -Lucky is he who strikes on one of the former; -only the man is sure to get killed, or wounded, -or go sick! There is always a fly in the ointment -somewhere. The best kind of batman -to have is a kleptomaniac. Treat him well -and he will never touch a thing of your own, -but he will, equally, never leave a thing -belonging to any one else!</p> - -<p>“Cozens, where did you get this pair of -pants?”</p> - -<p>“Found them, sir!”</p> - -<p>“Where did you find them?”</p> - -<p>“Lying on the floor, sir,” with an air of -injured surprise.</p> - -<p>“<i>Where!</i>”</p> - -<p>“I don’t justly remember, sir.”</p> - -<p>Voice from right rear: “The Major’s compliments,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> -sir, and have you seen his new -pants?”</p> - -<p>“Cozens!”</p> - -<p>“Yessir.”</p> - -<p>“Give me those pants.... Are those the -Major’s?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, them’s them.”</p> - -<p>Cozens watches the pants disappear with a -sad, retrospective air of gloom.</p> - -<p>“You ain’t got but the <i>one</i> pair now, sir.” -This with reproach.</p> - -<p>“How many times have I got to tell you -to leave other people’s clothes alone? The -other day it was pyjamas, now it’s pants. -You’ll be taking somebody’s boots next. -Confound it. I’ll—I’ll return you to duty if -you do it again!... How about all those -handkerchiefs? Where did <i>they</i> come from?”</p> - -<p>“All yours, sir, back from the wash!” -With a sigh, one is forced to give up the -unequal contest.</p> - -<p>Albeit as valets the batmen of the present -day compare feebly with the old type, in -certain other ways they are head and shoulders -above them. The old “pro” refuses to do a -single thing beyond looking after the clothing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> -and accoutrements of his master. The new -kind of batman can be impressed to do almost -anything. He will turn into a runner, wait -at table, or seize a rifle with gusto and help -get Fritz’s wind up. Go long journeys to -find souvenirs, and make himself generally -useful. He will even “bat” for the odd -officer, when occasion arises, as well as for -his own particular boss.</p> - -<p>No man is a hero in the eyes of his own -batman. He knows everything about you, -even to the times when your banking account -is nil. He knows when you last had a bath, -and when you last changed your underwear. -He knows how much you eat, and also how -much you drink; he knows all your friends -with whom you correspond, and most of your -family affairs as revealed by that correspondence, -and nothing can hide from his -eagle eye the fact that you are—lousy! Yet -he is a pretty good sort, after all; he never -tells. We once had a rather agéd sub. in the -Company whose teeth were not his own, not -a single one of them. One night, after a somewhat -heavy soirée and general meeting of -friends, he went to bed—or, to be more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> -accurate, was tucked in by his faithful henchman—and -lost both the upper and lower sets -in the silent watches. The following morning -he had a fearfully worried look, and spake -not at all, except in whispers to his batman. -Finally, the O.C. Company asked him a question, -and he <i>had</i> to say something. It sounded -like “A out mo,” so we all instantly realised -something was lacking. He refused to eat -anything at all, but took a little nourishment -in the form of tea. His batman was to be -observed crawling round the floor, perspiring -at every pore, searching with his ears aslant -and his mouth wide open for hidden ivory. -We all knew it; poor old Gerrard knew we -knew it, but the batman was faithful to the -last, even when he pounced on the quarry -with the light of triumph in his eye. He came -to his master after breakfast was over and -asked if he could speak to him. Poor Gerrard -moved into the other room, and you could -have heard a pin drop. “Please, sir,” in a -stage whisper from his batman, “please, sir, -I’ve got hold of them <span class="allsmcap">TEETH</span>, sir! But the -front ones is habsent, sir, ’aving bin trod on!”</p> - -<p>The biggest nuisance on God’s earth is a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> -batman who spends all his spare moments -getting drunk! Usually, however, he is a -first-class batman during his sober moments! -He will come in “plastered to the eyes” -about eleven o’clock, and begin to hone your -razors by the pallid rays of a candle, or else -clean your revolver and see if the cartridges -fit! In his cups he is equal to anything at all. -Unless the case is really grave the man wins -every time, for no one hates the idea of -changing his servant more than an officer -who has had the same man for a month or -so and found him efficient.</p> - -<p>Not infrequently batmen are touchingly -faithful. They will do anything on earth for -their “boss” at any time of the day or -night, and never desert him in the direst -extremity. More than one batman has fallen -side by side with his officer, whom he had -followed into the fray, close on his heels.</p> - -<p>Once, after a charge, a conversation ensued -between the sergeant of a certain officer’s -platoon and that officer’s batman, in this -fashion:</p> - -<p>“What were <i>you</i> doin’ out there, Tommy?”</p> - -<p>“Follerin’.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>“And why was you close up on his heels, -so clost I could ’ardly see ’im?”</p> - -<p>“Follerin’ ’im up.”</p> - -<p>“And why wasn’t you back somewhere -<i>safe</i>?” (This with a touch of sarcasm.)</p> - -<p>“Lord, Sargint, you couldn’t expect me to -let <i>’im</i> go out by ’isself! ’E might ha’ got -hurt!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">RATIONS</h2> -</div> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Bully-beef</span> an’ ’ard-tack,” said Private -Boddy disgustedly. “Bully-beef that’s canned -dog or ’orse, or may be cats, an’ biscuits that’s -<i>fit</i> for dawgs.... This is a ’ell of a war. -W’y did I ever leave little old Walkerville, -w’ere the whiskey comes from? Me an’ -’Iram we was almost pals, as you may say. -I worked a ’ole fortnight in ’is place, at $1.75 -per, an’ then I——” Mr. Boddy broke off -abruptly, but not soon enough.</p> - -<p>“Huh!” broke in a disgusted voice from -a remote corner of the dug-out, “then I guess -you went bummin’ your way till the bulls -got you in Windsor. To hear you talk a chap -would think you didn’t know what pan-handlin’ -was, or going out on the stem.”</p> - -<p>“Look ’ere,” said Boddy with heat, “you -comeralong outside, you great long rubberneck, -you, an’ I’ll teach you to call me a -pan-’andler, I will. You low-life Chicago<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> -bum, wot never <i>did</i> ’ave a better meal than -you could steal f’m a Chink Chop Suey.”</p> - -<p>“Say, fellers,” a quiet voice interposed, -“cut it out. This ain’t a Parliament Buildings -nor a Montreal cabaret. There’s a war -on. If youse guys wants to talk about rations, -then go ahead, shoot, but cut out the rough -stuff!”</p> - -<p>“Dat’s what <i>I</i> say, Corporal,” interrupted -a French-Canadian. “I’m a funny sort of a -guy, I am. I likes to hear a good spiel, widout -any of dis here free cussin’ an’ argumentation. -Dat ain’t no good, fer it don’t cut no -ice, <i>no’ d’un ch’en</i>!”</p> - -<p>“Talkin’ of rations,” drawled a Western -voice, “when I was up to Calgary in ’08, an’ -was done gone busted, save for two bits, I -tuk a flop in one of them houses at 15 cents -per, an’ bot a cow’s heel with the dime. You -kin b’lieve me or you needn’t, but I <i>tell</i> you -a can of that bully you’re shootin’ off about -would ha’ seemed mighty good to <i>me</i>, right -then, an’ it aren’t so dusty naow.”</p> - -<p>Private Boddy snorted his contempt. “An’ -the jam they gives you,” he said, “w’y at -’ome you couldn’t <i>give</i> it away! Plum an’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> -happle! Or wot they call plain happle! It -ain’t never seed a plum, bar the stone, nor a -happle, bar the core. It’s just colourin’ mixed -up wiv boiled down turnups, that’s what -it is.”</p> - -<p>“De bread’s all right, anyways,” said -Lamontagne, “but dey don’t never git you -more’n a slice a man! An dat cheese. Pouff! -It stink like a Fritz wot’s laid dead since de -British takes Pozières.”</p> - -<p>Scottie broke in.</p> - -<p>“Aye, but hold yerr maunderin’. Ye canna -verra weel have aught to clack aboot when -’tis the Rum ye speak of.”</p> - -<p>“Dat’s all right,” Lamontagne responded, -“de rum’s all right. But who gets it? What -youse gets is one ting. A little mouthful down -de brook wot don’t do no more than make -you drier as you was before. What does de -Sargents get? So much dey all is so rambunctious -mad after a feller he dasn’t look -dem in de face or dey puts him up for office! -Dat’s a fine ways, dat is! An’ dem awficers! -De limit, dat’s what dat is. I was up to -de cook-house wid a—wid a rifle——”—“a -dirty rifle too, on inspection, by Heck,” the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> -Corporal supplemented—“wid a rifle, as I -was sayin’,” continued Lamontagne, with a -reproachful look in the direction of his section -commander, “an’ I sees wot was in de cook-house -a cookin’ for de awficers” (his voice -sunk to an impressive whisper). “D’ere was -eeggs, wid de sunny side up, an’ dere was bif-steaks -all floatin’ in gravy, an’ pottitters an’ -<i>beans</i>, an’ peaches an’ peyers.”</p> - -<p>“Quit yer fool gabbin’,” said Chicago. -“H’aint you got no sense in that mutt-head -o’ yourn? That’s food them ginks <span class="allsmcap">BUYS</span>!”</p> - -<p>Boddy had been silent so long he could -bear it no longer.</p> - -<p>“’Ave a ’eart,” he said, “it gives me a -pain ter fink of all that food the horficers -heats. Pure ’oggery, I calls it. An’ ter fink -of th’ little bit o’ bread an’ biscuit an’ bacon—wot’s -all fat—wot we fellers gets to eat. -<i>We</i> does the work, an’ the horficers sits in -easy chairs an’ Heats!! Oh <i>w’y</i> did I join -the Harmy?”</p> - -<p>At this moment, Private Graham, who had -been slumbering peacefully until Lamontagne, -in his excitement, put a foot in the midst of -his anatomy, added his quota to the discussion.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span> -Private Graham wore the King and -Queen’s South African medal and also the -Somaliland. Before drink reduced him, he -had been a company Q.M.S. in a crack regiment. -His words were usually respected. -“Strike me pink if you Saturday night -soldiers don’t give me the guts-ache,” he remarked -with some acerbity. “In Afriky -you’d ha’ bin dead an’ buried months ago, -judgin’ by the way you talks! There it was -march, march, march, an’ no fallin’ out. -Little water, a ’an’ful o’ flour, an’ a tin of -bully wot was fly-blowed two minutes after -you opened it, unless you ’ad eat it a’ready. -An’ you talks about food! S’elp me if it ain’t -a crime. Rations! W’y, never in the ’ole -’istory of the world ’as a Army bin better fed -nor we are. You young soldiers sh’d learn a -thing or two afore you starts talkin’ abaht -yer elders an’ betters. Lord, in th’ old days a -hofficers’ mess was somethin’ to dream abaht. -Nowadays they can’t ’old a candle to it. Wot -d’yer expec’? D’yer think a horficer is goin’ -to deny ’is stummick if ’e can buy food ter -put in it? ’E ain’t so blame stark starin’ mad -as all that. You makes me sick, you do!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>“Dat’s what <i>I</i> say,” commented Lamontagne!</p> - -<p>From afar came a voice crying, “Turn out -for your rations.”</p> - -<p>In thirty seconds the dug-out was empty!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">OUR SCOUT OFFICER</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">We</span> have a certain admiration for our scout -officer; not so much for his sleuth-hound -propensities, as for his completely <i>dégagé</i> air. -He is a Holmes-Watson individual, in whom -the Holmes is usually subservient to the -Watson.</p> - -<p>Without a map—he either has several -dozen or none at all—he is purely Watson. -With a map he is transformed into a Sherlock, -instanter. The effect of a <i>new</i> map on -him is like that of a new build of aeroplane -on an aviator. He pores over it, he reverses -the north and south gear, and gets the magnetic -differential on the move; with a sweep -of the eye he climbs up hills and goes down -into valleys, he encircles a wood with a pencil-marked -forefinger—and asks in an almost -pained way for nail-scissors. Finally, he sends -out his Scout Corporal and two men, armed -to the teeth with spy-glasses and compasses -(magnetic, mark VIII), to reconnoitre. When -they come back (having walked seventeen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> -kilometres to get to a point six miles away) -and report, he says, wagging his head sagely: -“Ah! I knew it. According to this map, -81×D (parts of), 82 GN, south-west (parts -of), 32 B<sup>1</sup>, N.W. (parts of), and 19 CF, East -(parts of), the only available route is the -main road, marked quite clearly on the map, -and running due east-north-east by east from -Bn. H.Q.”</p> - -<p>But he is a cheerful soul. The other day, -when we were romancing around in the -Somme, we had to take over a new line; one -of those “lines” that genial old beggar -Fritz makes for us with 5.9’s. He—the Scout -Officer—rose to the occasion. He went to -the Commanding Officer, and in his most ingratiating -manner, his whole earnest soul in -his pale blue eyes, offered to take him up to -his battle head-quarters.</p> - -<p>This offer was accepted, albeit the then -Adjutant had a baleful glitter in <i>his</i> eye.</p> - -<p>After he had led us by ways that were -strange and peculiar through the gathering -darkness, and after the Colonel had fallen -over some barbed wire into a very damp -shell-hole, he began to look worried. We<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> -struck a very famous road—along which even -the worms dare not venture—and our Intelligence -Officer led us for several hundred -yards along it.</p> - -<p>An occasional high explosive shrapnel shell -burst in front and to rear of us, but, map -grasped firmly in the right hand, our Scout -Officer led us fearlessly onwards. He did not -march, he did not even walk, he sauntered. -Then with a dramatic gesture wholly unsuited -to the time and circumstances, he -turned and said: “Do you mind waiting a -minute, sir, while I look at the map?” After -a few brief comments the C.O. went to earth -in a shell-hole. The Scout Officer sat down -in the road, and examined his map by the -aid of a flash-light until the Colonel threw a -clod of earth at him accompanied by some -very uncomplimentary remarks. “I think, -sir,” said the Scout Officer, his gaunt frame -and placid countenance illumined by shell-bursts, -“that if we cross the road and go -North by East we may perhaps strike the -communication trench leading to the Brewery. -<i>Personally</i>, I would suggest going overland, -but——” His last words were drowned by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> -the explosion of four 8.1’s 50 yards rear -right. “Get out of this, sir! Get out of this -<span class="allsmcap">DAMN</span> quick,” roared the C.O. The Scout -Officer stood to attention slowly, and saluted -with a deprecating air.</p> - -<p>He led.</p> - -<p>We followed.</p> - -<p>He took us straight into one of the heaviest -barrages it had ever been our misfortune to -encounter, and when we had got there he -said he was lost. So for twenty minutes the -C.O., the Adjutant, nine runners, and, last -but not least, the Scout Officer, sat under a -barrage in various shell-holes, and prayed inwardly—with -the exception of the Scout -Officer—that <i>he</i> (the S.O.) would be hit plump -in the centre of his maps by a 17-inch shell.</p> - -<p>It were well to draw a veil over what -followed. Even Holmes-Watson does not -like to hear it mentioned. Suffice to say that -the C.O. (with party) left at 5.30 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> and -arrived at battle head-quarters at 11.35 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> -The Scout Officer was then engaged in discovering -a route between Battle H.Q. and -the front line. He reported back at noon the -following day, and slept in a shell-hole for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> -thirteen hours. No one could live near the -C.O. for a week, and he threatened the S.O. -with a short-stick <span class="allsmcap">MILLS</span>.</p> - -<p>If there is one thing which the Scout Officer -does not like, it is riding a horse. He almost -admits that he cannot ride! The other day -he met a friend. The friend had one quart -bottle of Hennessey, three star. The Scout -Officer made a thorough reconnaissance of -the said bottle, and reported on same.</p> - -<p>A spirited report.</p> - -<p>Unhappily the C.O. ordered a road reconnaissance -an hour later, and our Scout Officer -had to ride a horse. The entire H.Q. sub-staff -assisted him to mount, and the last we -saw of Holmes-Watson, he was galloping -down the road, sitting well on the horse’s -neck, hands grasping the saddle tightly, rear -and aft. Adown the cold November wind -we heard his dulcet voice carolling:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“I put my money on a bob-tailed nag!...</div> -<div class="verse">Doo-dah ... Doo-dah!</div> -<div class="verse"><i>I</i> put my money on a bob-tailed nag;</div> -<div class="verse">... Doo-dah! ... Doo-dah!! ... <i>DEY!!!</i>”</div> -</div></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">MARTHA OF DRANVOORDE</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martha Beduys</span>, in Belgium, was considered -pretty, even handsome. Of that -sturdy Flemish build so characteristic of -Belgian women, in whom the soil seems to -induce embonpoint, she was plump to stoutness. -She was no mere girl; twenty-seven -years had passed over her head when the war -broke out, and she saw for the first time -English soldiers in the little village that had -always been her home. There was a great -deal of excitement. As the oldest of seven -sisters, Martha was the least excited, but the -most calculating.</p> - -<p>The little baker’s shop behind the dull old -church had always been a source of income, -but never a means to the attainment of -wealth. Martha had the soul of a shop-keeper, -a thing which, in her father’s eyes, made her -the pride of his household.</p> - -<p>Old Hans Beduys was a man of some -strength of mind. His features were sharp -and keen, his small, blue eyes had a glitter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> -in them which seemed to accentuate their -closeness to each other, and his hands—lean, -knotted, claw-like—betokened his chief desire -in life. Born of a German mother and a -Belgian father, he had no particular love for -the English.</p> - -<p>When the first British Tommy entered his -shop and asked for bread, old Beduys looked -him over as a butcher eyes a lamb led to the -slaughter. He was calculating the weight in -sous and francs.</p> - -<p>That night Beduys laid down the law to -his family.</p> - -<p>“The girls will all buy new clothes,” he -said, “for which I shall pay. They will make -themselves agreeable to the English mercenaries, -but”—with a snap of his blue eyes—“nothing -more. The good God has sent -us a harvest to reap; I say we shall reap it.”</p> - -<p>During the six months that followed the -little shop behind the church teemed with -life. The Beduys girls were glad enough to -find men to talk to for the linguistic difficulty -was soon overcome—to flirt with mildly, and -in front of whom to show off their newly-acquired -finery. From morn till dewy eve<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> -the shop was crowded, and occasionally an -officer or two would dine in the back parlour, -kiss Martha if they felt like it, and not worry -much over a few sous change.</p> - -<p>In the meantime old Hans waxed financially -fat, bought a new Sunday suit, worked the -life out of his girls, and prayed nightly that -the Canadians would arrive in the vicinity -of his particular “Somewhere in Belgium.”</p> - -<p>In a little while they came.</p> - -<p>Blossoming forth like a vine well fertilised -at the roots, the little shop became more and -more pretentious as the weekly turnover increased. -Any day that the receipts fell below -a certain level old Beduys raised such a storm -that his bevy of daughters redoubled their -efforts.</p> - -<p>Martha had become an enthusiastic business -woman. Her fair head with its golden -curls was bent for many hours in the day -over a crude kind of ledger, and she thought -in terms of pickles, canned fruits, chocolate, -and cigarettes. The spirit of commerce had -bitten deep into Martha’s soul.</p> - -<p>More and more officers held impromptu -dinners in the back parlour. Martha knew<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> -most of them, but only one interested her. -Had he not shown her the system of double -entry, and how to balance her accounts? He -was a commercial asset.</p> - -<p>As for Jefferson, it was a relief to him, -after a tour in the trenches, to have an occasional -chat with a moderately pretty girl.</p> - -<p>One rain-sodden, murky January night, -very weary, wet, and muddy, Jefferson -dropped in to see, as he would have put it, -“the baker’s daughter.”</p> - -<p>Martha happened to be alone, and welcomed -“Monsieur Jeff” beamingly.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the dim light of the one small -lamp, perhaps his utter war weariness, induced -Jefferson to overlook the coarseness of -the girl’s skin, her ugly hands, and large feet. -Perhaps Martha was looking unusually pretty.</p> - -<p>At all events he suddenly decided that she -was desirable. Putting his arm around her -waist as she brought him his coffee, he drew -her, unresisting, on to his knee. Then he -kissed her.</p> - -<p>Heaven knows what possessed Martha that -evening. She not only allowed his kisses, but -returned them, stroking his curly hair with a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> -tenderness that surprised herself as much as -it surprised him.</p> - -<p>Thereafter Martha had two souls. A soul -for business and a soul for Jefferson.</p> - -<p>The bleak winter rolled on and spring -came.</p> - -<p>About the beginning of April old Beduys -received, secretly, a letter from a relative in -Frankfurt. The contents of the letter were -such that the small pupils of the old man’s -eyes dilated with fear. He hid the document -away, and his temper for that day was -execrable. That night he slept but little. -Beduys lay in bed and pictured the sails of a -windmill—<span class="allsmcap">HIS</span> windmill—and he thought also -of ten thousand francs and his own safety. -He thought of the distance to the mill—a full -two kilometres—and of the martial law -which dictated, among other things, that he -be in his home after a certain hour at night, -and that his mill’s sails be set at a certain -angle when at rest. Then he thought of -Martha. Martha of the commercial mind. -Martha the obedient. Yes! That was it, -obedient! Hans Beduys rose from his bed -softly, without disturbing his heavily-sleeping<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> -wife, and read and re-read his brother’s letter. -One page he kept, and the rest he tore to -shreds, and burned, bit by bit, in the candle -flame.</p> - -<p>High up on the hill stood the windmill—the -Beduys windmill. Far over in the German -lines an Intelligence Officer peered at it in the -gathering dusk through a night-glass. Slowly, -almost imperceptibly, the sails of the mill -turned, and stopped for a full minute. Slowly, -almost imperceptibly, they turned again, and -stopped again. This happened perhaps twenty -times. The German made some notes and -went to the nearest signalling station.</p> - -<p>Five minutes later a salvo of great shells -trundled, with a noise like distant express -trains, over to the left of the mill.</p> - -<p>There were heavy casualties in a newly-arrived -battalion bivouacked not half a mile -from the baker’s shop. The inhabitants of the -village awoke and trembled. “Hurrumph-umph!” -Again the big shells trundled over -the village, and again. There was confusion, -and death and wounding.</p> - -<p>In his bed lay Hans Beduys, sweating from -head to foot, while his brain hammered out<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> -with ever-increasing force: “Ten thousand -francs—Ten Thousand Francs.”</p> - -<p>In the small hours a shadow disengaged -itself from the old mill, cautiously. Then it -began to run, and resolved itself into a woman. -By little paths, by ditches, by side-tracks, -Martha reached home. She panted heavily, -her face was white and haggard. When she -reached her room she flung herself on her -bed, and lay there wide-eyed, dumb, horror-stricken, -until the dawn broke.</p> - -<p>Jefferson’s Battalion finished a tour in the -trenches on the following night. Jefferson -marched back to billet with a resolve in his -mind. He had happened to notice the windmill -moving the night before, as he stood outside -Company head-quarters in the trenches. -He had heard the shells go over—away back—and -had seen the sails move again. The -two things connected themselves instantly in -his mind. Perhaps he should have reported -the matter at once, but Jefferson did not do -so. He meant to investigate for himself.</p> - -<p>Two days later Jefferson got leave to spend -the day in the nearest town. He returned -early in the afternoon, put his revolver in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> -pocket of his British warm coat, and set out -for the windmill. He did not know to whom -the mill belonged, nor did that trouble -him.</p> - -<p>An Artillery Brigade had parked near the -village that morning. Jefferson got inside the -mill without difficulty. It was a creaky, rat-haunted -old place, and no one lived within -half a mile of it. Poking about, he discovered -nothing until his eyes happened to fall on a -little medallion stuck between two boards on -the floor.</p> - -<p>Picking it up, Jefferson recognised it as -one of those little “miraculous medals” -which he had seen strung on a light chain -around Martha’s neck. He frowned thoughtfully, -and put it in his pocket.</p> - -<p>He hid himself in a corner and waited. He -waited so long that he fell asleep. The opening -of the little wooden door of the mill -roused him with a start. There was a long -pause, and then the sound of footsteps coming -up the wooden stairway which led to where -Jefferson lay. The window in the mill-face -reflected the dying glow of a perfect sunset, -and the light in the mill was faint. He could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> -hear the hum of a biplane’s engines as it -hurried homeward, the day’s work done.</p> - -<p>A peaked cap rose above the level of the -floor, followed by a stout, rubicund face. A -Belgian gendarme.</p> - -<p>Jefferson fingered his revolver, and waited. -The gendarme looked around, grunted, and -disappeared down the steps again, closing the -door that led into the mill with a bang. -Jefferson sat up and rubbed his head.</p> - -<p>He did not quite understand.</p> - -<p>Perhaps ten minutes had passed when for -the third time that night the door below was -opened softly, closed as softly, and some one -hurried up the steps.</p> - -<p>It was Martha. She had a shawl over her -head and shoulders, and she was breathing -quickly, with parted lips.</p> - -<p>Jefferson noiselessly dropped his revolver -into his pocket again.</p> - -<p>With swift, sure movements, the girl began -to set the machinery of the mill in motion. -By glancing over to the window, Jefferson -could see the sails move slowly—very, very -slowly. Martha fumbled for a paper in her -bosom, and, drawing it forth, scrutinised it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> -tensely. Then she set the machinery in motion -again. She had her back to him. Jefferson -rose stealthily and took a step towards her. -A board creaked and, starting nervously, the -girl looked round.</p> - -<p>For a moment the two gazed at each other -in dead silence.</p> - -<p>“Martha,” said Jefferson, “Martha!”</p> - -<p>There was a mixture of rage and reproach -in his voice. Even as he spoke they heard -the whine of shells overhead, and then four -dull explosions.</p> - -<p>“Your work,” cried Jefferson thickly, taking -a stride forward and seizing the speechless -woman by the arm.</p> - -<p>Martha looked at him with a kind of dull -terror in her eyes, with utter hopelessness, -and the man paused a second. He had not -known he cared for her so much. Then, in a -flash, he pictured the horrors for which this -woman, a mere common spy, was responsible.</p> - -<p>He made to grasp her more firmly, but she -twisted herself from his hold. Darting to the -device which freed the mill-sails, she wrenched -at it madly. The sails caught in the breeze, -and began to circle round, swiftly and more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> -swiftly, until the old wooden building shook -with the vibration.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>From his observation post a German officer -took in the new situation at a glance. A few -guttural sounds he muttered, and then turning -angrily to an orderly he gave him a curt -message. “They shall not use it if we cannot,” -he said to himself, shaking his fist in the -direction of the whirring sails.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In the little village part of the church and -the baker’s shop lay in ruins. Martha had -sent but a part of her signal, and it had -been acted upon with characteristic German -promptitude.</p> - -<p>In the windmill on the hill, which shook -crazily as the sails tore their way through the -air, a man and a woman struggled desperately, -the woman with almost superhuman strength.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the earth shook, a great explosion -rent the air, and the mill on the hill was rent -timber from timber and the great sails doubled -up like tin-foil.</p> - -<p>“Good shooting,” said the German Forward -Observation Officer, as he tucked his glass -under his arm and went “home” to dinner.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">COURCELETTE</h2> -</div> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">It</span> was one of the nastiest jobs any battalion -could be called on to perform; to my mind -far more difficult than a big, sweeping advance. -The First Battalion has been in the trenches -eighteen days, on the march four days, and -at rest one day, until now. No men could be -asked to do more, and no men could do more -than you have done. I congratulate you, -most heartily.”</p> - -<p>In the above words, addressed to the men -and officers of the First Canadian Infantry -Battalion, Western Ontario Regiment, Major-General -Currie made it plain to all that among -the Honours of the First Battalion few will -take higher place than that which will be -inscribed “<span class="smcap">Courcelette</span>.”</p> - -<p>On the night of September 20th, 1916, the -First Battalion moved up from support to -the firing-line, beyond the ruins of the above-mentioned -little hamlet. For the past few -days it had rained incessantly, and all ranks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> -had been working night and day, in mud and -slush, carrying material of all kinds to the -front line. The men were soaked to the skin, -caked with mud, and very weary, but they -went “up-along” with an amazing cheeriness, -for rumour had whispered that the regiment -was to attack, and the men were in that -frame of mind when the prospect of “getting -their own back” appealed to them hugely. -Although the enemy opened up an intense -barrage during the relief, casualties were comparatively -few, and by morning the First -Battalion was, Micawber-like, “waiting for -something to turn up.”</p> - -<p>Three companies, “A,” “B,” and “D,” -held the front line, with “C” Company in -close support. The positions were to the east -of Courcelette, opposite a maze of German -trenches which constituted a thorn in the -side of the Corps and Army Commanders, -and which had for several days checked the -advance and were therefore a serious menace -to future plans. Just how great was the -necessity to capture this highly organised and -strongly manned defensive system may be -gauged by the letter received by the Commanding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> -Officer from the Divisional Commander -on the eve of the attack. In it the -G.O.C. expressed his confidence in the ability -of “The Good Old First” to capture the -position, and to hold it, and he added that it -<i>must</i> be taken at all costs—“if the first -attack fails, you must make a second.” On -the capture of this strong point hung the fate -of other operations on the grand scale.</p> - -<p>It was the key position, and it fell to the -First Canadian Battalion to be honoured -with the task of taking it.</p> - -<p>Until two and a half hours previous to the -attack (when the Operation Order had been -issued, and final instructions given), the -latest <i>maps</i> of the German defences had been -all the C.O. and his staff could work upon. -Then, truly at the eleventh hour, an aerial -<i>photograph</i>, taken but twenty-four hours -before, was sent to Bn. Head-quarters with -the least possible delay. This showed such -increase in the enemy defences, and trenches -in so much better shape to withstand attack, -that the whole tactical situation was changed, -and it became necessary not only to alter the -operation order completely, but also to draw<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> -a map, showing the most recent German lines -of defence. This was done.</p> - -<p>It is difficult to single out for praise any -special portion of a regiment, or any member -of it, especially when <i>all</i> the units have been -subjected to intense and violent bombardment -prior to attack, not to mention the -activities of numerous snipers. One Company -alone lost half their effectives through -the fire of a “whizz-bang” battery which -completely enfiladed their position. The -Battalion and Company runners cannot be -too highly praised—they were the sole means -of communication—and risked their lives -hourly, passing through and over heavily-pounded -trenches, and in and out of the -village of Courcelette, which was subjected to -“strafing” at all hours of the day and night, -without cessation. Tribute is also due to the -carrying parties, who took from beyond the -Sugar Refinery, and through the village, -bombs, ammunition, water, and rations, leaving -at every trip their toll of dead and -wounded.</p> - -<p>Zero hour was at 8.31 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span>, preceded for -one minute by hurricane artillery fire. Previous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> -to this the heavy guns had carried out -a systematic bombardment of the German -defences, yet, as was subsequently discovered, -failing to do them great damage, and not -touching the main fire trench at all.</p> - -<p>At 8.28½ <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> the Germans suddenly opened -with a murderous artillery and machine-gun -fire along our front. They had by some means -or other discovered that an attack was about -to take place. At this time the assaulting -waves were in position, “A” Coy. on the -left flank, “D” Coy. in the centre, and “B” -Coy. on the right flank, while a Battalion -Reserve of eighteen men—five of whom became -casualties three minutes later—waited -for orders a little in rear. These men belonged -to “C” Company, the major portion of -which had already been sent to reinforce the -front line. All our guns then opened up with -an electric spontaneity. To such an extent -that one charging company was forced to -halt a full minute in No Man’s Land until -the barrage lifted a few hundred yards in -rear of the German lines, to catch their -reserves coming up.</p> - -<p>Among the <i>Fragments from France</i> there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> -is a Bairnsfather picture entitled “We shall -attack at Dawn” and “We do!” The -situation much resembled it.</p> - -<p>One could hear nothing but the vicious -“splack” of high explosive shrapnel, the -deep “Krrumph” of 6-inch and 8.2’s, “coal-boxes” -and “woolly bears”; great herds of -shells whined and droned overhead, and now -and then emerged from the tumult the coughing, -venomous spit of machine-guns. One -could see myriads of angrily-bursting yellow -and orange-coloured flames, and all along -the front dozens of green Verey lights, and -red, as the Germans called frantically on their -artillery, and at the same time showed that -some of their own batteries were firing short -(a thing which always gives great joy to all -ranks). Now and then a deeper series of -booms announced a bombing battle, and the -air was heavy with the odour of picric fumes -and thick with smoke.</p> - -<p>On the left flank “A” Coy. met with stubborn -opposition. Four machine-guns opened -on their first wave, cutting it to pieces, as it -was enfiladed from the flanks. The Company -reformed at once, and charged again. This<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> -time they were met by a heavy counter-attack -in force. In the cold words of official -phraseology, “This opposition was overcome.” -It was here that two very gallant officers -were lost—Lieut. B. T. Nevitt and Major -F. E. Aytoun—while leading their men. The -last seen of Lieut. Nevitt, he was lying half -in and half out of a shell-hole, firing his revolver -at the enemy who were almost on top -of him, and calling to his men to come on. -Major Aytoun’s last words were, “Carry on, -men!”</p> - -<p>“B” Coy., on the left flank, met with little -opposition, attained the whole of their objective, -and established communication by patrol -with the troops on their right flank, a difficult -operation. Here Lieut. Unwin, a splendid -young officer, laid down his life, and Lieut. -MacCuddy, who had carried on in the most -exemplary manner, was mortally wounded. -This Company captured a German Adjutant -from whom much valuable information was -obtained. Thoroughly demoralised, his first -words were: “Take me out of this, and I -will tell you anything, but anything.” On -this German’s reaching head-quarters he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> -amused every one by saying: “I come me -to the West front September 22nd, 1914, as -a German officer. I go me from the West -front September 22nd, 1916, Heaven be -thanked, as a German prisoner. For me the -war is over, hurrah!”</p> - -<p>In the centre “D” Coy. also attained their -objective and captured a trophy, in the shape -of a Vickers gun (which had been converted -to German usage). This gun was taken by -Lieut. J. L. Youngs, M.C., who bombed the -crew, which thereon beat a hasty retreat, -leaving half their number killed and wounded. -This was one of the best pieces of work done -individually in this action. Major W. N. Ashplant -was wounded here, at the head of his -men, and is now missing, and believed killed.</p> - -<p>Bombing posts were thrown out at once, -and manned by Battalion and Company -bombers, who, time and again, repulsed German -bombing attacks. “A” Coy. linked up -with “D” and “D” Coy. with “B,” while -the Lewis gun sections worked admirably, -but one gun being lost, despite the heavy -artillery fire. The whole line was at once -consolidated. Hundreds of German bombs,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> -Verey lights and pistols, many rifles, and -quantities of ammunition were captured, and -also forty prisoners, the great majority of -whom were unwounded.</p> - -<p>“C” Coy.’s reserve was almost immediately -used up, a company of the 4th Bn. coming -up in support, at the request of the Commanding -Officer of the First Battalion.</p> - -<p>“Your attack was so vicious,” declared a -prisoner, “that no troops could withstand it.”</p> - -<p>“Too good troops”—this from a tall, fair -member of the Prussian Guard—“better -than we are!”</p> - -<p>The Germans opposed to the First Battalion -were picked troops, among whom the iron-cross -had been freely distributed.</p> - -<p>On capturing this network of enemy lines -to the east of Courcelette, the First Battalion -discovered that what was at first deemed a -small stronghold, was in reality a formidable -position, held by the enemy in large numbers. -Not only was there a deep, fire-stepped main -trench, in which they had dug many “funk-holes,” -but also a series of support and communication -trenches, and numerous bombing -posts.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>During the thirty hours following the capture -of this ground, numerous counter-attacks -took place, all of which were repulsed with -heavy enemy losses. Bombing actions were -frequent along the whole line, and at least -two attacks were made in force.</p> - -<p>A small post, held by two men, on the right -flank of “D” Coy., to communicate with -“B,” accounted for six Germans in the -following manner: Early in the morning six -of the enemy advanced with their hands up. -Our men watched them closely, albeit they -called out “Kamerad” and were apparently -unarmed. The foremost suddenly dropped -his hands and threw a bomb. Our men -thereupon “went to it” and killed three -of the Germans, wounding the remainder -with rifle fire as they ran back to their own -lines.</p> - -<p>At dusk on the 23rd the Germans tried -another ruse before attempting an attack in -force. Two of them were sent out, calling -“Mercy, mercy, Kamerad,” and as usual -with their hands up, and no equipment. But -the officer in charge saw a number of Germans -advancing behind them, and at once ordered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> -heavy rifle and machine-gun fire to be opened -on them. This, and bombs, resulted in the -attack being broken up completely. “B” -Coy. dispersed several bombing attacks, and -“A” Coy. broke up a heavy attack, as well -as bombing attacks. Fog at times rendered -the position favourable for the enemy, but -not one inch of ground was lost.</p> - -<p>Every man of the fighting forces of the -First Battalion was engaged in this action, -and much valuable assistance during consolidation -and counter-attack was rendered -by the Company of the Fourth Battalion -sent up to support. For over thirty hours -after the assault the regiment held on, heavy -fog rendering relief in the early hours of the -24th a difficult undertaking, all the more so -in view of the intense and long-continued -barrage opened by the enemy during the -hours of relief. In fact, during the whole tour -of the First Canadian Battalion in the Courcelette -sector, the regiment was subjected to -intense and incessant fire.</p> - -<p>When the remainder of the First Battalion -marched out to rest, with Hun helmets and -other souvenirs hanging to their kits, they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span> -marched with the pride of men who knew -they had done their bit.</p> - -<p>The Corps Commander rode over to congratulate -the Commanding Officer and the -regiment, and such terms were used from the -Highest Command downwards that the “Old -First” knows and is proud of the fact, that -another laurel has been added to the wreaths -of the battalion, the brigade, the division, -and the Canadian Army.</p> - -<p>We have but one sorrow, one deep regret, -and that is for Our Heroic Dead.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CARNAGE</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is a little valley somewhere among -the rolling hills of the Somme district wherein -the sun never shines. It is a tiny little valley, -once part of a not unattractive landscape, -now a place of horror.</p> - -<p>Half a dozen skeletons of trees, rotting -and torn, fringe the southern bank, and the -remnants of a sunken road curve beneath the -swelling hill that shields the valley from the -sun. Flowers may have grown there once, -children may have played under the then -pleasant green of the trees; one can even -picture some dark-eyed, black-haired maid of -Picardy, sallying forth from the little hamlet -not far off with her milking-stool and pail, -to milk the family cow in the cool shade of -the trees and the steep above.</p> - -<p>But that was long ago—at least, it seems -as though it <i>must</i> have been long ago—for -to-day the place is a shambles, a valley of -Death. Those who speak of the glory of war,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> -of the wonderful dashing charges, the inspiring -mighty roar of cannon—let them come -to this spot and look on this one small corner -of a great battle-field. Within plain view are -villages that will have a place in history—piles -of broken brick and crushed mortar -that bear silent, eloquent testimony to the -Kultur of the twentieth century. Round -about the land is just a series of tiny craters, -fitted more closely together than the scars on -the face of a man who has survived a severe -attack of small-pox; and here and there, -scattered, still lie the dead. No blade of -grass dare raise its sheath above ground, for -the land is sown with steel and iron and lead, -and the wreckage and wrack and ruin of the -most bitter strife.</p> - -<p>Even those who have seen such things for -many months past pause involuntarily when -they reach this valley of the shadow. It is a -revelation of desolation—the inner temple of -death. In that little space, perhaps three -hundred feet long and a bare forty wide, lie -the bodies of nearly a hundred men, friend -and foe, whose souls have gone on to the -happy hunting ground amid circumstances of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span> -which no tongue could give a fitting account, -no pen a fitting description.</p> - -<p>Once a German stronghold, this place -passed into our hands but a short while since. -Two guns were tucked away in under the -hill, and the infantry, suddenly ejected from -their forward position, fell back on them, -and taking advantage of a pause strengthened -their position, and brought up reinforcements. -Thereupon our guns concentrated on -them with fearful results, although when the -infantry swept forward, there were still -enough men in the deep, half-filled in trench -to put up a desperate resistance.</p> - -<p>It is not difficult to read the story of that -early morning struggle. The land is churned -in all directions, two of the bigger trees have -fallen, and now spread out gnarled branches -above the remnants of some artillery dugouts. -Pools of water, thick glutinous mud—both -are tinged in many spots a dark red-brown—and -portions of what were once men, -lie scattered around in dreadful evidence.</p> - -<p>But for his pallor, one might think that -man yonder is still living. He is sitting in an -easy attitude, leaning forward, one hand idle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> -in his lap, his rifle against his knee, and with -the other hand raised to his cheek as though -he were brushing off a fly. But his glassy -eyes stare, and his face is bloodless and grey, -while a large hole in his chest shows where -the enemy shrapnel smote him.</p> - -<p>Corpses of dead Germans are piled, in -places, one over the other, some showing -terrible gaping wounds, some headless, some -stripped of all or part of their clothing, by -the terrific explosion of a great shell which -rent their garments from them. In more -than one place old graves have been blown -sky-high, and huddled skeletons, still clad in -the rags of a uniform, lie stark under the -open sky.</p> - -<p>Papers, kits, water-bottles, rifles, helmets, -bayonets, smoke goggles, rations, and ammunition -are scattered everywhere in confusion. -Some of the <i>débris</i> is battered to bits, -some in perfect condition. Shell-cases, shell-noses, -and shrapnel pellets lie everywhere, -and there arises from the ground that peculiar, -terrible odour of blood, bandages, and death, -an odour always dreaded and never to be -forgotten. In one German dug-out three men<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span> -were killed as they lay, and sat, sleeping. -Some one has put a sock over their faces; it -were best to let it remain there. Yonder, a -Canadian and a German lie one on top of the -other, both clutching their rifles with the -bayonets affixed to them, one with a bayonet -thrust through his stomach, the other with a -bullet through his eye.</p> - -<p>At night the very lights shine reluctant -over the scene, but the moon beams impassive -on the dead. Burial parties work almost -silently, speaking in whispers, and, shocking -anomaly, one now and then hears some trophy -hunter declare, “Say, this is some souvenir, -look at this ‘Gott mit Uns’ buckle!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">“A” COMPANY RUSTLES</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> we got into the bally place it was raining -in torrents, and the air was also pure -purple because the Colonel found some one in -his old billet, and the Town-Major, a cantankerous -old dug-out who seemed to exist -chiefly for the purpose of annoying men who -did go into the front line, was about as helpful -as the fifth wheel to a wagon. Finally, the -Colonel shot out of his office like an eighteen-pounder -from a whizz-bang battery, and later -on the tattered remnants of our once proud -and haughty Adjutant announced to us, in -the tones of a dove who has lost his mate, -that there were no billets for us at all, and -that officers and men would have to bivouac -by the river.</p> - -<p>Under all circumstances the Major is cheerful—and -he has a very clear idea of when it -is permissible to go around an order. Also -the Town-Major invariably has the same effect -on him as such an unwelcome visitor as a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span> -skunk at a garden-party would have on the -garden-party. Having consigned the aforesaid -T.-M. to perdition in Canadian, English, -French, and Doukhobor, he said: “We are -going to have billets for the men, and we are -going to have billets for ourselves.” That -quite settled the matter, as far as we Company -officers were concerned. In the course -of the next half-hour we had swiped an empty -street and a half for the men, and put them -into it, and then we gathered together, seven -strong, and proceeded to hunt for our own -quarters.</p> - -<p>There is a very strongly developed scouting -instinct among the Canadian forces in -the Field. Moreover, we are not overawed -by outward appearances. In the centre of -the town we found a château; and an hour -later we were lunching there comfortably -ensconed in three-legged arm-chairs, with a -real bowl of real flowers on the table, and -certain oddments of cut-glass (found gleefully -by the batmen) reflecting the bubbling -vintage of the house of Moët et Chandon. -Our dining-hall was about sixty feet by -twenty, and we each had a bedroom of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span> -proportionate size, with a bed of sorts in it. -Moreover, the place was most wonderfully -clean—it might almost have been prepared -for us—and McFinnigan, our cook, was in -the seventh heaven of delight because he had -found a real stove with an oven.</p> - -<p>“I cannot understand,” said the Major, -“how it is no one is in this place. It’s good -enough for a Divisional Commander.”</p> - -<p>There was actually a bath in the place with -water running in the taps. Jones, always -something of a pessimist, shook his head when -he saw the bath.</p> - -<p>“Look here, all you boys,” he said, “this -is no place for us. There is an unwritten law -in this outfit that no man, unless he wears -red and gold things plastered all over his -person, shall have more than one bath in one -month. Now <i>I</i> had one three weeks ago, and -I am still—— but why dwell on it?”</p> - -<p>Needless to say he was ruled out of -order.</p> - -<p>Just to show our darned independence, we -decided to invite most of the other officers -of the battalion to dinner that evening, -“plenty much swank” and all that kind of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span> -thing. Would that we had thought better -of it. Of course we eventually decided to -make a real banquet of it, appointed a regular -mess committee, went and saw the Paymaster, -and sent orderlies dashing madly -forth to buy up all the liqueurs, Scotch, soda, -and other potations that make glad the heart -of man. We arranged for a four-course dinner, -paraded the batmen and distributed back-sheesh -and forcible addresses on the subjects -of table-laying and how to balance the soup -and unplop the bubbly.</p> - -<p>Nobody came near us at all. As far as the -Town-Major was concerned we might have -been in Kamtchatka. The Major had gone -to the C.O. (<i>after</i> lunch) and told him we had -“found a little place to shelter in,” and as -the latter had written a particularly biting, -satirical, not to say hectic note to the Brigadier -on the subject of the Town-Major’s villainy, -and was therefore feeling better, he just told -the Major to carry on, and did not worry -about us in the least.</p> - -<p>Nineteen of us—Majors, Captains, and -“Loots”—sat down to dinner. It was a -good dinner, the batmen performed prodigies<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> -of waitership; the wine bubbled and frothed, -frothed and bubbled, and we all bubbled too. -It was a red-letter night. After about the -seventeenth speech, in which the Doc. got a -little mixed concerning the relationship of -Bacchus and a small statue of the Venus de -Milo which adorned one corner of the room, -some one called for a song. It was then -about 11 “pip emma.”</p> - -<p>We were in the midst of what the P.M. -called a little “Close Harmony”—singing as -Caruso and McCormack <span class="allsmcap">NEVER</span> sang—when -we heard the sound of feet in the passage, -feet that clanked and clunk—feet with -spurs on.</p> - -<p>A hush fell over us, an expectant hush. -The door opened, without the ceremony of -a knock, and in walked not any of your -common or garden Brigadiers, not even a -Major-General, but a fully-fledged Lieutenant-General, -followed by his staff, and the -Town-Major.</p> - -<p>In our regiment we have always prided ourselves -on the fact that we can carry on anywhere -and under any circumstances. But this -fell night our untarnished record came very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> -near to disaster. It was as though Zeus had -appeared at a Roman banquet being held in -his most sacred grove.</p> - -<p>The General advanced three paces and -halted. Those of us who were able to do so -got up. Those who could not rise remained -seated. The silence was not only painful, it -was oppressive. A steel-grey, generalistic eye -slowly travelled through each one of us, up -and down the table, unadorned with the -remnants of many bottles, the half-finished -glasses of many drinks. Just then the Town-Major -took a step forward; he was a palish -green, with an under-tinge of yellow.</p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">What</span> is the meaning of——” said the -General, in a voice tinged with the iciest -breath of the far distant Pole, but he got no -further.</p> - -<p>There was a sudden rending, ear-splitting -roar, the lights went out, the walls of the -château seemed to sway, and the plaster fell -in great lumps from the frescoed ceiling.</p> - -<p>That (as we afterwards discovered) no one -was hurt was a marvel. It is the one and only -time when we of this regiment have thanked -Fritz for shelling us. In the pale light of early<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> -dawn the last member of the party slunk into -the bivouac ground. The General, where was -he? We knew not, neither did we care.</p> - -<p>But it was the first and last time that -“A” Company rustled a Corps Commander’s -Château!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">“MINNIE AND ‘FAMILY’”</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> first I met her it was a lush, lovely -day in June; the birds were singing, the -grass was green, the earth teemed with life, -vegetable and animal, and the froglets hopped -around in the communication trenches. Some -cheery optimist was whistling “Down by the -Old Mill Stream,” and another equally cheery -individual was potting German sniping plates -with an accuracy worthy of a better cause. -It was, in sooth, “A quiet day on the Western -Front.”</p> - -<p>And then <i>she</i> came. Stealing towards me -silently, coming upon me like a brigand in -the leafy woods. I did not see her ere she was -descending upon me, but others did. There -came distant yells, which I failed to interpret -for a moment; then, glancing upward, I saw -her bobbing through the air, her one leg -waving, her round ugly head a blot on the -sky’s fair face. The next thing that happened -was that the trench gathered unto itself -wings, rose and clasped me lovingly from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> -neck down in a cold, earthy embrace, the -while the air was rent with an ear-splitting -roar, like unto a battery of 17-inch naval -guns firing a salvo. After that I respected -Minnie; I feared her—nay, I was deadly -scared of her.</p> - -<p>Of all the nasty things “old Fritz” has -invented, the Minenflamm is perhaps the -nastiest of all. She is purely vicious, utterly -destructive, and quite frightful. The very -slowness with which she sails through the air -is in itself awe-inspiring. I never see Minnie -without longing for home, or the inside of -the deepest German dug-out ever digged by -those hard-working German Pioneer blighters, -who must all have been moles in their respective -pre-incarnations. Minnie reminds one of -Mrs. Patrick Campbell in <i>The Second Mrs. -Tangueray</i>: all fire and flame and perdition -generally.</p> - -<p>If you are a very wide-awake Johnny, -absolutely on the spot, don’t-you-know—you -may hear her sigh ere she leaves the (temporary) -Vaterland to take flight. It is a -gentle sigh, which those verblitzender English -artillery-men are not meant to hear. If you <i>do</i><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> -happen by chance to hear it, then the only -thing to do, although it is not laid down in -K. R. & O. or Divisional Orders (you see they -only <i>hear</i> about these things), is to silently steal -away; to seek the seclusion which your dug-out -grants. Later, if you are a new officer, and -want to impress the natives, as it were, you -saunter jauntily forth, cigarette at the correct -slope, cane pending vertically from the right -hand, grasped firmly in the palm, little finger -downwards, cap at an angle of 45°, and say: -“Minnie, by Jove! Eh what? God bless my -soul. Did it fall over heah or over theah?” -Which is a sure way of making yourself really -popular.</p> - -<p>Fortunately Minnie has her dull days. Days -when she positively refuses to bust, and sulks, -figuratively speaking, in silent wrath and -bitterness on the upper strata of “sunny” -France, or Belgium, as the case may be. -After many Agags have trodden very delicately -around her, and she has proved incurably -sulky and poor-spirited, some one -infused with the Souvenir spirit carts her -away, and pounds her softly with a cold-chisel -and a mallet, until he has either dissected<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span> -her interior economy, or else she has -segmented <i>his</i>.</p> - -<p>Minnie has her little family. The eldest -male child is called by the euphonious name -of Sausage, and he has brothers of various -sizes, from the pure-blood Hoch-geboren -down to the bourgeois little chap who makes -an awful lot of fuss and clatter generally. I -remember meeting little Hans one day, about -the dinner hour, when he was a very naughty -boy indeed. The Company was waiting to -get a half-canteenful of the tannin-cum-tea-leaves, -called “tea” on the Western front -(contained in one large dixie placed in a -fairly open spot in the front line), when -suddenly little Hans poked his blunt nose -into the air, and all notions of tea-drinking -were banished <i>pro tem</i>. In other words, the -Company took cover automatically, as it were, -without awaiting any word of command. -Personally I tripped over a bath-mat, came -into close contact with an old shell-hole full -of mud, and offered up a little prayer in the -record time of one-fifth of a second. Instead -of entering Nirvana I only heard a resounding -splash, followed by a sizzling sound, like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span> -that made by an exhausted locomotive. Little -Hans had fallen into the dixie, and positively -refused to explode. I think the tannin (or the -tea leaves) choked him!</p> - -<p>There is also an infant—a female infant—who -deserves mention. Her name is Rifle-grenade, -and, according to the very latest -communication from official sources, the -gentleman who states with some emphasis -that he is divinely kingly, refuses to sanction -any further production of her species. Like -many females she is one perpetual note of -interrogation. She starts on her wayward -course thus: “Whrr-on? Whrr-oo? Whoo? -Whoo? Whe-oo? Whe-<i>oo</i>?” And then she -goes off with a bang, just as Cleopatra may -have done when Antony marked a pretty -hand-maid.</p> - -<p>To sum up: Minnie and her children are -undoubtedly the product of perverted science -and Kultur, aided and abetted by the very -Devil!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">AN OFFICER AND GENTLEMAN</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">He</span> was a tall well-built chap, with big, blue -eyes, set far apart, and dark wavy hair, -which he kept too closely cropped to allow it -to curl, as was meant by nature. He had a -cheery smile and a joke for every one, and -his men loved him. More than that, they respected -him thoroughly, for he never tolerated -slackness or lack of discipline for an instant, -and the lips under the little bronze moustache -could pull themselves into an uncompromisingly -straight line when he was justly angry.</p> - -<p>When he strafed the men, he did it directly, -without sparing them or their failings, but -he never sneered at them, and his direct hits -were so patently honest that they realised it -at once, and felt and looked rather like -penitent little boys.</p> - -<p>He never asked an N.C.O. or man to do -anything he would not do himself, and he -usually did it first. If there was a dangerous -patrol, he led. If there was trying work to -do, under fire, he stayed in the most dangerous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> -position, and helped. He exacted instant -obedience to orders, but never gave an order -that the men could not understand without -explaining the reason for it. He showed his -N.C.O.’s that he had confidence in them, and -did not need to ask for their confidence in -him. He had it.</p> - -<p>In the trenches he saw to his men’s comfort -first—his own was a secondary consideration. -If a man was killed or wounded, he was -generally on the spot before the stretcher-bearers, -and, not once, but many times, he -took a dying man’s last messages, and faithfully -wrote to his relations. A sacred duty, -but one that wrung his withers. He went -into action not only <i>with</i> his men, but at -their head, and he fought like a young lion -until the objective was attained. Then, he -was one of the first to bind up a prisoner’s -wounds, and to check any severity towards -unwounded prisoners. He went into a show -with his revolver in one hand, a little cane in -the other, a cigarette between his lips.</p> - -<p>“You see,” he would explain, “it comforts -a fellow to smoke, and the stick is useful, -and a good tonic for the men. Besides, it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> -helps me try to kid myself I’m not scared—and -I <i>am</i>, you know! As much as any one -could be.”</p> - -<p>On parade he was undoubtedly the smartest -officer in the regiment, and he worked like -a Trojan to make his men smart also. At the -same time he would devote three-quarters of -any leisure he had to training his men in the -essentials of modern warfare, his spare time -being willingly sacrificed for their benefit.</p> - -<p>No man was ever paraded before him with -a genuine grievance that he did not endeavour -to rectify. In some manner he would, nine -times out of ten, turn a “hard case” into a -good soldier. One of his greatest powers was -his particularly winning smile. When his -honest eyes were on you, when his lips curved -and two faint dimples showed in his cheeks, -it was impossible not to like him. Even those -who envied him—and among his brother -officers there were not a few—could not -bring themselves to say anything against -him.</p> - -<p>If he had a failing it was a weakness for -pretty women, but his manner towards an -old peasant woman, even though she was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span> -dirty and hideous, was, if anything, more -courteous than towards a woman of his own -class. He could not bear to see them doing -work for which he considered they were unfit. -One day he carried a huge washing-basket -full of clothes down the main street of a -little village in Picardy, through a throng of -soldiers, rather than see the poor old dame -he had met staggering under her burden go -a step farther unaided.</p> - -<p>The Colonel happened to see him, and spoke -to him rather sharply about it. His answer -was characteristic: “I’m very sorry, sir. I -forgot about what the men might think when -I saw the poor old creature. In fact, sir, if -you’ll pardon my saying so, I would not -mind much if they did make fun of it.”</p> - -<p>He loved children. He never had any loose -coppers or small change long, and two of -his comrades surprised him on one occasion -slipping a five-franc note into the crinkled -rosy palm of a very, very new baby. “He -looked so jolly cute asleep,” he explained -simply.</p> - -<p>Almost all his fellow-officers owed him -money. He was a poor financier, and when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span> -he had a cent it belonged to whoever was in -need of it at the time.</p> - -<p>One morning at dawn, he led a little patrol -to examine some new work in the German -front line. He encountered an unsuspected -enemy listening post, and he shot two of the -three Germans, but the remaining German -killed him before his men could prevent it. -They brought his body back and he was given -a soldier’s grave between the trenches. There -he lies with many another warrior, taking -his rest, while his comrades mourn the loss -of a fine soldier and gallant gentleman.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">“S.R.D.”</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the days shorten, and the rain never -ceases; when the sky is ever grey, the nights -chill, and the trenches thigh deep in mud and -water; when the front is altogether a beastly -place, in fact, we have one consolation. It -comes in gallon jars, marked simply “S.R.D.” -It does not matter how wearied the ration -party may be, or how many sacks of coke, -biscuits, or other rations may be left by the -wayside, the rum always arrives.</p> - -<p>Once, very long ago, one of a new draft -broke a bottle on the way up to Coy. H.Q. -(The rum, by the way, <i>always</i> goes to Coy. -H.Q.) For a week his life was not worth -living. The only thing that saved him from -annihilation was the odour of S.R.D., which -clung to him for days. The men would take a -whiff before going on a working-party, and -on any occasion when they felt low and -depressed.</p> - -<p>There are those who would deny Tommy -his three spoonfuls of rum in the trenches;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> -those who declare that a man soaked to the -skin, covered with mud, and bitterly cold, -is better with a cayenne pepper lozenge. Let -such people take any ordinary night of sentry -duty on the Western front in mid-winter, and -their ideas will change. There are not one, -but numberless occasions, on which a tot of -rum has saved a man from sickness, possibly -from a serious illness. Many a life-long -teetotaler has conformed to S.R.D. and taken -the first drink of his life on the battle-fields -of France, not because he wanted to, but -because he had to. Only those who have -suffered from bitter cold and wet, only those -who have been actually “all-in” know what -a debt of gratitude is owing to those wise -men who ordered a small ration of rum for -every soldier—officer, N.C.O., and man—on -the Western front in winter.</p> - -<p>The effect of rum is wonderful, morally as -well as physically. In the pelting rain, through -acres of mud, a working-party of fifty men -plough their weary way to the Engineers’ -dump, and get shovels and picks. In single -file they trudge several kilometres to the -work in hand, possibly the clearing out of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span> -fallen-in trench, which is mud literally to the -knees. They work in the mud, slosh, and -rain, for at least four hours. Four hours of -misery—during which any self-respecting -Italian labourer would lose his job rather than -work—and then they traipse back again to a -damp, musty billet, distant five or six kilometres. -To them, that little tot of rum is not -simply alcohol. It is a God-send. Promise it -to them before they set out, and those men -will work like Trojans. Deny it to them, and -more than half will parade sick in the morning.</p> - -<p>It is no use, if the rum ration is short, to -water it down. The men know it is watered, -and their remarks are “frequent and painful, -and free!” Woe betide the officer who, through -innocence or intentionally, looks too freely on -the rum when it is brown! His reputation is -gone for ever. If he became intoxicated on -beer, champagne, or whisky, he would only -be envied by the majority of his men, but -should he drink too much rum—that is an -unpardonable offence!</p> - -<p>As a rule, one of the hardest things in the -world to do is to awaken men once they have -gone to sleep at night. For no matter what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span> -purpose, it will take a company a good half-hour -to pull itself together and stand to. But -murmur softly to the orderly Sergeant that -there will be a rum issue in ten minutes, and -though it be 1 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> or the darkest hour before -dawn, when the roll is called hardly a man -will be absent! That little word of three -letters will rouse the most soporific from their -stupor!</p> - -<p>Few men take their rum in the same fashion -or with the same expression. The new draft -look at it coyly, carry the cup gingerly to -their lips, smell it, make a desperate resolution, -gulp it down, and cough for five minutes -afterwards. The old hands—the men of -rubicund countenance and noses of a doubtful -hue—grasp the cup, look to see if the issue -is a full one, raise it swiftly, and drain it -without a moment’s hesitation, smacking -their lips. You can see the man who was up -for being drunk the last pay-day coming -from afar for his rum. His eyes glisten, his -face shines with hopefulness, and his whole -manner is one of supreme expectation and -content.</p> - -<p>It is strange how frequently the company<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> -staff, from the Sergeant-Major down to the -most recently procured batman, find it -necessary to enter the inner sanctum of H.Q. -after the rum has come. The Sergeant-Major -arrives with a large, sweet smile, acting as -guard of honour. “Rum up, sir.” “Thank -you, Sergeant-Major.” “I’ve detailed that -working-party, sir.” “Thank you, Sergeant-Major.” -“Is that all, sir?” “Yes, thank -you, Sergeant-Major.” He vanishes, to reappear -a minute later. “Did you <span class="allsmcap">CALL</span> me, -sir?” “No” ... long pause ... “Oh! -Still there? Er, have a drink, Sergeant-Major?” -“Well, sir, I guess I <i>could</i> manage -a little drop! Thank you, sir. <i>Good</i>-night, -sir!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">BEDS</h2> -</div> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Think</span> of my leave coming in two weeks, -and of getting a decent bed to sleep in, with -sheets!”</p> - -<p>Sancho Panza blessed sleep, but perhaps -he always had a good bed to sleep in; we, -who can almost slumber on “apron” wire, -have a weakness for good beds.</p> - -<p>To appreciate fully what a good bed is, one -must live for a time without one, and go to -rest wrapped in a martial cloak—to wit a -British warm or a trench coat, plus the universal -sand-bag, than which nothing more -generally useful has been seen in this war. -Any man who has spent six months (in the -infantry) at the front knows all about beds. -Any man with a year’s service is a first-class, -a number one, connoisseur. The good bed is -so rare that whoever spends a night in one -talks about it for a week, and brings it up in -reminiscences over the charcoal brazier.</p> - -<p>“You remember when we were on the long -hike from the salient? And the little place<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> -we struck the third night—Cattelle-Villeul I -think it was called? By George, I had a good -bed. A peach! It had a spring mattress and -real linen sheets—not cotton—and two pillows -with frilly things on them, and a ripping -quilt, with a top-hole eider-down. I was -afraid to get into it until my batman produced -that new pair of green pyjamas with -the pink stripes. It simply hurt to give that -bed up!”</p> - -<p>And if you let him he will continue in like -vein for half an hour. Recollections of that -bed have entered into his soul; it is one of the -bright spots in a gloomy life.</p> - -<p>Needless to say, the farther you go back -from the line, the better the beds. They can -be roughly classified as follows: Battle beds. -Front line beds. Support beds. Reserve beds. -Divisional rest beds. Corps reserve beds, and -Army Reserve beds. Beyond this it is fifty-fifty -you will get a good bed, provided there -are not too many troops in the place you go to.</p> - -<p>Battle beds, as such, are reserved for -battalion commanders, seconds in command, -and adjutants. Sometimes Os.C. units have -a look-in, but the humble sub. has <i>not</i>, unless<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span> -he is one of those Johnnies who can always -make something out of nothing.</p> - -<p>When there is a “show” on nobody expects -to sleep more than two hours in twenty-four, -and he’s lucky if he gets that. The C.O. takes -his brief slumber on some bare boards raised -above the floor-level in a dug-out. The Os.C. -units use a stretcher, with a cape for a pillow, -and the others sleep any old where—on a -broken chair, in a corner on the ground, on -the steps of a dug-out, on the fire-step of a -parapet, or even leaning against the parapet. -One of the best snoozes we ever had was of -the last variety, while Fritz was plastering -the communication trenches with a barrage -a mouse could not creep through.</p> - -<p>There is one thing about battle beds; one -is far too weary to do anything but flop -limply down, and go instantly to sleep. The -nature of your couch is of secondary importance. -Possibly the prize goes to the man -who slept through an intense bombardment, -curled up between two dead Germans, whom -he thought were a couple of his pals, asleep, -when he tumbled in to rest.</p> - -<p>Front line beds vary according to sector.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span> -Usually they are simply a series of bunks, -tucked in one above the other as in a steamer-cabin, -and made of a stretch of green canvas -nailed to a pair of two by fours. Sometimes -an ingenious blighter introduces expanded -metal or chicken wire into the general make-up, -with the invariable result that it gets -broken by some 200-pounder, and remains a -menace to tender portions of the human -frame until some one gets “real wild” and -smashes up the whole concern.</p> - -<p>In support, the “downy couch” does not -improve very much. Sometimes it is worse, -and it is always inhabited by a fauna of the -largest and most voracious kind.</p> - -<p>There is a large element of chance as to -reserve beds. They are generally snares of -disillusionment, but once in a while the connoisseur -strikes oil. It will not have sheets—clean -sheets, at all events—but it may possess -the odd blanket, and the room may have been -cleaned a couple of weeks ago. If Madame -is clean the bed will be clean; if otherwise, -otherwise also.</p> - -<p>All the beds at the front are the same in -some respects. They are all wooden, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> -they nearly all have on them huge piles of -mattresses, four or five deep. It is wisest not -to investigate too thoroughly the inner consciousnesses -of the latter, or the awakening -may be rude. In the old days, long, long ago, -when the dove of Peace billed and cooed -over the roof of the world, no self-respecting -citizen would sleep in them, but now with -what joy do we sink with a sigh of relief into -the once abominated feather-bed of doubtful -antecedents, which has been slept in for two -years by one officer after another, and never, -never, never been aired.</p> - -<p>C’est la guerre!</p> - -<p>Divisional rest beds are at least two points -superior to the last. They are the kind of -beds run by a sixth-rate lodging-house in -Bloomsbury, taken on the whole. Usually -there is one bed short per unit, so some one -has to double up, with the result that the -stronger of the twain wraps <i>all</i> the bed-clothes -around him, and the other chap does not -sleep at all, or is ignominiously rolled out on -to the brick <i>pavé</i>.</p> - -<p>Every one in French villages must go to -bed with their stockings on.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>Judging by the permanent kinks in all the -beds, they must have been beds <i>solitaire</i> for -a life-time, before the soldiers came.</p> - -<p>Once we were asked to share a bed with -<i>bébé</i>, who was three. We refused. On another -occasion, when we were very tired indeed, we -were told that the only bed available was that -usually dwelt in by “Jeanne.” We inspected -it, and made a peaceful occupation. “Jeanne” -came home unexpectedly at midnight, and -slipped indoors quietly to her room. It was -a bad quarter of an hour, never to be forgotten! -Especially when we found out in the -morning that “Jeanne” was twenty years -old, and decidedly pretty. Our reputation in -that household was a minus quantity.</p> - -<p>In corps reserve one gets beds with coffee -in the morning at 7 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> “Votre café, M’sieu.” -“Oui, oui, mercy; leave it outside the door—la -porte—please!” “Voiçi, M’sieu! Vous -avez bien dormi?” And of course you can’t -say anything, even if Madame stands by the -pillow and tells you the whole story of how -Yvonne makes the coffee!</p> - -<p>They are fearless, these French women!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">MARCHING</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">We</span> have left the statue of the Virgin Mary -which pends horizontally over the Rue de -Bapaume far behind us and the great bivouacs, -and the shell-pitted soil of the Somme front. -Only at night can we see the flickering glare -to the southward, and the ceaseless drum of -the guns back yonder is like the drone of a -swarm of bees. Yesterday we reached the -last village we shall see in Picardy, and this -morning we shall march out of the Departement -de la Somme, whither we know not.</p> - -<p>It is one of those wonderful mid-October -days when the sun rises red above a light, -low mist, and land sparkling with hoar-frost; -when the sky is azure blue, the air clean and -cold, and the roads white and hard. A day -when the “fall-in” sounds from rolling plain -to wooded slope and back again, clear and -mellow, and when the hearts of men are glad.</p> - -<p>“Bat-ta-lion ... Shun!”</p> - -<p>It does one good to hear the unison of -sound as the heels come together, and a few<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> -moments later we have moved off, marching -to attention down the little main street of -Blondin-par-la-Gironde, with its 300 inhabitants, -old, old church, and half-dozen estaminets. -Madame, where we billeted last -night, and her strapping daughter Marthe, -are standing on the doorstep to see us go -by. “Bonjour, M’sieurs, Au revoir, Bonne -chance!”</p> - -<p>“Left, left, left—ri—left,” the pace is short, -sharp, and decisive, more like the Rifle Brigade -trot. Even the backsliders, the men who -march as a rule like old women trying to -catch a bus, have briskened up this morning. -Looking along the column from the rear one -can see that rhythmical ripple which betokens -the best marching, and instinctively the mind -flashes back to that early dawn three days -ago—no, four—when they came out of the -trenches, muddy, dead-beat, awesomely dirty, -just able to hobble along in fours.</p> - -<p>Ninety-six hours and what a change!</p> - -<p>“March at ease.”</p> - -<p>The tail of the column has passed the last -little low cottage in the village, and the -twenty-one kilometre “hike” has begun.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> -Corporal McTavish, mindful that he was -once a staff bugler, unslings his instrument, -and begins—after a few horrid practice notes—to -play “Bonnie Dundee,” strictly according -to his own recollection of that ancient -tune. The scouts and signallers are passing -remarks of an uncomplimentary nature anent -the Colonel’s second horse, which, when not -trying to prance on the Regimental Sergeant-Major’s -toes, shows an evil inclination to -charge backwards through the ranks. The -bombers are grousing, as usual; methodically, -generally, but without bitterness. “They -will not sing, they cannot play, but they can -surely fight.”</p> - -<p>“A” Company band consisting of the -aforesaid Corporal McTavish, three mouth-organs, -an accordion, a flute, and a piccolo, -plus sundry noises, is heartily engaged with -the air “I want to <i>go</i> back, I <span class="allsmcap">WANT</span> to <i>go -back</i> (<i>cres.</i>), I want to go back (<i>dim.</i>), To the -farm (<i>pizzicato</i>),” which changes after the -first kilometre to “Down in Arizona where -the Bad Men are.” They are known as the -“Birds,” and not only do they whistle, but -they also sing!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>“B” Company is wrapped in gloom; they -march with a grim determination, a “just-you-wait-till-I-catch-you” -expression which -bodes ill for somebody. Did not a rum-jar—a -full jar of rum—vanish from the rations -last night? Isn’t the Quartermaster—and the -C.S.M.’s batman too—endowed with a frantic -“hang-over” this morning? This world is an -unfair, rotten kind of a hole anyhow. The -Company wit, one Walters, starts to sing -“And when I die.” He is allowed to proceed -as far as “Just pickle my bones,” but “in -alcohol” is barely out of his mouth when -groans break in upon his ditty, coupled with -loud-voiced protests to “Have a heart.”</p> - -<p>For six months past “C” Company has -rejoiced in the generic title of “Scorpions.” -Their strong suit is limerics, the mildest of -which would bring a blush to the cheek of -an old-time camp-follower. Within the last -twenty-four hours their O.C. has been awarded -the Military Cross. His usually stern visage—somewhat -belied by a twinkling blue eye—is -covered with a seraphic smile. Cantering -along the column comes the Colonel. The -artists of the limeric subside. Pulling up, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> -C.O. about turns and holds out his hand. “I -want to congratulate you, Captain Bolton. -Well deserved. Well deserved. Honour to -the regiment ... yes, yes ... excellent, -excellent ... ahem ... thank you, thank -you...!” With one accord the old scorpions, -led by the Company Sergeant-Major, -break into the refrain “See him smi-ling, see -him smi-ling, see him smi-i-ling just now.” -And Bolton certainly does smile.</p> - -<p>By this time we have marched for an hour, -and the signal comes to halt, and fall out on -the right of the road. The men smoke, and -the officers gather together in little groups. -It is wonderful what ten minutes’ rest will do -when a man is carrying all his worldly goods -on his back.</p> - -<p>A few minutes after starting out again we -see ahead of us a little group of horses, and -a red hat or twain, and red tabs. The Divisional -Commander <i>and</i> the Brigadier. The -Battalion takes a deep breath, slopes arms, -pulls itself together generally, dresses by the -right, and looks proud and haughty. There -is a succession of “Eyes Rights” down the -column, as each unit passes the reviewing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span> -base, and then we all sigh again. <i>That’s</i> over -for to-day!</p> - -<p>On we march, through many quaint little -old-world villages, every one of which is filled -with troops, up hill and down dale, through -woods, golden and brown, tramping steadily -onward, a long green-brown column a thousand -strong. Cussing the new drafts who -fall out, cussing the old boots that are worn -out, cussing the war in general, and our packs -in detail, but none the less content. For who -can resist the call of the column, the thought -of the glorious rest when the march is done, -and the knowledge that whatever we may be -in years to come, just now we are <span class="allsmcap">IT</span>!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THE NATIVES</h2> -</div> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Bonn</span> joor, Madame!”</p> - -<p>“Bonjour, M’sieu!”</p> - -<p>“Avvy voo pang, Madame?”</p> - -<p>“Braëd? But yes, M’sieu. How much you -want? Two? Seize sous, M’sieu.”</p> - -<p>“<i>How</i> much does the woman say, Buster?”</p> - -<p>“Sixteen sous, cuckoo!”</p> - -<p>“Well, here’s five francs.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but, M’sieu! Me no monnaie! No -chanch! Attendez, je vous donnerai du -papier.”</p> - -<p>Madame searches in the innermost recesses -of an old drawer, and produces one French -penny, two sous, a two-franc bill of the Commune -of Lisseville, stuck together with bits -of sticking-paper, a very dirty one-franc bill -labelled St. Omer, and two 50-centimes notes -from somewhere the other side of Amiens.</p> - -<p>“Je regrette, M’sieu,” Madame waves her -hands in the air, “mais c’est tout ce que -j’ai.... All dat I ’ave, M’sieu!”</p> - -<p>The transaction, which has taken a full ten<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> -minutes, is at last completed. They are very -long-suffering, the natives, taken on the whole. -In the first place “C’est la guerre.” Secondly, -they, too, have soldier husbands, sons, and -brothers and cousins serving in the Grandes -Armées. Is it to be expected that they be -well treated unless <i>we</i> do <i>our</i> share? And—these -British soldiers, they have much money. -And they are generous for the most part.</p> - -<p>So Madame, whose husband is in Champagne, -gives up the best bedroom to Messieurs -les Officiers, and sleeps with her baby in the -attic. The batmen use her poële, and sit -around it in the evening drinking her coffee. -Le Commandant buys butter, milk, eggs—“mais, -mon dieu, one would think a hen laid -an egg every hour to hear him! Trois douzaine! -But, Monsieur, I have but six poules, and -they overwork themselves already! There is -not another egg above eleven dans tous le -pays, M’sieu. Champagne? But yes, certainement. -Bénédictine? Ah, non, M’sieu, it -is défendu, and we sold the last bottle to an -officier with skirts a week ago. Un treès bon -officier, M’sieu; he stay two days, and make -love to Juliette. Juliette fiancée? Tiens, she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> -has a million, M’sieu, to hear them talk, like -every pretty girl in France. So soon you enter -the doorway, M’sieu, and see Juliette, you -say ‘Moi fiancé, vous?’ You are très taquin—verree -bad boys—les Anglais!”</p> - -<p>Sometimes there is war, red war. Madame -enters, wringing her hands, her hair suggestive -of lamentation and despair. She wishes to see -M’sieu l’Officier who speaks a little French.</p> - -<p>“Ah, M’sieu, but it is terrible. I give to -the Ordonnances my fire, my cook-pots, and -a bed of good hay in the stable, next to the -cows, and what do they do? M’sieu, they steal -my gate that was put there by my grandfather—he -who won a decoration in soixante -et six—and they get a little axe and make -of it fire-wood! And in the early morning -they milk the cows. Ah, but, M’sieu, I will -go to the Maire and make a réclammation! -Fifteen francs for a new gate, and seventeen -sous for the milk that they have stolen! And -the cuillers! Before the war I buy a new set, -with Henri, of twenty-four cuillers. Where -are they? All but three are volées, M’sieu! -It is not juste. M’sieu le Capitaine who was -here a week ago last Dimanche—for I went<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> -to Mass—say it is a dam shame, M’sieu. I -do not like to make the trouble, M’sieu, but -I must live. La veuve Marnot over yonder, -two houses down the street on the left-hand -side, she could have a hundred gates burned -and say nothing. She is très riche. They say -the Mayor make déjà his advances. But me, -what shall I do, my gate a desecration in the -stoves, M’sieu, and the milk of my cows -drunk by the maudits ordonnances!”</p> - -<p>Note in the mess president’s accounts: “To -one gate (burned) and milk stolen, 7.50 francs.”</p> - -<p>All over France and Belgium little stores -have grown and flourished. They sell tinned -goods without limit, from cigarettes, through -lobster, to peaches.</p> - -<p>Both are practical countries.</p> - -<p>In nearly all these boutiques there is a -pretty girl. Both nations have learned the -commercial value of a pretty girl. It increases -the credit side of the business 75 per -cent. In the Estaminets it is the same, only -more so. Their turnover is a thing which -will be spoken of by their great-grandchildren -with bated breath.</p> - -<p>More cases than one are known where the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> -lonely soldier has made a proposal, in form, -to the fair débitante who nightly handed him -his beer over the bar of a little Estaminet. -Sometimes he has been accepted pour l’amour -de sa cassette—sometimes “pour l’amour de -ses beaux yeux!”</p> - -<p>In a little hamlet several days’ march behind -the firing-line, lived a widow. She was a grass-widow -before Verdun, and there she became -“veuve.” She was a tall, handsome woman, -twenty-seven or twenty-eight perhaps, and -her small feet and ankles, the proud carriage -of her head, and the delicate aquiline nose -bespoke her above the peasantry. She kept a -little café at the junction of three cross-roads. -The natives know her as Madame de Maupin.</p> - -<p>Why “de” you ask? Because her father -was a French count and her mother was a -femme de chambre. The affair made an -esclandre of some magnitude many years ago. -Madame de Maupin was fille naturelle. She -married, at the wishes of her old harridan of -a mother, a labourer of the village. She -despised her husband. He was uncouth and -a peasant. In her the cloven hoof showed -little. Despite no advantages of education<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> -she had the instincts of her aristocratic -father. The natives disliked her for that -reason.</p> - -<p>Madame de Maupin kept a café. Until the -soldiers came it did not pay, but she would -not keep an Estaminet. It was so hopelessly -“vulgaire.” After closing hours, between -eight and ten, Madame de Maupin held her -Court. Officers gathered in the little back -room, and she entertained them, while they -drank. She had wit, and she was very handsome. -One of her little court, a young -officer, fell in love with her. Her husband -was dead.</p> - -<p>Her lover had money, many acres, and -position. He proposed to her. She loved him -and—she refused him, “because,” she said -simply, “you would not be happy.”</p> - -<p>He was sent to the Somme.</p> - -<p>Madame de Maupin closed her Estaminet -and vanished.</p> - -<p>There is a story told, which no one believes, -of a woman, dressed in a private’s uniform -of the British army, who was found, killed, -among the ruins of Thiepval. She lay beside -a wounded officer, who died of his wounds<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> -soon after. He had been tended by some one, -for his wounds were dressed. In his tunic -pocket was a woman’s photograph, but a -piece of shrapnel had disfigured it beyond -recognition.</p> - -<p>But, as I said, no one believes the story.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">“OTHER INHABITANTS”</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is a little story told of two young -subalterns, neither of whom could speak the -lingua Franca, who went one day to the -Estaminet des Bons Copins, not five thousand -miles from Ploegstraete woods, to buy some -of the necessities of life, for the Estaminet -was a little store as well as a road-house. -Both of the said subalterns had but recently -arrived in Flanders, from a very spick and -span training area, and neither was yet -accustomed to the ways of war, nor to the -minor discomforts caused by inhabitants other -than those of the country, albeit native to -it from the egg, as it were.</p> - -<p>They entered the Bons Copins, and having -bought cigarettes and a few odds and ends, -one of them suddenly remembered that he -wanted a new pair of braces, to guarantee the -safety of his attire. But the French word for -braces was a knock-out. Neither himself nor -his friend could think of it, and an Anglo-French<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span> -turning of the English version met -with dismal failure.</p> - -<p>At last a bright idea smote him. He smiled -benignly, and vigorously rubbed the thumbs -of both hands up and down over his shoulders -and chest. Madame beamed with the light of -immediate understanding. “Oui, Monsieur, -mais oui ... <i>oui</i>!” She disappeared into -the back of the store, to return a moment -later, bearing in her hand a large green box, -labelled distinctly: “Keating’s Powder!”</p> - -<p>There are few things that will have the -least effect on a vigorous young section of -“other inhabitants.”</p> - -<p>Those good, kind people who send out -little camphor balls, tied up in scarlet flannel -bags, and tins of Keating’s without number, -little know what vast formations in mass these -usually deadly articles must deal with. We -have suspended camphor balls—little red sacks, -tapes, and all—in countless numbers about -our person. We have gone to bed well content, -convinced of the complete route of our -Lilliputian enemies. And on the morrow we -have found them snugly ensconced—grandmamma, -grandpapa, and their great-great-grandchildren—right<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> -plumb in the centre of -our batteries. Making homes there; waggling -their little legs, and taking a two-inch sprint -now and then round the all-red route. What -is camphor to them? This hardy stock has -been known to live an hour in a tin of Keating’s -powder, defiant to the last! What boots -it that a man waste time and substance on a -Sabbath morn sprinkling his garments over -with powders and paraffins. He is sure to -miss a couple, and one of them is certain to -be the blushing bride of the other.</p> - -<p>From deep below the calf comes the plaintive -wail, spreading far and wide, to the very -nape of the neck: “Husband, where are -you? I am lost and alone, and even off my -feed!” With no more ado hubby treks madly -down the right arm and back again, hits a -straight trail, and finds the lost one.</p> - -<p>And the evening and the morning see the -grandchildren.</p> - -<p>Grandpa leads them bravely to the first -collision mat, an area infected with coal-oil. -“Charge, my offspring!” he cries, waggling -his old legs as hard as he can, “prove yourselves -worthy scions of our race!” And the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span> -little blighters rush madly over the line—with -their smoke-helmets on, metaphorically -speaking—and at once set about establishing -a new base.</p> - -<p>Henry goes to Mabel, and says: “Mabel, -darling! I have found a sweet little home for -two—or (blushing!) perhaps <i>three</i>—in the -crook of the left knee. Will you be my bride?” -And Mabel suffers herself to be led away, and -duly wed, at once. So they dance a Tarantelle -under the fifth rib, and then proceed to the -serious business of bringing up little Henrys -and Mabels in the way they should go!</p> - -<p>There is only one way to deal with them, -cruel and ruthless though it be. Lay on the -dogs! Remove each garment silently, swiftly, -relentlessly. Pore over it until you see Henry -hooking it like Billy-oh down the left leg of -your—er, pyjamas. Catch him on the wing, -so to speak, and squash him! Then look for -Mabel and the children, somewhere down the -other leg, and do ditto! Set aside two hours -<i>per diem</i> for this unsportsmanlike hunt, and -you may be able to bet evens with the next -chappy inside a couple of months! Even then -the odds are against you, unless you hedge<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> -with the junior subaltern, who gets the worst—and -therefore most likely to be tenanted—bed!</p> - -<p>If you see a man, en déshabille, sitting out -in the sun, with an earnest, intent look on his -face, and a garment in his hands, you can -safely bet one of two things. He is either -(1) mad, (2) hunting.</p> - -<p>It adds variety to life to watch him from -afar, and then have a sweepstake on the -total with your friends. You need not fear -the victim’s honesty. He will count each -murdered captive as carefully as though he -were (or she were!) a batch of prisoner Fritzes. -There is a great element of luck about the -game, too; you never can tell. Some men -develop into experts. Lightning destroyers, -one might say. A brand-new subaltern joined -the sweepstake one day, and he bet 117. -The chap had only been at it half an hour -by the clock, too!</p> - -<p>The new sub. won.</p> - -<p>You can always tell a new sub. You go up -to him and you say politely: “Are you—er -... yet?” If he looks insulted he is new. -If he says, “Yes, old top, millions of ’em!” -and wriggles, he is old!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>There was a man once who had a champion. -He said he got it in a German dug-out; anyhow, -it was a pure-blooded, number one -mammoth, and it won every contest on the -measured yard, against all comers. He kept -it in a glass jar, and fed it on beef. It died -at the age of two months and four days, -probably from senility brought on by over-eating -and too many Derbies. Thank heaven -the breed was not perpetuated, albeit the -Johnny who owned it could have made a lot -of money if he had not been foolishly careful -of the thing.</p> - -<p>He buried it in a tin of Keating’s—mummified, -as it were—and enclosed an epitaph: -“Here lie the last ligaments of the largest -louse the Lord ever let loose!”</p> - -<p>Some people think Fritz started the things, -as a minor example of frightfulness. One of -them caused a casualty in the regiment, at -all events. A new sub., a very squeamish -chappie, found <i>one</i>—just one!—and nearly -died of shame. He heard petrol was a good -thing, so he anointed himself all over with it, -freely. Then his elbow irritated him, and he -lighted a match to see if it was another!</p> - -<p>He is still in hospital!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">BOMBS</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">We</span> counted them as they came up the communication -trench, and the Commander of -“AK” Company paled; yet he was a brave -man. He cast a despairing glance around him, -and then looked at me.</p> - -<p>“George,” he said (you may not believe -it, but there can be a world of pathos put -into that simple name). “<i>George</i>, we are -Goners.”</p> - -<p>By this time they had reached the front -line.</p> - -<p>My thoughts flew to the Vermoral sprayer, -last time it had been the Vermoral sprayer. -Was the V.S. filled, or was it not...?</p> - -<p>They came from scent to view, and pulling -himself together with a click of the heels -closely imitated by the S.I.C., the O.C. -“AK” Coy. saluted.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, sir!”</p> - -<p>The General acknowledged the salute, but -the ends of his moustache quivered. G.S.O.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> -one, directly in rear, frowned. The Colonel -looked apprehensive, and glared at both of -us. The Brigadier was glum, the Brigade -Major very red in the face. Two of those -beastly supercilious Aides looked at each -other, smiled, glanced affectionately at their -red tabs and smiled again.</p> - -<p>It was exactly 2.29 “pip emma” when -the mine went up.</p> - -<p>“Discipline, sir,” said the General, “discipline -is lacking in your company! You have -a sentry on duty at the head of Chelwyn Road. -A sentry! What does he do when he sees -me? Not a damn thing, sir! Not a damn -thing!”</p> - -<p>Of course the O.C. “AK” made a bad -break; one always does under such circumstances.</p> - -<p>“He may not have seen you, sir.”</p> - -<p>G.S.O. one moved forward in support, so -that if overcome the General could fall back -on his centre.</p> - -<p>A whizz-bang burst in 94—we were in 98—and -the Staff ducked, taking the time from -the front. The Aides carried out the movement<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> -particularly smartly, resuming the upright -position in strict rotation.</p> - -<p>The General fixed us with a twin Flammenwerfer -gaze.</p> - -<p>“What’s that? Not <i>see</i> me? What the -devil is he there for, sir? I shall remember -this, Captain—ah, Roberts—I shall remember -this!”</p> - -<p>Pause.</p> - -<p>“Where is your Vermoral sprayer?”</p> - -<p>Like lambkins followed by voracious lions, -we lead them to the Vermoral sprayer.</p> - -<p>I was at the retaking of Hill 60, at Ypres -long months ago, at Festubert and Givenchy, -but never was I so inspired with dread as -now.</p> - -<p>Praise be to Zeus, the V.S. was full!</p> - -<p>We passed on, until we reached a bomber -cleaning bombs. The General paused. The -bomber, stood to attention, firmly grasping a -bomb in the right hand, knuckles down, forearm -straight.</p> - -<p>“Ha!” said the General. “Ha! Bombs, -what?”</p> - -<p>The bomber remained apparently petrified.</p> - -<p>“What I always say about these bombs,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span> -the General continued, turning to the -Brigadier, “is that they’re so damn simple, -what? A child can use them. You can throw -them about, and, provided the pin is in, no -harm will come of it. But”—looking sternly -at me—“<i>always</i> make sure the pin is safely -imbedded in the base of the bomb. That is -the first duty of a man handling bombs.”</p> - -<p>We all murmured assent, faintly or otherwise, -according to rank.</p> - -<p>“Give me that bomb,” said the General to -the bomber, waxing enthusiastic. The man -hesitated. The General glared, the bomb -became his.</p> - -<p>We stood motionless around him. “You -see, gentlemen,” the General continued jocularly. -“I take this bomb, and I throw it on -the ground—so! It does not explode, it -cannot explode, the fuse is not lit, for the -pin——”</p> - -<p>Just then the bomber leapt like a fleeting -deer round the corner, but the General was -too engrossed to notice him.</p> - -<p>“As I say, the pin——”</p> - -<p>A frightened face appeared round the bay, -and a small shaky voice broke in:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>“Please, sir, it’s a five-second fuse—an’ <i>I -’ad took HOUT the pin</i>!”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>After all the General reached the traverse -in time and we were not shot at dawn. But -G.S.O. one has gone to England “Wounded -and shell-shock.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">SOFT JOBS</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">This</span> war has produced a new type of military -man—so-called—to wit: the seeker after soft -jobs. He flourishes in large numbers in training -areas; he grows luxuriantly around head-quarters -staffs, and a certain kind of hybrid—a -combination of a slacker and a soldier—is -to be found a few miles to the rear of the -firing-line in France and Flanders. There are -some of him in every rank, from the top of -the tree to the bottom. If he is a natural-born -soft-jobber he never leaves his training area—not -even on a Cook’s tour. Should the -virus be latent, he will develop an attack, -acute or mild, after one tour in the trenches, -or when one of our own batteries has fired a -salvo close by him.</p> - -<p>If he is affected by very mild germs he may -stand a month or two in the firing-line in -some sector where fighting troops are sent -for a rest and re-organisation. Broadly speaking, -therefore, he belongs to one of three<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> -classes, of which the second class is perhaps -the worst.</p> - -<p>There are some men who join the army -without the least intention of ever keeping -less than the breadth of the English Channel -between themselves and fighting territory. -Not for them the “glorious” battle-fields, not -for them the sweat and toil and purgatory of -fighting for their country. Nothing at all for -them in fact, save a ribbon and a barless medal, -good quarters, perfect safety, staff pay, weekend -leave, with a few extra days thrown in as -a reward for their valuable services, and—a -soft job!</p> - -<p>They are the militaresques of our armies. -The men who try hard to be soldiers, and who -only succeed in being soldier-like beings erect -upon two legs, with all the outward semblance -of a soldier. Yet even <i>their</i> lives are not safe. -They run grave risks by day and by night in -the service of their country.</p> - -<p>Zeppelins!</p> - -<p>There is an air of bustle and excitement -around the officers’ quarters in the training -camp to-day. Batmen—hoary-haired veterans -with six ribbons, whom no M.O. could be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span> -induced to pass for active service, even by -tears—rush madly hither and thither, parleying -in odd moments of Ladysmith, Kabul to -Kandahar, and “swoddies.” Head-quarters -look grave, tense, strained.</p> - -<p>In the ante-room to the mess stand soda -syphons and much “B. & W.” There are -gathered there most of the officers of two -regiments—base battalions, with permanent -training staffs. In the five seats of honour -recline nonchalantly two majors, one captain, -and two subalterns. (O.C. Lewis gun school, -O.C. nothing in particular, Assistant O.C. -Lewis gun school, Assistant Assistant Lewis -gun school, Deputy Assistant Adjutant.) -They are smoking large, fat cigars, and consuming -many drinks. Are they not the heroes -of the hour? When the sun rises well into the -heavens to-morrow they will set forth on a -desperate journey.</p> - -<p>They are going on a Cook’s tour of two -weeks’ duration to the trenches! (So that they -can have the medal!) In the morning, with -bad headaches, they depart. In Boulogne -they spend twelve hours of riotous life. (“Let -us eat and drink,” says the O.C. nothing in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span> -particular, “for to-morrow, dont-cher-know!”) -They arrive in due course at Battalion battle -H.Q. The majors have the best time, as they -stay with the C.O., drink his Scotch, and do -the bombing officer and the M.G.O. out of a -bed.</p> - -<p>The rest of them are right up among the -companies, where they are an infernal -nuisance. About 11 “pip emma” Fritz -starts fire-works, and finishes up with a -bombing attack on the left flank. The O.C. -nothing in particular stops at B.H.Q. The -O.C. Lewis gun school mistakes the first -general head-quarters line (one kilometre in -rear) for the front line, and goes back with -shell-shock, having been in the centre of a -barrage caused by one 5.9 two hundred yards -north. The Assistant Assistant gets into the -main bomb store in the front line, and stops -there, and the Assistant O.C. Lewis gun -school remains in Coy. H.Q. and looks after -the batmen. The Deputy Assistant Adjutant -gets out into the trench, finds some bombers -doing nothing, gets hold of a couple of bombs, -makes for the worst noise, and carries on as a -soldier should.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>After the show the O.C. nothing in particular -tells the Colonel all <i>his</i> theories on counter-attack, -and goes sick in the morning for the -remaining period of his tour; the other twain -stand easy, and the Deputy Assistant Adjutant -makes an application for transfer to the -Battalion. Incidentally he is recommended -for the military cross.</p> - -<p>When the four previously mentioned return -to England they all of them apply for better -soft jobs, on the strength of recent experiences -at the front. The one man who threw up his -soft job to become junior subaltern in a fighting -regiment is killed in the next “show” -before his recommendation for a decoration -has been finally approved.</p> - -<p><i>Fiat justitia, ruat cœlum.</i></p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">“GROUSE”</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">We</span> aren’t happy; our clothes don’t fit, and -we ain’t got no friends! Rations are not up -yet—confound the Transport Officer—it’s -raining like the dickens, as dark as pitch, and -we’ve only got one bit of candle. Some one -has pinched a jar of rum, that idiot batman -of mine can’t find a brazier, and young John -has lost his raincoat. In fact it’s a rotten war.</p> - -<p>We had lobster for lunch; it has never let -us forget we had it! The Johnny we “took -over” from <i>said</i> there were 7698 million -bombs in the Battalion grenade store, and -there are only 6051. The Adjutant has just -sent a “please explain,” which shows what -you get for believing a fellow.</p> - -<p>The little round fat chap has left his gumboots -(thigh) “Somewhere in France,” and -fell into the trench tramway trying to wear -an odd six on the right foot, and an odd nine -on the left. George has busted the D string -of the mandoline, and A. P. has lost the only -pack of cards we had to play poker with.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>It’s a simply <i>rotten</i> war!</p> - -<p>John has a working-party out of sixty -“other ranks” and says they are spread in -two’s and three’s over a divisional frontage. -He has made two trips to locate them, and -meditates a third. His language is positively -hair-raising. If he falls into any more shell-holes -no one will let him in the dug-out.</p> - -<p>Those confounded brigade machine gunners -are firing every other second just in front of -the dug-out. Heaven knows what they are -firing at, or where, but how a man could be -expected to sleep through the noise only a -siege artillery man could tell you.</p> - -<p>George went out on a “reconnaissance” -recently. George is great on doing reconnaissances -and drawing maps. This time the -reconnaissance did <i>him</i>, and the only map -he’s yet produced is mud tracings on his -person. Incidentally he says that <i>all</i> the communication -trenches are impassable, and that -no one but a cat could go over the top and -keep on his feet for more than thirty seconds. -(N.B.—George fell into the main support line -and had to be pulled out by some of John’s -working-party.) George says that if the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span> -Germans come over it’s all up. Cheerful sort -of beggar, George.</p> - -<p>My new smoke-helmet—the one you wear -round your neck all the time, even in your -dreams—is lost again. This is the third time -in the course of six hours. The gas N.C.O. -has calculated that with the wind at its -present velocity we should be gassed in one -and three-quarter seconds, not counting the -recurring decimal.</p> - -<p>John has just told a story about a bayonet. -It would be funny at any other time. Now, it -simply sticks!</p> - -<p>The cook has just come in to say our rations -have been left behind by mistake. Troubles -never come singly. May heaven protect the -man who is responsible if we get him! John -has told another story, about an Engineer. -It can’t be true, for he says this chap was out -in No Man’s Land digging a trench. No one -ever knew a Canadian Engineer do anything -but tell the infantry how to work. It’s a -rotten story, anyhow.</p> - -<p>Just look at this dug-out; a bottle of rum -on the table—empty. The odd steel helmet, -some dirty old newspapers, and a cup or two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> -(empty!), and a pile of strafes from the -Adjutant six inches thick. My bed has a -hole in it as big as a “Johnson ’ole,” and -there are rats. Also the place is inhabited by -what the men call “crumbs.” Poetic version -of a painful fact.</p> - -<p>John says this is the d—est outfit he has -ever been in. John is right. My gumboots -were worn by the Lance-Corporal in No. 2 -platoon, and they are wet, beastly wet. Also -my batman has forgotten to put any extra -socks in my kit-bag. Also he’s lost my German -rifle—the third I’ve bought for twenty -francs and lost.</p> - -<p>This is a <i>deuce</i> of a war!</p> - -<p>The mail has just arrived. George got five, -the little round fat fellow <i>nine</i>, A. P. two, and -John and me shake hands with a duck’s-egg. -Still the second mentioned has his troubles. -One of his many inamoratas has written to -him in French. He knows French just about -as well as he knows how to sing! Nuff -said!</p> - -<p>John has “parti’d” to his triple-starred -working-party. The men have not got any -letters either. You should hear them! The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> -most expert “curser” of the Billingsgate -fishmarket would turn heliotrope with envy. -George is feeling badly too. He lent his -flash-light to dish out rations with. That is -to say, to illuminate what the best writers -of nondescript fiction call the “Cimmerian -gloom!”</p> - -<p>A. P. has had letters from his wife. Lucky -dog! She takes up four pages telling him how -she adores him.</p> - -<p>This is a <i>beastly</i> rotten war.</p> - -<p>Fritz is a rotter too. My dug-out is two -hundred yards north by nor’-east. Every -time I have to make the trip he never fails -to keep the Cimmerian gloom strictly “Cim.” -And the bath-mats are broken in two places, -and I’ve found both of them every time.</p> - -<p>Another strafe from the Adjutant. May -jackals defile his grave, but he’ll never have -one in France, anyhow. “Please render an -account to Orderly Room of the number of -men in your unit who are qualified plumbers.”</p> - -<p>We haven’t any.</p> - -<p>If we had we should have mended the hole -in the roof, which leaks on John’s bed. It has -only just begun to leak. It will be fun to hear<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> -what John says when he comes back. Only -he may be speechless.</p> - -<p>The little round fat fellow is still reading -letters, and A. P. is hunting in his nether -garments. “Kinder scratterin’ aroun’!” So -far the bag numbers five killed and two badly -winged, but still on the run.</p> - -<p>Somebody has turned out the guard. Yells -of fire. After due inspection proves to be the -C.O.’s tunic. It was a new one! May his -batman preserve himself in one piece.</p> - -<p>More yells of “Guard turn out!” Support -my tottering footsteps! Our—that is to say -<i>my</i> dug-out is on fire.... Confusion.... -Calm.... I have no dug-out, no anything.... -This is, pardonnez-moi, a Hell of a war!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">PANSIES</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> are some pansies on my table, arranged -in a broken glass one of the men has picked -up among the rubble and débris of this -shattered town. Dark mauve and yellow -pansies, pretty, innocent looking little things. -“Pansies—that’s for thoughts.”</p> - -<p>Transport is rattling up and down the -street—guns, limbers, G.S. wagons, water-carts, -God knows what, and there are men -marching along, mud-caked, weary, straggling, -clinging fast to some German souvenir as -they come one way; jaunty, swinging, clean, -with bands a-blowing as they go the other. -It is a dull grey day. There is “something -doing” up the line. I can hear the artillery, -that ceaseless artillery, pounding and hammering, -and watch the scout aeroplanes, dim grey -hawks in the distance, from the windows of -the room above—the broken-down room with -the plasterless ceiling, and the clothes scattered -all over the floor.</p> - -<p>“Pansies—that’s for thoughts.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>The regiment is up yonder—the finest regiment -God ever made. They are wallowing -in the wet, sticky mud of the trenches they -have dug themselves into, what is left of -them. They are watching and waiting, always -watching and waiting for the enemy to attack.</p> - -<p>And they are being bombarded steadily, -pitilessly, without cessation. Some will be -leaning against the parapet, sleeping the sleep -of exhaustion, some will be watching, some -smoking, if they have got any smokes left. -I know them. Until the spirit leaves their -bodies they will grin and fight, fight and grin, -but always “Carry On.”</p> - -<p>Last night they went up to relieve the —th, -after they had just come out of the line, and -were themselves due to be relieved. Overdue, -in fact, but the General knew that he could -rely on them, knew that <span class="allsmcap">THEY</span> would never -give way, while there was a man left to fire a -rifle. So he used them—as they have always -been used, and as they always will be—to -hold the line in adversity, to take the line -when no one else could take it.</p> - -<p>We have been almost wiped out five times, -but the old spirit still lives, the Spirit of our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span> -mighty dead. There are always enough “old -men” left, even though they number but a -score, with whom to leaven the lump of raw, -green rookies that come to us, and to turn -them into soldiers worthy of the Regiment.</p> - -<p>Dark mauve pansies.</p> - -<p>I knew all the old soldiers of the Brigade, -I have fought with them, shaken hands with -them afterwards—those who survived—mourned -with them our pals who were gone—buried -many a one of them.</p> - -<p>This time I am out of it. Alone with the -pansies ... and my thoughts. Thomson -was killed last night; Greaves, Nicholson, -Townley, between then and now. Nearly all -the rest are wounded. Those who come back -will talk of this fight, they will speak of hours -and events of which I shall know nothing. -For the first time I shall be on the outer -fringe, mute ... with only ears to hear, and -no heart to speak.</p> - -<p>Perhaps they will come out to-morrow -night. Or, early, very early the following -morning. They will be tired—so tired they -are past feeling it—unshaven, unwashed, and -covered with mud from their steel helmets<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span> -down to the soles of their boots. But they -will be fairly cheerful. They will try to sing -on the long, long march back here, as I have -heard them so many times before. When -they reach the edge of the town they will try -to square their weary shoulders, and to keep -step—and they will do it, too, heaven only -knows <i>how</i>, but they will do it. Their leader -will feel very proud of them, which is only -right and proper. He will call them “boys,” -encourage the weak, inwardly admire and -bless the strong. And he will be proud of the -mud and dirt, proud of his six days’ growth -of beard. Satisfied; because he has just done -one more little bit, and the Good Lord has -pulled him through it.</p> - -<p>When they get to their billets they will -cheer; discordantly, but cheer none the less. -They will crowd into the place, and drop -their kits and themselves on top of them, to -sleep the sleep of the just—the well-earned -sleep of utter fatigue.</p> - -<p>In the morning they will feel better, and -they will glance at you with an almost affectionate -look in their eyes, for they know—as -the men always know—whether you have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> -proved yourself, whether you have made -good—or failed.</p> - -<p>“Pansies ... that’s for thoughts....”</p> - -<p>And I am out of it—out of it <i>ALL</i> ... -preparing “To re-organise what is left of the -regiment.”</p> - -<p>For God’s sake, Holman, take away those -flowers!</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">GOING BACK</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">A large</span> crowd packed the wide platform, -hemmed in on one side by a barrier, on the -other by a line of soldiers two paces apart. -The boat-train was leaving in five minutes. -That a feeling of tension permeated the crowd -was evident, from the forced smiles and -laughter, and the painful endeavours of the -departing ones to look preternaturally cheerful. -In each little group there were sudden -silences.</p> - -<p>Almost at the last moment a tall, lean -officer pressed through the crowd, made for -a smoking-carriage, and got in. He surveyed -the scene with a rather compassionate interest, -while occasionally a wistful look passed -over his face as he watched for a moment an -officer talking with a very pretty girl, almost -a child, who now and then mopped her eyes -defiantly with a diminutive handkerchief.</p> - -<p>“All aboard.”</p> - -<p>The pretty girl lifted up her face, and the -lonely one averted his eyes, pulled a newspaper<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span> -hastily from his overcoat pocket, and -proceeded to read it upside down!</p> - -<p>As the train pulled out of the station a -cheer went up and handkerchiefs fluttered. -The sole other occupant of the carriage, a -young—very young—subaltern who had just -said good-bye to his mother, muttered to -himself and blinked hard out of the window. -The Lonely One shrugged himself more deeply -into his seat, and abstractedly reversed the -newspaper. A paragraph caught his eye: -“Artillery activity developed yesterday in -the sector south of Leuville St. Vaast. An -enemy attempt to raid our trenches at this -point was foiled.” He smiled a trifle, and -putting down the paper fell to thinking. Unable -to contain himself any longer, the boy -in the corner spoke.</p> - -<p>“Rotten job, this going back show,” he -said. The other assented gravely, and they -fell to talking, spasmodically, of the Front. -Pure, undiluted shop, but very comforting.</p> - -<p>Finally the train arrived at the port of -embarkation. A crowd of officers of all ranks -surged along the platform, glanced at the -telegram board, and passed on towards the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span> -boat. The Lonely One stopped, however, for -his name in white chalk stared at him. He -got the telegram eventually and opened it. -It contained only two words and no signature: -“Good luck.” Flushing a trifle he walked -down to the waiting mail-boat, and getting -his disembarkation card passed up the gangway.</p> - -<p>An air of impenetrable gloom hung over -the dirty decks. Here and there a few men -chatted together, but for the most part the -passengers kept to themselves. The lonely -man found the young lieutenant waiting for -him, and together they mounted to the upper -deck, and secured two chairs aft, hanging -their life-belts on to them.</p> - -<p>A little later the boat cast off, and they -watched the land fade from sight as many -others were watching with them. “Ave -atque Vale.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder ...” said the youngster, and -then bit his lips.</p> - -<p>“Come below and have some grub,” the -other said cheerily. They ate, paid for it -through the nose, and felt better. Half an -hour later they were in Boulogne.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>As they waited outside the M.L.O.’s office -for their turn, the younger asked:</p> - -<p>“I say, what Army are you?”</p> - -<p>“First.”</p> - -<p>“So’m I,” joyfully, “p’raps we’ll go up -together.”</p> - -<p>“I hope so, but we shall have to stop here -the night, I expect.”</p> - -<p>Even as he said so a notice was hung outside -the little wooden office: “Officers of -the First Army returning from leave will -report to the R.T.O., Gare Centrale, at -10.00 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> to-morrow, Saturday, 17th instant.”</p> - -<p>“That settles it,” said the elder man, -“come along, and we’ll go to the Officers’ -Club and bag a couple of beds.”</p> - -<p>“Nineteen hours,” wailed the other, “in -this beastly place! What on earth shall we -find to do?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry about that—there is usually -some one to whom one can write.” It was -both a hint and a question.</p> - -<p>“Yes—ra—<i>ther</i>!”</p> - -<p>They had tea, and afterwards the boy -wrote a long letter, in which he said a great -deal more to the mother who received it than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> -was actually written on the paper. The -Lonely One sat for some time in front of the -fire, and finally scribbled a card. It was -addressed to some place in the wilds of Scotland, -and it bore the one word “Thanks.”</p> - -<p>After dinner they sat and smoked awhile. -The Lonely One knew much of the life-history -of the other by now. It had burst -from the boy, and the Lonely One had -listened sympathetically and with little comment, -and had liked to hear it. It is good to -hear a boy talk about his mother.</p> - -<p>“What shall we do now?”</p> - -<p>“We might go to the cinema show; it -used to be fairly good.”</p> - -<p>“Right-oh! I say”—a little diffidently—“last -time I was on leave, the first time too, -I came back with some fellows who were -pretty—well—pretty hot stuff. They wanted -me to go to a—to a place up in the town, and -I didn’t go. I think they thought I was an -awful blighter, don’t-you-know, but——”</p> - -<p>“What that kind of chap thinks doesn’t -matter in the least, old man,” interposed the -other. “You were at Cambridge, weren’t -you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you may have heard the old tag? -Besides, I don’t think—some one—somebody -...” he hesitated and stopped. The -youngster flushed.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know,” he said softly.</p> - -<p>They boarded the train together, and -shared the discomforts of the long tedious -journey. Every hour, or less, the train -stopped, for many minutes, and then with a -creak and a groan wandered on again like an -ancient snail. Rain beat on the window-panes, -and the compartment was as drafty -as a sieve.</p> - -<p>It was not until the small hours that they -reached their destination, a cold, bleak, -storm-swept platform.</p> - -<p>“This is where we say good-bye,” the -youngster began regretfully, “thanks awf’ly -for——”</p> - -<p>“Rot,” broke in the other brusquely, taking -the proffered hand in his big brown one. -“Best of luck, old man, and don’t forget to -drop me a card.”</p> - -<p>“A nice boy, a <i>very</i> nice boy,” he mused, -as he climbed into the military bus, and was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> -rattled off, back to the mud and slush and -dreariness of it all.</p> - -<p>“Have a good time?” asked the Transport -Officer the next morning, as the Lonely -One struggled into his fighting kit, preparatory -to rejoining the battalion in the trenches.</p> - -<p>“Yes, thanks. By the way, any mail for -me?”</p> - -<p>“One letter. Here you are.”</p> - -<p>He took it, looked an instant at the handwriting, -and thrust it inside his tunic. The -postmark was the same as that of the wire -he had received at the port of embarkation.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">THREE RED ROSES</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the distance rose the spires of Ypres, and -the water-tower, useless now for the purpose -for which it was built, but still erect on its -foundations. The silvery mist of early April -hung very lightly over the flat surrounding -land, hiding one corner of Vlamertinghe from -sight, where the spire of the church still -raised its head, as yet unvanquished. A red -sun was rising in the East, and beyond Ypres -a battle still raged, though nothing to the -battle of a few short days before. Hidden -batteries spoke now and then, and the roads -were a cloud of dust, as men, transport, guns, -and many ambulances passed along them. -Overhead aeroplanes droned, and now and -again shells whistled almost lazily overhead, -to fall with a thunderous “crrumph” in -Brielen and Vlamertinghe.</p> - -<p>By the canal there was a dressing-station. -The little white flag with its red cross hung -listless in the still air. Motor ambulances -drove up at speed and departed with their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> -burdens. Inside the dressing-station men -worked ceaselessly, as they had been working -for days. Sometimes shells fell near by. -No one heeded them.</p> - -<p>Beyond the dressing-station, down the road, -the banks of which were filled with little -niches hollowed out with entrenching tools, -hurried a figure. He was but one of many, -but there was that about him which commanded -the attention of all who saw him. -His spurs and boots were dirty, his uniform -covered with stains and dust, his face unshaven. -He walked like a man in a dream, -yet as of set purpose. Pale and haggard, he -strode along, mechanically acknowledging -salutes.</p> - -<p>Arrived at the dressing-station, without -pausing he entered, and went up to one of -the doctors who was bandaging the remnants -of an arm.</p> - -<p>“Have they come yet?” he asked.</p> - -<p>The other looked at him gravely with a -certain respect and pity, and with the eye -also of a medical man.</p> - -<p>“Not yet, Colonel,” he answered. “You -had better sit down and rest, you are all in.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>The Colonel passed a weary hand over his -forehead.</p> - -<p>“No,” he said. “No, Campbell; I shall -go back and look for the party. They may -have lost their way, and—they were three -of my best officers, three of my boys.... -I—I——”</p> - -<p>“Here, sir! Take this.”</p> - -<p>It was more of a command than a request. -The Colonel drained what was given him, and -went out without a word.</p> - -<p>Back he trudged, along the shell-pitted -road, even now swept by occasional salvos -of shrapnel. He took no notice of anything, -but continued feverishly on his way, his eyes -ever searching the distance. At last he gave -vent to an exclamation. Down the road was -coming a stretcher party. They had but one -stretcher, and on it lay three blanketed -bundles.</p> - -<p>The Colonel met them, and with bowed -head accompanied them back to the dressing-station.</p> - -<p>“You found them—all?” It was his only -question.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, all that was left.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>The stretcher was taken to a little empty -dug-out, and with his own hands the C.O. -laid the Union Jack over it.</p> - -<p>“When will the—the graves be ready?” -he asked the doctor.</p> - -<p>“By five o’clock, sir.”</p> - -<p>“I will be back at 4.30.”</p> - -<p>“You must take some rest, Colonel, or -you’ll break down.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Campbell, I can look after -myself!”</p> - -<p>“Very good, sir.”</p> - -<p>As he went away Captain Campbell looked -after him rather anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Never would have thought <i>he could</i> be -so upset,” he mused. “He’ll be in hospital, -if——”</p> - -<p>Straight back to Brielen the Colonel walked, -and there he met his orderly with the horses. -He mounted without a word, and rode on, -through Vlamertinghe, until he reached Popheringe. -There he dismounted.</p> - -<p>“I shall be some time,” he said to the -orderly.</p> - -<p>He went through the square, up the noisy -street leading to the Vehrenstraat, and along<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> -it, until he reached a little shop, in which -were still a few flowers. He entered, and a -frightened-looking woman came to serve him.</p> - -<p>“I want three red roses,” he said.</p> - -<p>It took the saleswoman several minutes to -understand, but finally she showed him what -she had. The roses were not in their first -bloom, but they were large and red. The -Colonel had them done up, and left carrying -them carefully. The rest of his time he spent -in repairing as well as might be the ravages -of battle on his clothes and person. At 4.20 -he was again at the dressing-station.</p> - -<p>A quiet-voiced padre awaited him there, a -tall, ascetic-looking man, with the eyes of a -seer.</p> - -<p>They carried the bundles on the stretcher -to the graves, three among many, just behind -the dressing-station.</p> - -<p>“Almighty God, as it has pleased Thee to -take the souls of these, our dear brothers ...” -the sonorous voice read on, while the C.O. -stood, bare-headed, at the head of the graves, -holding in his hand the three red roses. The -short burial service came to an end.</p> - -<p>The Colonel walked to the foot of each<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span> -grave in turn, and gently threw on each poor -shattered remnant a red rose. Straightening -himself, he stood long at the salute, and then, -with a stern, set face, he strode away, to where -the Padre awaited him, not caring that his -eyes were wet. The Padre said nothing, but -took his hand and gripped it.</p> - -<p>“Padre,” said the Colonel, “those three -were more to me than any other of my officers; -I thought of them as my children.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">ADJUTANTS</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">If</span> Fate cherishes an especial grievance against -you, you will be made an Adjutant.</p> - -<p>One of those bright beautiful mornings, -when all the world is young and, generally -speaking, festive, the sword of Damocles will -descend upon you, and you will be called to -the Presence, and told you are to be Adjutant. -You will, perhaps, be rather inclined -to think yourself a deuce of a fellow on that -account. You will acquire a pair of spurs, -and expect to be treated with respect. You -will, in fact, feel that you are a person of some -importance, quite the latest model in good -little soldiers. You may—and this is the -most cruel irony of all—be complimented on -your appointment by your brother officers.</p> - -<p>Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, saith the -preacher!</p> - -<p>As soon as you become the “voice of the -C.O.,” you lose every friend you ever possessed. -You are just about as popular as the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> -proverbial skunk at a garden-party. It takes -only two days to find this out.</p> - -<p>The evening of the second day you decide -to have a drink, Orderly Room or no Orderly -Room. You make this rash decision, and you -tell the Orderly-Room Sergeant—only heaven -knows when <i>he</i> sleeps—that you are going out.</p> - -<p>“I will be back in half an hour,” you say.</p> - -<p>Then you go forth to seek for George—George, -your pal, your intimate, your bosom -friend. You find George in your old Coy. -head-quarters, and a pang of self-pity sweeps -over you as you cross the threshold and see -the other fellows there: George, Henry, John, -and the rest.</p> - -<p>“Come and have a——” you begin cheerily. -Suddenly, in the frosty silence you hear a -cool, passionless voice remark,</p> - -<p>“Good evening, <span class="allsmcap">SIR</span>!”</p> - -<p>It is George, the man you loved and trusted, -whom you looked on as a friend and brother.</p> - -<p>“George, come and have a——” again the -words stick in your throat.</p> - -<p>George answers, in tones from which all -amity, peace, and goodwill towards men have -vanished:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>“Thanks very much, sir”—oh baleful little -word—“but I’ve just started a game of -poker.”</p> - -<p>Dimly light dawns in your reeling brain; -you realise the full extent of your disabilities, -and you know that all is over. You are the -Adjutant—the voice of the C.O.!</p> - -<p>Sadly, with the last glimmer of Adjutant -pride and pomp cast from out your soul, you -return to Orderly Room, drinkless, friendless, -and alone.</p> - -<p>“The Staff Captain has been ringing you -up, sir. He wants to know if the summary of -evidence ...” and so on. In frenzied desperation -you seize the telephone. Incidentally you -call the Staff Captain away from his dinner. -What he says, no self-respecting man—not -even an Adjutant—could reveal without laying -bare the most lacerated portions of his -innermost feelings.</p> - -<p>You go to bed, a sadder and a wiser man, -wondering if you could go back to the Company, -even as the most junior sub., were you -to make an impassioned appeal to the C.O.</p> - -<p>About 1 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> some one comes in and -awakens you.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>“Message from Brigade, sir.”</p> - -<p>With an uncontrite heart you read it: -“Forward to this office immediately a complete -nominal roll of all men of your unit who -have served continuously for nine months -without leave.” That takes two hours, and -necessitates the awakening of all unit commanders, -as the last Adjutant kept no record. -In psychic waves you feel curses raining on -you through the stilly night. Having made -an application—in writing—to the C.O., to -be returned to duty, you go to bed.</p> - -<p>At 3.30 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> you are awakened again. -“Movement order from Brigade, sir!”</p> - -<p>This time you say nothing. All power of -speech is lost. The entire regiment curses -you, while by the light of a guttering candle -you write a movement order, “operation -order number”—what the deuce <i>is</i> the number -anyhow. The Colonel is—shall we say—indisposed -as to temper, and the companies -get half an hour to fall in, ready to march off. -One Company loses the way, and does not -arrive at the starting-point.</p> - -<p>“Did you specify the starting-point quite -clearly, Mr. Jones?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Where did you say it was?”</p> - -<p>“One hundred yards south of the ‘<span class="allsmcap">N</span>’ in -<span class="allsmcap">CANDIN</span>, sir.”</p> - -<p>“There are <i>two</i> ‘<span class="allsmcap">N</span>’s’ in <span class="allsmcap">CANDIN</span>, Mr. -Jones; <i>two</i> ‘<span class="allsmcap">N</span>’s’! How can you expect a -company commander to know <i>which</i> ‘<span class="allsmcap">N</span>’? -Gross carelessness. Gross carelessness. Go -and find the Company, please.”</p> - -<p>“Yessir.”</p> - -<p>You find the Company only just out of -billets, after scouring the miserable country -around the wrong ‘<span class="allsmcap">N</span>’ for fifteen minutes, -and falling off your horse into one of those -infernal ditches.</p> - -<p>The battalion moves off half an hour later, -and the C.O. has lots to say about it. He also -remarks that his late Adjutant was “a good -horseman”—a bitter reflection!</p> - -<p>There is absolutely no hope for an Adjutant. -If he is a good man at the “job” everybody -hates him. If he is feeble the C.O. hates him. -The Brigade staff hate him on principle. If -he kow-tows to them they trample on him -with both feet, if he does <i>not</i> they set snares -for him, and keep him up all night. He is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> -expected to know everything: K. R. and O. -backwards and forwards, divisional drill, and -the training of a section. Routine for the cure -of housemaid’s knee in mules, and the whole -compendium of Military Law. He is never off -duty, and even his soul is not his own. He is, -in fact, The Adjutant.</p> - -<p>Sometimes people try to be nice to him. -They mean well. They will come into the -Orderly Room and say: “Oh, Mr. Jones, can -you tell me where the 119th Reserve Battery -of the 83rd Reserve Stokes Gun Coy. is -situated?” Of course, Adjutants know <i>everything</i>.</p> - -<p>And when you admit ignorance they look -at you with pained surprise, and go to Brigade.</p> - -<p>“I asked the Adjutant of the —th Battalion, -but he did not seem to know.”</p> - -<p>Adjutants die young.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">HOME</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is one subject no man mentions at the -Front unless it be very casually, <i>en passant</i>. -Even then it brings with it a sudden silence. -There is so much, so very much in that little -word “Home.”</p> - -<p>If a man were to get up at a sing-song and -sing “Home, Sweet Home,” his life would -be imperilled. His audience would rise and -annihilate him, because they could not give -vent to their feelings in any other way. There -are some things that strike directly at the -heart, and this is one of them.</p> - -<p>You see the new officer, the men of the new -draft, abstracted, with a rather wistful look -on their faces, as they gaze into the brazier, -or sit silently in billets when their work is -done. You have felt like that, and you know -what is the matter. The symptoms are not -to be encouraged in the individual nor the -mass. They lead to strong drink and dissipation, -for no man can preserve his inward -calm for long, if he dwells much on his dearest -recollections of Home. There is but one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span> -remedy: work, and lots of it, action, movement, -anything to distract.</p> - -<p>Many a man has committed some small -“crime” that brought him to Orderly Room -because he allowed his mind to wander ... -Home—and realised too fully the percentage -of his chances of ever seeing that home again. -The Front is not a garden of Allah, or a bed of -roses, or even a tenth-rate music-hall as some -people would have us believe. It has to be made -bearable by the spirit of those who endure it.</p> - -<p>There is enough that is grim and awe-inspiring—aye! -and heart-rending, without -seeking it. That is why we do not like certain -kinds of music at the Front, why the one-time -student of “intense” music develops -an uncontrollable predilection for wild and -woolly rag-time strains, and never winces at -their execution however faulty. That is why -the Estaminets sell so much bad beer, and so -much <i>vin mousseux</i> under the generic title of -Champagne.</p> - -<p>Men want to forget about Home, for they -dare not think of it too much. I have never -heard a man speak of Home without a little -hush in his voice, as though he spoke of something -sacred that was, and might not be again.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>How often one heard the remark, a kind of -apologia: “One must do something.” Yet, -in spite of all they do to forget Home, they -are least happy who have none to forget. -Fortunately they are few. It is a strange -provision of Providence that lends zest to the -attempt at oblivion, and induces a frame of -mind that yearns through that attempt for -the very things it would fain forget!</p> - -<p>After all, it is very much like the school-boy -who longs for privacy where he can -blubber unseen, and is at the same time very -glad that he has not got it, and <i>can’t</i> blubber, -because his school-fellows would see him!</p> - -<p>A superficial observer might think that the -men at the Front are purely callous, intent -on seizing lustily on every possible chance of -doubtful and other pleasures that they can -obtain. He may think that war has brutalised -them, numbed their consciences, steeled their -hearts. Or he may class them as of low intellect. -In all of which he is wrong, and has -utterly failed to grasp the morale of the man -who lives to fight to-day, never knowing of a -certainty if he will see another dawn.</p> - -<p>The soldier knows that he may not dwell -in his heart on all he holds most dear. It<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> -“takes the stuffing out of him.” So, according -to his lights, he works very hard indeed to keep -up his spirits; to forget. Not <i>really</i> to forget, -only to pretend to himself that he is forgetting.</p> - -<p>What good is it for the man whose sweetheart -ran away with the other fellow to think -about it? Therefore, Tommy rises above his -thoughts, he puts them away from him—as -best he can. And if that best is not all that -people at home might wish it to be, surely -some allowance may be made for what may be -called the exigencies of the military situation!</p> - -<p>Perhaps it is the last thing some people -would imagine, but homesickness is a very -real disease at the Front, and he may count -himself lucky who escapes it.</p> - -<p>“Wot price the Hedgeware Road?” says -Bill, ruminatively, as he drinks his glass of -mild—very mild—beer.</p> - -<p>And his pal sums up <i>his</i> feelings in the one -word “Blimey!”</p> - -<p>If you have seen men go into action, not -once, but many times; if you have heard -them sing, “Oh <i>my</i>, I <i>don’t</i> want to die; <i>I</i> -want to go Home,” “My Little Grey Home -in the West,” and many other similar ditties, -then you will understand.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>The very trenches shout it at you, these -universal thoughts of Home. Look at some -of the names: Oxford Street, Petticoat Lane, -The Empire, Toronto Avenue, Bayou Italien—even -the German trenches have their Wilhelmstrasse! -Each nation in arms is alike in -this respect. Every front-line soldier longs -for Home.</p> - -<p>A singer whose voice was chiefly remarkable -for its sympathetic quality, gave a concert -within sound of the guns. A battalion, -just out of the trenches, went to hear her. -She sang several bright little songs, every one -encored uproariously, and finally she sang one -of those beautiful Kashmir love songs which -go straight to the depths. There was a -moment’s tense silence when she had finished, -and then the “house” rocked with applause, -followed by a greater trumpeting of handkerchiefed -noses than was ever before indulged in -by any regiment <i>en masse</i>. She had awakened -memories of Home.</p> - -<p>There are many who rest beneath foreign -skies for whom all earthly homes are done -with. <i>They</i> have been gathered to the greatest -Home of all.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">ACTION</h2> -</div> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Message</span> from Head-quarters, sir.” The -runner was breathing hard, and his eyes were -strained and tense-looking. He had not -shaved for days. Fritz’s “thousand guns on -the Somme,” that the papers talk of so glibly, -were tuning up for business.</p> - -<p>Major Ogilvie took the message, read it, -and handed it on to me. “Zero hour will be -at 6.30 <span class="allsmcap">P.M. AAA</span>. Our artillery will bombard -from 5.30 to 6.20 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span>, slow continuous, and -from 6.20 to 6.29 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span> hurricane fire <span class="allsmcap">AAA</span>. -You will give all possible assistance, by means -of rifle and machine-gun fire to <span class="allsmcap">ULTRAMARINE</span>, -and arrange to reinforce, if necessary, in -case of heavy counter-attack <span class="allsmcap">AAA</span>. <span class="allsmcap">ULTRAMARINE</span> -will indicate that objective has been -gained by firing two red rockets simultaneously -<span class="allsmcap">AAA</span>. Please render situation reports -every half-hour to B.H.Q., <span class="allsmcap">A</span>.21.d.1.4½.<span class="allsmcap">AAA</span>.”</p> - -<p>We looked at each other and smiled a little -grimly. To be on the flank of an attack is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> -rather worse than to attack, for it means -sitting tight while Fritz pounds the life out -of you.</p> - -<p>“You stop here,” said Ogilvie, “in this -glory-hole of ours, while I go up and see -Niven. He will have to put his men in those -forward saps. If you get any messages, deal -with them, and make sure that Townley keeps -those bombers of his on both sides of the -road. They <i>must</i> stop there, as long as there -are any of them left, or the Hun might try -to turn our flank. So long.”</p> - -<p>He set out towards the north, leaving me -in “AK” Coy.’s “head-quarters.” The -latter consisted of a little niche, three feet -wide, ran back a foot, and was four feet high, -cut in the parapet of the front line. The -runner, Thomson, one of our own company, -was curled up in a little cubby-hole at my -feet, and had fallen asleep.</p> - -<p>It was lonely in that trench, although there -were invisible men, not thirty feet away, on -both sides of me.</p> - -<p>The time was 5.25 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span></p> - -<p>Our guns were still silent. Fritz was warming -up more and more. He was shelling our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> -right most persistently, putting “the odd -shell” around head-quarters.</p> - -<p>Punctually to the minute our artillery -started in. Salvos of heavies, way back, -shrapnel all along the front line and supports.</p> - -<p>A wickedly pretty sight along a thousands -yard front: Fritz began to get irritated, -finally to be alarmed. Up went his red lights, -one after the other, as he called on his guns, -called, and kept on calling. They answered -the call. Above us the air hissed unceasingly -as shells passed and exploded in rear. He was -putting a barrage on our supports and communication -trenches. Then he opened up all -along our trench. High explosive shrapnel, -and those thunder-crackling “woolly bears.” -I wondered where Ogilvie was, if he was all -right, and I huddled in close to the damp -crumbling earth.</p> - -<p>It was 5.50 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span></p> - -<p>“Per-loph-<span class="allsmcap">UFF</span>.” An acrid smell of burnt -powder, a peculiar, weird feeling that my head -was bursting, and a dreadful realisation that -I was pinned in up to my neck, and could -not stir. A small shell, bursting on graze, had -lit in the parapet, just above my head, exploded,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> -and buried me up to the neck, and -the runner also. He called out, but the din -was too great for me to hear what he said. I -struggled until my hands were free, and then -with the energy of pure fear tore at the -shattered sand-bags that weighed me down. -Finally I was free to bend over to Thomson.</p> - -<p>“Are you hurt?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, but I can’t move. I thought you -was dead.”</p> - -<p>I clawed him out with feverish haste. The -air reeked with smoke, and the shelling was -hellish. Without any cessation shells burst -in front of, above, and behind the trench; -one could feel their hot breath on one’s cheek, -and once I heard above the din a cry of agony -that wrung my torn and tattered nerves to a -state of anguish.</p> - -<p>“Get out of here,” I yelled, and we crawled -along the crumbling trench to the right.</p> - -<p>“Hrrumph!” A five-nine landed just -beyond us. I stopped a second. “Stretcher-bearer!” -came weakly from a dim niche at -my side. Huddled there was one of my boys. -He was wounded in the foot, the leg, the -chest, and very badly in the arm. It took<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span> -five minutes to put on a tourniquet, and -while it was being done a scout lying by my -side was killed. He cried out once, turned, -shivered, and died. I remember wondering -how his soul could go up to Heaven through -that awful concentration of fire and stinging -smoke.</p> - -<p>It was 6.15 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span></p> - -<p>There were many wounded, many dead, -one of those wonderfully brave men, a -stretcher-bearer, told me, when he came -crawling along, with blood-stained hands, -and his little red-cross case. None of the -wounded could be moved then, it was impossible. -I got a message, and read it by the -light of the star shells: “Please report at -once if enemy are shelling your area heavily -<span class="allsmcap">AAA</span>.” The answer was terse: “Yes <span class="allsmcap">AAA</span>.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly there was a lull. One of those -inexplicable, almost terrifying lulls that are -almost more awesome than the noise preceding -them. I heard a voice ten yards -away, coming from a vague, shadowy figure -lying on the ground:</p> - -<p>“Are you all right, ‘P.’?” It was Ogilvie.</p> - -<p>“Yes. Are you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>We crawled together, and held a hurried -conversation at the top of our voices, for the -bombardment had now started in with violent -intensity from our side, as well as from -Fritz’s.</p> - -<p>“We’ll have to move to the sap, with -Niven ... bring ... runners ... you ... -make ... dash for it.”</p> - -<p>“How ... ’bout Townley?”</p> - -<p>“’S’all right.”</p> - -<p>Then we pulled ourselves together and -went for it, stumbling along the trench, over -heaped-up mounds of earth, past still forms -that would never move again. On, on, running -literally for our lives. At last we reached the -saps. Two platoons were out there, crowded -in a little trench a foot and a half wide, nowhere -more than four feet deep. Some shrapnel -burst above it, but it was the old front line, -thirty yards in rear, on which the Germans -were concentrating a fire in which no man -could live long.</p> - -<p>The runners, Major Ogilvie, Niven, and myself, -and that amazing Sergeant-Major of ours, -who would crack a joke with Charon, were all -together in a few yards of trench.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>Our fire ceased suddenly. It was zero -hour. In defiance of danger Ogilvie stood up, -perfectly erect, and watched what was going -on. Our guns opened again, they had lifted -to the enemy supports and lines of communication.</p> - -<p>“They’re over!” we cried all together.</p> - -<p>Machine-guns were rattling in a crescendo -of sound that was like the noise of a rapid -stream above the roar of a water-wheel. The -enemy sent up rocket upon rocket—three’s, -four’s, green and red. Niven, as plucky a -boy as ever lived, watched eagerly. Then a -perfect hail of shells began to fall. One could -almost see our old trench change its form as -one glanced at it. It was almost as light as -day. Major Ogilvie was writing reports. One -after another he sent out the runners to head-quarters, -those runners every one of whom -deserves the Victoria Cross. Some went never -to return.</p> - -<p>All at once two red rockets burst away -forward, on the right, falling slowly, slowly to -earth.</p> - -<p><span class="allsmcap">ULTRAMARINE</span> had attained the objective.</p> - -<p>It was then 6.42 <span class="allsmcap">P.M.</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>Curious, most curious, to see the strain -pass momentarily from men’s faces. Two -runners took the message down. It proved -to be the earliest news received at H.Q. that -the objective was reached.</p> - -<p>But the bombardment did not cease, did -not slacken. It developed more and more -furiously. Niven, one of the very best—the -boy was killed a few weeks after—lay with -his body tucked close to the side of the trench. -I lay with my head very close to his, so that -we could talk. Major Ogilvie’s legs were -curled up with mine. Every now and then he -sent in a report.</p> - -<p>My conversation with Niven was curious. -“Have another cigarette?” “Thanks, Bertie.” -“Fritz is real mad to-night.” “He’s got a -reason!” “Thank the Lord it isn’t raining.” -“Yes.” Pause. “Did you get any letters -from home?” “Two.... Good thing they -can’t see us now!” “<i>Jolly</i> good thing!” -“Whee-ou, that was close!” “So’s that,” -as a large lump of earth fell on his steel hat. -Pause. “I must get a new pair of breeches.” -“When?” “Oh, to go on leave with.” “So -must I.” We relapsed into silence, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> -from sheer fatigue both of us fell asleep for -twenty minutes.</p> - -<p>I was awakened by Ogilvie, who kicked me -gently. “I have had no report from Townley -or Johnson for nearly two hours”—it was -past eleven. “I want you to go up to the -right and see if you can establish communication -with them. Can you make it?” “I’ll -try, sir.” Our guns had quieted down, but -Fritz was still pounding as viciously as ever, -and with more heavy stuff than hitherto. My -experience in travelling perhaps a quarter of -a mile of trench that night was the most -awful that has befallen me in nearly two -years of war at the Front.</p> - -<p>The trench was almost empty, for the men -had been put in advance of it, for the most -part. In places it was higher than the level -of the ground, where great shells had hurled -parapet on parados, leaving a gaping crater -on one side or the other. Fear, a real personal, -loathly fear, ran at my side. Just as I reached -the trench an eight-five exploded on the spot -I had crossed a second before. The force of -the explosion threw me on my face, and -earth rained down on me. I knelt, crouching,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span> -by the parapet, my breath coming in long -gasps. “Lord, have mercy on my soul.” I -rushed a few yards madly, up, down, over; -another pause, while the shells pounded the -earth, and great splinters droned. I dared -not move, and I dared not stay. Every shadow -of the trenches loomed over me like the -menacing memory of some past unforgettable -misdeed. Looking down I saw a blood-stained -bandage in a pool of blood at my -side, and I could smell that indescribable, -fœtid smell of blood, bandages, and death. As -I went round a traverse, speeding like a hunted -hare, I stumbled over a man. He groaned -deeply as I fell on him. It was one of my -best N.C.O.’s, mortally wounded. An eternity -passed before I could find his water-bottle. -His face was a yellow mask, his teeth chattered -against the lip of the water-bottle, his lips -were swollen and dreadful. He lay gasping. -“Can I do anything for you, old man?” -With a tremendous effort he raised his head -a little, and opened wide his glazing eyes. -“Write ... sir ... to my ... mother.” -Then, his head on my arm, he died.</p> - -<p>On, on, on, the sweat streaming from me,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> -the fear of death at my heart. I prayed as I -had never prayed before.</p> - -<p>At last I found Johnson. He gave me his -report, and that of Townley, whom he had -seen a few moments before. I went back, -another awful trip, but met Major Ogilvie -half-way.</p> - -<p>After nine and three-quarter hours, during -which they threw all the ammunition they -possessed at us, the German gunners “let -up.” And Ogilvie and I went to sleep, along -the trench, too weary to care what might -happen next, to wake at dawn, stiff with -cold, chilled to the bone, to face another day -of “glorious war!”</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_208.jpg" alt="The Temple Press Letchworth England" /></div> - -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Temple Press<br /> Letchworth England</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> - -<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> - -<p>The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber using the original cover as the background and is entered into the public domain.</p> -</div></div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANADA IN WAR-PAINT ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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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