;
:
P. R. E. F. A C E
N the course of May 1916, the Italian
authorities expressed a desire that
some independent observer from Great
Britain should visit their lines and report
his impressions. It was at the time when
our brave and capable allies had sustained
a set-back in the Trentino owing to a sud-
den concentration of the Austrians, sup-
ported by very heavy artillery. I was
asked to undertake this mission. In order
to carry it out properly, I stipulated that
I should be allowed to visit the British
lines first, so that I might have some
standard of comparison. The War Office
kindly assented to my request. Later I
obtained permission to pay a visit to the
French front as well. Thus it was my
great good fortune, at the very crisis of
the war, to visit the battle line of each of
[5]


A VISIT TO THREE
FRONTS
A G L I M P S E O F THE
B R IT IS H A R MY
I
T is not an easy matter to write from
the front. You know that there are
several courteous but inexorable gentle-
men who may have a word in the matter,
and their presence “imparts but small ease
to the style.” But above all you have the
twin censors of your own conscience and
common sense, which assure you that, if
all other readers fail you, you will cer-
tainly find a most attentive one in the
neighbourhood of the Haupt-Quartier.
An instructive story is still told of how a
certain well-meaning traveller recorded
his satisfaction with the appearance of
[11]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
if I thought that to ease a tax on wealth
these men should ever suffer for the time
or health that they gave to the public
CallSe.
“Get out of the car. Don't let it stay
here. It may be hit.” These words from
a staff officer give you the first idea that
things are going to happen. Up to then
you might have been driving through the
black country in the Walsall district with
the population of Aldershot let loose upon
its dingy roads. “Put on this shrapnel
helmet. That hat of yours would infuri-
ate the Boche”—this was an unkind al-
lusion to the only uniform which I have
a right to wear. “Take this gas helmet.
You won’t need it, but it is a standing or-
der. Now come on!”
We cross a meadow and enter a trench.
Here and there it comes to the surface
again where there is dead ground. At one
such point an old church stands, with an
unexploded shell sticking out of the wall.
A century hence folk will journey to see
that shell. Then on again through an
[14]


A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY
taken to a medal presentation in a market
square. Generals Munro, Haking and
Landon, famous fighting soldiers all three,
are the British representatives. Munro
with a ruddy face, and brain above
all bulldog below; Haking, pale, distin-
guished, intellectual; Landon a pleasant,
genial country squire. An elderly French
General stands beside them. British in-
fantry keep the ground. In front are
about fifty Frenchmen in civil dress of
every grade of life, workmen and gentle-
men, in a double rank. They are all so
wounded that they are back in civil life,
but to-day they are to have some solace
for their wounds. They lean heavily
on sticks, their bodies are twisted and
maimed, but their faces are shining with
pride and joy. The French General
draws his sword and addresses them.
One catches words like “honneur” and
“patrie.” They lean forward on their
crutches, hanging on every syllable which
comes hissing and rasping from under
that heavy white moustache. Then the
[19]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
medals are pinned on. One poor lad is
terribly wounded and needs two sticks. A
little girl runs out with some flowers. He
leans forward and tries to kiss her, but
the crutches slip and he nearly falls upon
her. It was a pitiful but beautiful little
SCCIne.
Now the British candidates march up
one by one for their medals, hale, hearty
men, brown and fit. There is a smart
young officer of Scottish Rifles; and then
a selection of Worcesters, Welsh Fusiliers
and Scots Fusiliers, with one funny little
Highlander, a tiny figure with a soup-
bowl helmet, a grinning boy’s face beneath
it, and a bedraggled uniform. “Many
acts of great bravery,” such was the record
for which he was decorated. Even the
French wounded smiled at his quaint ap-
pearance, as they did at another Briton
who had acquired the chewing-gum habit,
and came up for his medal as if he had
been called suddenly in the middle of his
dinner, which he was still endeavouring to
bolt. Then came the end, with the Na-
[20]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
with a razor-keen young artillery observer
and an excellent old sportsman of a Rus-
sian prince, jammed into a very small
space, and staring through a slit at the
German lines. In front of us lay a vast
plain, scarred and slashed, with bare places
at intervals, such as you see where gravel
pits break a green common. Not a sign
of life or movement, save some wheeling
crows. And yet down there, within a mile
or so, is the population of a city. Far
away a single train is puffing at the back
of the German lines. We are here on a
definite errand. Away to the right, nearly
three miles off, is a small red house, dim
to the eye but clear in the glasses, which
is suspected as a German post. It is to
go up this afternoon. The gun is some
distance away, but I hear the telephone
directions. “‘Mother’ will soon do her
in,” remarks the gunner boy cheerfully.
“Mother” is the name of the gun. “Give
her five six three four,” he cries through
the 'phone. “Mother” utters a horrible
bellow from somewhere on our right. An
[22]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
with one of them I ascended a hill, the
reverse slope of which was swarming with
cheerful infantry in every stage of dis-
habille, for they were cleaning up after
the trenches. Once over the slope we ad-
vanced with some care, and finally reached
a certain spot from which we looked down
upon the German line. It was the ad-
vanced observation post, about a thousand
yards from the German trenches, with
our own trenches between us. We could
see the two lines, sometimes only a few
yards, as it seemed, apart, extending for
miles on either side. The sinister silence
and solitude were strangely dramatic.
Such vast crowds of men, such intensity
of feeling, and yet only that open rolling
countryside, with never a movement in its
whole expanse.
The afternoon saw us in the Square at
Ypres. It is the city of a dream, this
modern Pompeii, destroyed, deserted and
desecrated, but with a sad, proud dignity
which made you involuntarily lower your
voice as you passed through the ruined
[28]


A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY
streets. It is a more considerable place
than I had imagined, with many traces of
ancient grandeur. No words can describe
the absolute splintered wreck that the
Huns have made of it. The effect of
some of the shells has been grotesque. One
boiler-plated water-tower, a thing forty
or fifty feet high, was actually standing
on its head like a great metal top. There
is not a living soul in the place save a
few pickets of soldiers, and a number of
cats which become fierce and dangerous.
Now and then a shell still falls, but the
Huns probably know that the devastation
is already complete.
We stood in the lonely grass-grown
square, once the busy centre of the town,
and we marvelled at the beauty of the
smashed cathedral and the tottering Cloth
Hall beside it. Surely at their best they
could not have looked more wonderful
than now. If they were preserved even
so, and if a heaven-inspired artist were to
model a statue of Belgium in front, Bel-
gium with one hand pointing to the treaty
[29]


A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY
my heart to salute him had I not known
that it would have shocked him and made
him unhappy.
It has been a full day, and the next is
even fuller, for it is my privilege to lunch
at Headquarters, and to make the ac-
quaintance of the Commander-in-chief and
of his staff. It would be an invasion of
private hospitality if I were to give the
public the impressions which I carried
from that charming château. I am the
more sorry, since they were very vivid and
strong. This much I will say—and any
man who is a face reader will not need
to have it said—that if the Army stands
still it is not by the will of its commander.
There will, I swear, be no happier man in
Europe when the day has come and the
hour. It is human to err, but never possi-
bly can some types err by being backward.
We have a superb army in France. It
needs the right leader to handle it. I came
away happier and more confident than
ever as to the future.
Extraordinary are the contrasts of war.
[33]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
Within three hours of leaving the quiet
atmosphere of the Headquarters Château
I was present at what in any other war
would have been looked upon as a brisk
engagement. As it was it would certainly
figure in one of our desiccated reports as
an activity of the artillery. The noise as
we struck the line at this new point showed
that the matter was serious, and, indeed,
we had chosen the spot because it has been
the storm centre of the last week. The
method of approach chosen by our ex-
perienced guide was in itself a tribute to
the gravity of the affair. As one comes
from the settled order of Flanders into
the actual scene of war, the first sign of it
is one of the stationary, sausage-shaped
balloons, a chain of which marks the ring
in which the great wrestlers are locked.
We pass under this, ascend a hill, and find
ourselves in a garden where for a year no
feet save those of wanderers like ourselves
have stood. There is a wild, confused
luxuriance of growth more beautiful to
my eye than anything which the care of
[34]


A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY
man can produce. One old shell-hole of
vast diameter has filled itself with forget-
me-nots, and appears as a graceful basin
of light blue flowers, held up as an atone-
ment to heaven for the brutalities of man.
Through the tangled bushes we creep,
then across a yard—“Please stoop and run
as you pass this point”—and finally to
a small opening in a wall, whence the
battle lies not so much before as beside
us. For a moment we have a front seat
at the great world-drama, God’s own
problem play, working surely to its mag-
nificent end. One feels a sort of shame
to crouch here in comfort, a useless spec-
tator, while brave men down yonder are
facing that pelting shower of iron.
# # # # *
There is a large field on our left rear,
and the German gunners have the idea
that there is a concealed battery therein.
They are systematically searching for it.
A great shell explodes in the top corner,
but gets nothing more solid than a few
tons of clay. You can read the mind of
[35]


A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY
serious operations are possible. One is
the Trentino Salient where Austria can
always threaten and invade Italy. She
lies in the mountains with the plains be-
neath her. She can always invade the
plain, but the Italians cannot seriously
invade the mountains since the passes
would only lead to other mountains be-
yond. Therefore their only possible
policy is to hold the Austrians back. This
they have most successfully done, and
though the Austrians with the aid of a
shattering heavy artillery have recently
made some advance it is perfectly certain
that they can never really carry out any
serious invasion. The Italians then have
done all that could be done in this quarter.
There remains the other front, the opening
by the sea. Here the Italians had a chance
to advance over a front of plain bounded
by a river with hills beyond. They cleared
the plain, they crossed the river, they
fought a battle very like our own battle
of the Aisne upon the slopes of the hills,
taking 20,000 Austrian prisoners, and now
[41]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
little damage had been done. The work of
the Austrian aeroplanes is, however, very
aggressive behind the Italian lines, for
they have the great advantage that a row
of fine cities lies at their mercy while the
Italians can do nothing without injuring
their own kith and kin across the border.
This dropping of explosives on the chance
of hitting one soldier among fifty victims
seems to me the most monstrous develop-
ment of the whole war, and the one which
should be most sternly repressed in future
international legislation—if such a thing
as international law still exists. The
Italian headquarter town, which I will
call Nemini, was a particular victim of
these murderous attacks. I speak with
some feeling, as not only was the ceiling
of my bedroom shattered some days before
my arrival, but a greasy patch with some
black shreds upon it was still visible above
my window which represented part of the
remains of an unfortunate workman, who
had been blown to pieces immediately in
front of the house. The air defence
[44]


A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY
is very skilfully managed, however, and
the Italians have the matter well in hand.
My first experience of the Italian line
was at the portion which I have called the
gap by the sea, otherwise the Isonzo front.
From a mound behind the trenches an
extraordinary fine view can be got of the
Austrian position, the general curve of
both lines being marked, as in Flanders,
by the sausage balloons which float behind
them. The Isonzo, which has been so
bravely carried by the Italians, lay in
front of me, a clear blue river, as broad
as the Thames at Hampton Court. In a
hollow to my left were the roofs of Gorizia,
the town which the Italians are endeavour-
ing to take. A long desolate ridge, the
Carso, extends to the south of the town,
and stretches down nearly to the sea. The
crest is held by the Austrians and the
Italian trenches have been pushed within
fifty yards of them. A lively bombard-
ment was going on from either side, but
so far as the infantry goes there is none
of that constant malignant petty warfare
[45]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
with which we are familiar in Flanders. I
was anxious to see the Italian trenches,
in order to compare them with our British
methods, but save for the support and
communication trenches I was courteously
but firmly warned off.
The story of trench attack and defence
is no doubt very similar in all quarters,
but I am convinced that close touch should
be kept between the Allies on the matter
of new inventions. The quick Latin brain
may conceive and test an idea long before
we do. At present there seems to be very
imperfectsympathy. Asanexample, when
I was on the British lines they were dealing
with a method of clearing barbed wire.
The experiments were new and were caus-
ing great interest. But on the Italian
front I found that the same system had
been tested for many months. In the use
of bullet-proof jackets for engineers and
other men who have to do exposed work
the Italians are also ahead of us. One of
their engineers at our headquarters might
give some valuable advice. At present the
- [46]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
Italian companions who was himself an
artillery officer, about ten metres above
our heads. They threw forward, how-
ever, and we travelling at so great a pace
shot from under. Before they could get
in another we had swung round the curve
and under the lee of a house. The good
Colonel B. wrung my hand in silence.
They were both distressed, these good sol-
diers, under the impression that they had
led me into danger. As a matter of fact
it was I who owed them an apology, since
they had enough risks in the way of busi-
ness without taking others in order to
gratify the whim of a joy-rider. Bar-
bariche and Clericetti, this record will con-
vey to you my remorse.
Our difficulties were by no means over.
We found an ambulance lorry and a little
group of infantry huddled under the same
shelter with the expression of people who
had been caught in the rain. The road be-
yond was under heavy fire as well as that
by which we had come. Had the Ostro-
Bosches dropped a high-explosive upon us
[50]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
miles, and it has all to be held against raids
if not invasions. It is a most picturesque
business. Far up in the Roccolana Valley
I found the Alpini outposts, backed by
artillery which had been brought into the
most wonderful positions. They have
taken 8-inch guns where a tourist could
hardly take his knapsack. Neither side
can ever make serious progress, but there
are continual duels, gun against gun, or
Alpini against Jaeger. In a little wayside
house was the brigade headquarters, and
here I was entertained to lunch. It was
a scene that I shall remember. They drank
to England. I raised my glass to Italia
irredenta—might it soon be redenta. They
all sprang to their feet and the circle of
dark faces flashed into flame. They keep
their souls and emotions, these people. I
trust that ours may not become atrophied
by self-suppression.
The Italians are a quick high-spirited
race, and it is very necessary that we
should consider their feelings, and that we
should show our sympathy with what they
[52]


A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY
have done, instead of making querulous
and unreasonable demands of them. In
some ways they are in a difficult position.
The war is made by their splendid king—
a man of whom everyone speaks with ex-
traordinary reverence and love—and by
the people. The people with the deep in-
stinct of a very old civilisation understand
that the liberty of the world and their
own national existence are really at stake.
But there are several forces which divide
the strength of the nation. There is the
clerical, which represents the old Guelph
or German spirit, looking upon Austria
as the eldest daughter of the church—a
daughter who is little credit to her mother.
Then there is the old nobility. Finally,
there are the commercial people who
through the great banks or other similar
agencies have got into the influence and
employ of the Germans. When you con-
sider all this you will appreciate how
necessary it is that Britain should in every
possible way, moral and material, sustain
the national party. Should by any evil
[53]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
extraordinary echoes in the hills. It was
difficult to believe that it was not thunder.
There was one terrible voice that broke
out from time to time in the mountains—
the angry voice of the Holy Roman Em-
pire. When it came all other sounds died
down into nothing. It was—so I was
told—the master gun, the vast 42 centi-
metre giant which brought down the pride
of Liege and Namur. The Austrians
have brought one or more from Innsbruck.
The Italians assure me, however, as we
have ourselves discovered, that in trench
work beyond a certain point the size of the
gun makes little matter.
We passed a burst dug-out by the road-
side where a tragedy had occurred re-
cently, for eight medical officers were
killed in it by a single shell. There was no
particular danger in the valley, however,
and the aimed fire was all going across us
to the fighting lines in the two passes above
us. That to the right, the Valley of Buel-
lo, has seen some of the worst of the fight-
ing. These two passes form the Italian
[56]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
it, one would think that mortal brain
would grow crazy under the weight. Per-
haps the central brain of all was crazy
from the first. But what sort of govern-
ment is it under which one crazy brain
can wreck mankind!
If ever one wanders into the high places
of mankind, the places whence the guid-
ance should come, it seems to me that one
has to recall the dying words of the Swed-
ish Chancellor who declared that the folly
of those who governed was what had
amazed him most in his experience of life.
Yesterday I met one of these men of pow-
er—M. Clemenceau, once Prime Minister,
now the destroyer of governments. He is
by nature a destroyer, incapable of re-
building what he has pulled down. With
his personal force, his eloquence, his thun-
dering voice, his bitter pen, he could wreck
any policy, but would not even trouble to
suggest an alternative. As he sat before
me with his face of an old prizefighter (he
is remarkably like Jim Mace as I can
remember him in his later days), his angry
[62]


A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCHI LINE
grey eyes and his truculent, mischievous
smile, he seemed to me a very dangerous
man. His conversation, if a squirt on one
side and Niagara on the other can be called
conversation, was directed for the moment
upon the iniquity of the English rate of
exchange, which seemed to me very much
like railing against the barometer. My
companion, who has forgotten more eco-
nomics than ever Clemenceau knew, was
about to ask whether France was prepared
to take the rouble at face value, but the
roaring voice, like a strong gramophone
with a blunt needle, submerged all argu-
ment. We have our dangerous men, but
we have no one in the same class as Cle-
menceau. Such men enrage the people
who know them, alarm the people who
don’t, set everyone by the ears, act as a
healthy irritant in days of peace, and are
a public danger in days of war.
# # # * #
But this is digression. I had set out to
say something of a day's experience of the
French front, though I shall write with a
[63]


A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE
conscript army, for I do not think that a
finer force ever went down to battle. But
to talk about stiffening these people now
would be ludicrous. You might as well
stiffen the old Guard. There may be weak
regiments somewhere, but I have never
seen them.
I think that an injustice has been done
to the French army by the insistence of
artists and cinema operators upon the
picturesque Colonial corps. One gets an
idea that Arabs and negroes are pulling
France out of the fire. It is absolutely
false. Her own brave sons are doing the
work. The Colonial element is really a
very small one—so small that I have not
seen a single unit during all my French
wanderings. The Colonials are good men,
but like our splendid Highlanders they
catch the eye in a way which is sometimes
a little hard upon their neighbours. When
there is hard work to be done it is the
good little French piou-piou who usually
has to do it. There is no better man in
[71]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
Europe. If we are as good—and I believe
we are—it is something to be proud of.
# * # # *
But I have wandered far from the
trenches of Soissons. It had come on to
rain heavily, and we were forced to take
refuge in the dug-out of the sniper. Eight
of us sat in the deep gloom huddled closely
together. The Commandant was still
harping upon that ill-placed machine gun.
He could not get over it. My imperfect
ear for French could not follow all his com-
plaints, but some defence of the offender
brought forth a “Jamais! Jamais! Ja-
mais!” which was rapped out as if it came
from the gun itself. There were eight of
us in an underground burrow, and some
were smoking. Better a deluge than such
an atmosphere as that. But if there is a
thing upon earth which the French officer
shies at it is rain and mud. The reason
is that he is extraordinarily natty in his
person. His charming blue uniform, his
facings, his brown gaiters, boots and belts
are always just as smart as paint. He
[72]


A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE
and jowl. We were brought to a sap head
where the Germans were at the other side
of a narrow forest road. Had I leaned
forward with extended hand and a Boche
done the same we could have touched.
I looked across, but saw only a tangle
of wire and sticks. Even whispering was
not permitted in these forward posts.
3% * # # #
When we emerged from these hushed
places of danger Cyrano took us all to
his dug-out, which was a tasty little cot-
tage carved from the side of a hill and
faced with logs. He did the honours of
the humble cabin with the air of a seigneur
in his château. There was little furniture,
but from some broken mansion he had ex-
tracted an iron fire-back, which adorned
his grate. It was a fine, mediaeval bit of
work, with Venus, in her traditional cos-
tume, in the centre of it. It seemed the
last touch in the picture of the gallant,
virile Cyrano. I only met him this once,
nor shall I ever see him again, yet he stands
a thing complete within my memory.
[83]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
appear upon the slope than a shrapnel
shell burst above us, but somewhat behind
me, as well as to the left. Had it been
straight the second car would have got
it, and there might have been a vacancy
in one of the chief editorial chairs in Lon-
don. The General shouted to the driver
to speed up, and we were soon safe from
the German gunners. One gets perfectly
immune to noises in these scenes, for the
guns which surround you make louder
crashes than any shell which bursts about
you. It is only when you actually see
the cloud over you that your thoughts
come back to yourself, and that you realise
that in this wonderful drama you may be
a useless super, but none the less you
are on the stage and not in the stalls.
# # *k *k *k
Next morning we were down in the
front trenches again at another portion of
the line. Far away on our right, from a
spot named the Observatory, we could see
the extreme left of the Verdun position
and shells bursting on the Fille Morte.
[86]


A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS
takes us round this morning! He, too,
is a man apart, an unforgettable man.
Conceive a man with a large broad good-
humoured face, and two placid, dark seal's
eyes which gaze gently into yours. He is
young and has pink cheeks and a soft
voice. Such is one of the most redoubt-
able fighters of France, this General of
Division D. His former staff officers
told me something of the man. He is a
philosopher, a fatalist, impervious to fear,
a dreamer of distant dreams amid the most
furious bombardment. The weight of the
French assault upon the terrible labyrinth
fell at one time upon the brigade which
he then commanded. He led them day
after day gathering up Germans with the
detached air of the man of science who is
hunting for specimens. In whatever shell-
hole he might chance to lunch he had his
cloth spread and decorated with wild
flowers plucked from the edge. If fate
be kind to him he will go far. Apart
from his valour he is admitted to be one
[88]