\ ^eriences of some of the first hundred thousand of Kitchener's army, is, as the title-page of the volume now reveals, Ian "Raj Beith, author of those deservedly popular novels, The Right Stuff, A Man's Man, A Safety Match, and Happy-Go- Lucky, Captain Beith, who was born in 1876 and there- fore narrowly came within the age limit for mili- tary service, enlisted at the first outbreak of hos- tilities in the summer of 1914, and was made a sub- lieutenant in the Argyll and Sutherland High- landers. After training throughout the fall and winter at Aldershot, he accompanied his regiment to the front in April, and, as his narrative discloses, immediately saw some very active service and rapidly rose to the rank of captain. In the offen- sive of September, Captain Beith's division was badly cut up and seriously reduced in numbers. He has lately been transferred to a machine-gun division, and "for some mysterious reason" — as he characteristically puts it in a letter to his pub- lishers, — has been recommended for the military cross. viii PUBLISHERS' NOTE The story of The First Hundred Thousand was originally contributed in the form of an anonymous narrative to Blackwood's Magazine, Writing to his publishers, last May, Captain Beith describes the circumstances under which it was written: — " I write this from the stone floor of an outhouse, where the pig meal is first accumulated and then boiled up at a particularly smelly French farm, which is saying a good deal. It is a most interest- ing life, and if I come through the present unpleas- antness I shall have enough copy to last me twenty years. Meanwhile, I am using Blackwood's Maga- zine as a safety-valve under a pseudonym." It is these "safety-valve" papers that are here offered to the American public in their complete- ness, — a picture of the great struggle uniquely rich in graphic human detail. 4 Park Street CONTENTS BOOK ONE BLANK CARTRIDGES I. AB OVO ....... 3 II. THE DAILY GRIND 7 III. GROWING PAINS ..... 14 IV. THE CONVERSION OF PRIVATE m'sLATTERY 19 V. "crime" 25 VI. THE LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PERSIANS . 37 VII. SHOOTING STRAIGHT . . . .63 VIII. BILLETS . . . . . . .83 IX. MID-CHANNEL 96 X. DEEDS OF DARKNESS . . . .107 XI. OLYMPUS 132 XII. . . . AND SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE . 149 XIII. CONCERT PITCH 164 BOOK TWO r LIVE ROUNDS XIV. THE BACK OF THE FRONT XV. IN THE TRENCHES — AN OFF-DAY . XVI. "dirty work at the cross-roads to- night" XVII. THE NEW WARFARE XVIII. THE FRONT OF THE FRONT XIX. THE TRIVIAL ROUND XX. THE GATHERING OF THE EAGLES . XXI. THE BATTLE OF THE SLAG-HEAPS . 187 200 214 228 238 268 300 312 "K (1)" We do not deem ourselves A 1, We have no past: we cut no dash: Nor hope, when launched against the Hun, To raise a more than moderate splash. Bui yesterday, we said farewell To plough; to pit; to dock; to mill. For glory? Drop it! Why? Oh, well — To have a slap at Kaiser Bill. And now to-day has come along. With rifle, haversack, and pack. We're off, a hundred thousand strong. And — some of us will not come hack. But all we ask, if that befall, Is this. Within your hearts he writ This single-line memorial: — He did his duty — and his bit! NOTE The reader is hereby cautioned against regard- ing this narrative as an official historj^ of the Great War. The following pages are merely a record of some of the personal adventures of a typical regiment of Kitchener's Army. The chapters were written from day to day, and published from month to month. Conse- quently, prophecy is occasionally falsified, and opinions moderated, in subsequent pages. The characters are entirely fictitious, but the incidents described all actually occurred. BOOK ONE BLANK CARTRIDGES The First Hundred Thousand AB OVO **Squoad 'Shun! Move to the right in fours. Forrm fourrrsf The audience addressed looks up with languid curiosity, but makes no attempt to comply with the speaker's request. *^Come away now, come away!" urges the instructor, mopping his brow. **Mind me: on the command *form fours,' odd num- bers will stand fast; even numbers tak' a shairp pace to the rear and anither to the right. Now forrm fourrsT' The squad stands fast, to a man. Ap- parently — nay, verily — they are all odd numbers. The instructor addresses a gentleman in a decayed Homburg hat, who is chewing to- bacco in the front rank. 4 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND '^Yous, what's your number?'' The ruminant ponders. **Seeven fower ought seeven seeven," he announces, after a prolonged mental effort. The instructor raises clenched hands to heaven. ^^Man, I'm no asMn' you your regi- mental number! Never heed that. It's your number in the squad I'm seeking. You numbered off frae the right five minutes syne. ' ' Ultimately it transpires that the culprit's number is ten. He is pushed into his place, in company with the other even numbers, and the squad finds itself approximately in fours. ^^Forrm two deep!" barks the in- structor. The fours disentangle themselves reluct- antly, Number Ten being the last to forsake his post. *^Now we'll dae it jist yince more, and have it right," announces the instructor, with quite unjustifiable optimism. *^Forrm fourrs!" This time the result is better, but there is confusion on the left flank. * * Yon man, oot there on the left, ' ' shouts the instructor, ** what's your number?" Private Mucklewame, whose mind is slow but tenacious, answers — not without pride at knowing — ** Nineteen!" AB OVO 5 (Thank goodness, he reflects, odd numbers stand fast npon all occasions.) **Weel, mind this,'' says the sergeant — '^Left files is always even numbers, even though they are odd numbers. ' ' This revelation naturally clouds Private Mucklewame's intellect for the afternoon; and he wonders dimly, not for the first time, why he ever abandoned his well-paid and well-fed job as a butcher's assistant in dis- tant Wishaw ten long days ago. And so the drill goes on. All over the drab, dusty, gritty parade-ground, under the warm September sun, similar squads are being pounded into shape. They have no uniforms yet: even their instructors wear bowler hats or cloth caps. Some of the faces under the brims of these hats are not too prosperous. The junior officers are drilling squads too. They are a little shaky in what an actor would call their * Spatter," and they are inclined to lay stress on the wrong sylla- bles ; but they move their squads about some- how. Their seniors are dotted about the square, vigilant and helpful — here prompting a rusty sergeant instructor, there unravelling a squad which, in a spirited but misguided endeavour to obey an impossible order from Second Lieutenant Bobby Little, has wound itself up into a formation closely resembling the third figure of the Lancers. Over there, by the officers' mess, stands the Colonel. He is in uniform, with a streak of 6 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND parti-coloured ribbon running across above Ms left-hand breast-pocket. He is pleased to call himself a ** dug-out/' A fortnight ago he was fishing in the Garry, his fighting days avowedly behind him, and only the Special Eeserve between him and embonpoint. Now he finds himself pitchforked back into the Active List, at the head of a battalion eleven hundred strong. He surveys the scene. Well, his officers are all right. The Second in Command has seen almost as much service as himself. Of the four company commanders, two have been commandeered while home on leave from India, and the other two have practised the art of war in company with brother Boer. Of the rest, there are three subalterns from the Second Battalion — left behind, to their unspeakable woe — and four from the O.T.C. The juniors are very junior, but keen as mustard. But the men! Is it possible! Can that awkward, shy, self-conscious mob, with scarcely an old soldier in their ranks, be pounded, within the space of a few months, into the Seventh (Service) Battalion of the Bruce and Wallace Highlanders — one of the most famous regiments in the British Armyf The Colonel's boyish figure stiffens. ** They 're a rough crowd," he murmurs, **and a tough crowd: but they're a stout crowd. By gad! we'll make them a credit to the Old Eegiment yet!" n THE DAILY GBIND We have been in existence for more than three weeks now, and occasionally we are conscious of a throb of real life. Squad drill is almost a thing of the past, and we work by platoons of over fifty men. To-day our platoon once marched, in perfect step, for seven complete and giddy paces, before disin- tegrating into its usual formation — namely, an advance in irregular echelon^ by individuals. Four platoons form a company, and each platoon is (or should be) led by a subaltern, acting under his company commander. But we are very short of subalterns at present. (We are equally short of N.C.O.'s; but then you can always take a man out of the ranks and christen him sergeant, whereas there is no available source of Second Lieutenants save capricious Whitehall.) Consequently, three platoons out of four in our company are at present commanded by N.C.O.'s, two of whom appear to have retired from active service about the time that bows and arrows 8 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND began to yield place to the arquebus, while tlie third has been picked out of the ranks simply because he possesses a loud voice and a cake of soap. None of them has yet mas- tered the new drill — it was all changed at the beginning of this year — and the majority of the officers are in no position to correct their anachronisms. Still, we are getting on. Number Three Platoon (which boasts a subaltern) has just marched right round the barrack square, without — (1) Marching through another platoon. (2) Losing any part or parts of itself. (3) Adopting a formation which brings it face to face with a blank wall, or piles it up in a tidal wave upon the verandah of the married quarters. They could not have done that a week ago. But stay, what is this disturbance on the extreme left? The command ^* Right form " has been given, but six files on the outside flank have ignored the suggestion, and are now advancing (in skirmishing order) straight for the ashbin outside the cookhouse door, looking piteously round over their shoulders for some responsible person to give them an order which will turn them about and bring them back to the fold. Finally they are rounded up by the platoon sergeant, and re- stored to the strength. ^' What went wrong. Sergeant? '' inquires Second Lieutenant Bobby Little. He is a THE DAILY GEIND 9 fresh-faced youth, with an engaging smile. Three months ago he was keeping wicket for his school eleven. The sergeant comes briskly to attention. * ^ The order was not distinctly heard by the men, sir, ' ' he explains, ' ' owing to the corporal that passed it on wanting a tooth. Corporal Blain, three paces forward — march!" Corporal Blain steps forward, and after re- membering to slap the small of his butt with his right hand, takes up his parable — '** I was sittin' doon tae ma dinner on Sab- bath, sir, when my front teeth met upon a small piece bone that was stickit^ in — — '' Further details of this gastronomic tragedy are cut short by the blast of a whistle. The Colonel, at the other side of the square, has given the signal for the end of parade. Simul- taneously a bugle rings out cheerfully from the direction of the orderly-room. Break- fast, blessed breakfast, is in sight. It is nearly eight, and we have been as busy as bees since six. At a quarter to nine the battalion parades for a route-march. This, strange as it may appear, is a comparative rest. Once you have got your company safely decanted from column of platoons into column of route, your labours are at an end. All you have to do is to march; and that is no great hardship when you are as hard as nails, as we are fast becoming. On the march the mental 10 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND gymnastics involved by tlie formation of an advanced guard or the disposition of a piqnet line are removed to a safe distance. There is no need to wonder guiltily whether you have sent out a connecting-file between the van- guard and the main-guard, or if you remem- bered to instruct your sentry groups as to the position of the enemy and the extent of their own front. Second Lieutenant Little heaves a contented sigh, and steps out manfully along the dusty road. Behind him tramp his men. We have no pipers as yet, but melody is supplied by * ^ Tipperary, ' ' sung in ragged chorus, varied by martial interludes upon the mouth-organ. Despise not the mouth-organ. Ours has been a constant boon. It has kept sixty men in step for miles on end. Fortunately the weather is glorious. Day after day, after a sharp and frosty dawn, the sun swings up into a cloudless sky; and the hundred thousand troops that swarm like ants upon the undulating plains of Hampshire can march, sit, lie, or sleep on hard, sun-baked earth. A wet autumn would have thrown our training back months. The men, as yet, possess nothing but the fatigue uniforms they stand up in, so it is imperative to keep them dry. TramjD, tramp, tramp. *^Tipperary" has died away. The owner of the mouth-organ is temporarily deflated. Here is an opportunity for individual enterprise. It is soon seized. THE DAILY GEIND 11 A hnsky soloist breaks into one of the death- less ditties of the new Scottish Laureate ; his comrades take up the air with ready response ; and presently we are all swinging along to the strains of **I Love a Lassie," — ^^Eoam- ing in the Gloaming" and ^^It's Just Like Being at Hame ' ' being rendered as encores. Then presently come snatches of a humor- ously amorous nature — ^^ Hallo, Hallo, Who's Your Lady Friend?"; * ^You're my Baby"; and the ungrammatical ^* Who Were You With Last Night?" Another great favourite is an involved composition which always appears to begin in the middle. It deals severely with the precocity of a youthful lover who has been detected wooing his lady in the Park. Each verse ends, with enormous gusto — <( Hold your haand oot, you naughty boy P Tramp, tramp, tramp. Now we are passing through a village. The inhabitants line the pavement and smile cheerfully upon us — they are always kindly disposed toward * ^ Scotchies ' ' — but the united gaze of the rank and file wanders instinctively from the pave- ment towards upper windows and kitchen en- trances, where the domestic staff may be dis- cerned, bunched together and giggling. Now we are out on the road again, silent and dusty. Suddenly, far in the rear, a voice of singular sweetness strikes up ^^The Banks of Loch Lomond." Man after man joins in, until the 12 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND swelling cliorus rnns from end to end of the long column. Half the battalion hail from the Loch Lomond district, and of the rest there is hardly a man who has not indulged, during some Trades' Holiday or other, in ^^a pleesure trup'' upon its historic but inexpensive waters. "You'll tak' the high road and Fll tak' the low road '^ On we swing, full-throated. An English battalion, halted at a cross-road to let us go by, gazes curiously upon us. * * Tipperary ' ' they know, Harry Lauder they have heard of ; but this song has no meaning for them. It is ours, ours, ours. So we march on. The feet of Bobby Little, as he tramps at the head of his platoon, hardly touch the ground. His head is in the air. One day, he feels instinc- tively, he will hear that song again, amid sterner surroundings. When that day comes, the song, please God, for all its sorrowful wording, will reflect no sorrow from the hearts of those who sing it — only courage, and the joy of battle, and the knowledge of victory. " And I'll be in Scotland before ye. But me and my true love will never meet again On the bonny, bonny baanhs '' A shrill whistle sounds far ahead. It means ' ' March at Attention. ' ' ^ * Loch Lomond ' ' dies away with uncanny suddenness — discipline is THE DAILY GRIND 13 waxing stronger every day — and tunics are buttoned and rifles unslung. Three minutes later we swing demurely on to the barrack- square, across which a pleasant aroma of stewed onions is wafting, and deploy with creditable precision into the formation known as ^^mass.'' Then comes much dressing of ranks and adjusting of distances. The Col- onel is very particular about a clean finish to any piece of work. Presently the four companies are aligned: the N.C.O.'s retire to the supernumerary ranks. The battalion stands rigid, facing a motionless figure upon horseback. The figure stirs. '^ Fall out, the officers!" They come trooping, stand fast, and salute — very smartly. We must set an example to the men. Besides, we are hungry too. *^ Battalion, slope arms! Dis — missf' Every man, with one or two incurable ex- ceptions, turns sharply to his right and cheer- fully smacks the butt of his rifle with his disengaged hand. The Colonel gravely re- turns the salute; and we stream away, all the thousand of us, in the direction of the savoury smell. Two o'clock will come round all too soon, and with it company drill and tiresome musketry exercises; but by that time we shall have dined, and Fate cannot touch us for another twenty-four hours. in GROWING PAINS We have our little worries, of course. Last week we were all vaccinated, and we did not like it. Most of us have ^* taken" very severely, which is a sign that we badly needed vaccinating, but makes the discomfort no easier to endure. It is no joke handling a rifle when your left arm is swelled to the full compass of your sleeve; and the personal contact of your neighbour in the ranks is sheer agony. However, officers are con- siderate, and the work is made as light as possible. The faint-hearted report themselves sick; but the Medical Officer, an unsenti- mental man of coarse mental fibre, who was on a panel before he heard his country calling, merely recommends them to get well as soon as possible, as they are going to be inoculated for enteric next week. So we grouse — and bear it. There are other rifts within the military lute. At home we are persons of some conse- quence, with very definite notions about the GEOWING PAINS 15 dignity of labour. We have employers who tremble at our frown ; we have Trades Union officials who are at constant pains to impress upon ns our own omnipotence in the industrial world in which we live. We have at our beck and call a Radical M.P. who, in return for our vote and suffrage, informs us that we are the backbone of the nation, and that we must on no^account permit ourselves to be trampled upon by the effete and tyrannical upper classes. Finally, we are Scotsmen, with all a Scotsman's curious reserve and contempt for social airs and graces. But in the Army we appear to be nobody. We are expected to stand stiffly at atten- tion when addressed by an officer; even to call him '*sir" — an honour to which our previous employer has been a stranger. At home, if we happened to meet the head of the firm in the street, and none of our colleagues was looking, we touched a cap, furtively. Now, we have no option in the matter. We are expected to degrade ourselves by meaning- less and humilia,ting gestures. The N.C.O.'s are almost as bad. If you answer a sergeant as you would a foreman, you are impertinent ; if you argue with him, as all good Scotsmen must, you are insubordinate ; if you endeavour to drive a collective bargain with him, you are mutinous; and you are reminded that upon active service mutiny is punishable by death. It is all very unusual and upsetting. You may not spit ; neither may you smoke 16 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND a cigarette in the ranks, nor keep tlie residue thereof behind yonr ear. You may not take beer to bed with you. You may not postpone your shave till Saturday: you must shave every day. You must keep your buttons, accoutrements, and rifle speckless, and have your hair cut in a style which is not becoming to your particular type of beauty. Even your feet are not your own. Every Sunday morn- ing a young officer, whose leave has been specially stopped for the purpose, comes round the barrack-rooms after church and inspects your extremities, revelling in blackened nails and gloating over hammer-toes. For all practical purposes, decides Private Muckle- wame, you might as well be in Siberia. Still, one can get used to anything. Our lot is mitigated, too, by the knowledge that we are all in the same boat. The most olympian N.C.O. stands like a ramrod when addressing an officer, while lieutenants make obeisance to a company commander as humbly as any private. Even the Colonel was seen one day to salute an old gentleman who rode on to the parade-ground during morning drill, wearing a red band round his hat. Noting this, we realise that the Army is not, after all, as we first suspected, divided into two classes — oppressors and oppressed. We all have to ^*go through it." Presently fresh air, hard training, and clean living begin to weave their spell. In- GROWING PAINS 17 credulous at first, we find ourselves slowly recognising the fact that it is possible to treat an officer deferentially, or carry out an order smartly, without losing one^s self-respect as a man and a Trades Unionist. The insidious habit of cleanliness, once acquired, takes des- potic possession of its victims: we find our- selves looking askance at room-mates who have not yet yielded to such predilections. The swimming-bath, where once we flapped unwillingly and ingloriously at the shallow end, becomes quite a desirable resort, and we look forward to our weekly visit with something approaching eagerness. We begin, too, to take our profession seriously. For- merly we regarded outpost exercises, ad- vanced guards, and the like, as a rather fatu- ous form of play-acting, designed to amuse those officers who carry maps and note-books. Now we begin to consider these diversions on their merits, and seriously criticise Second Lieutenant Little for having last night posted one of his sentry groups upon the skyline. Thus is the soul of a soldier born. We are getting less individualistic, too. We are beginning to think more of our regiment and less of ourselves. At first this loyalty takes the form of criticising other regi- ments, because their marching is slovenly, or their accoutrements dirty, or — most signifi- cant sign of all — their discipline is bad. We are especially critical of our own Eighth Bat- talion, which is fully three weeks younger than 18 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND we are, and is not in the First Hnndred Thou- sand at all. In their presence we are war-worn veterans. We express it as onr opinion that the officers of some of these battalions mnst be a poor lot. From this it suddenly comes home to us that our officers are a good lot, and we find ourselves taking a queer pride in our company commander's homely strictures and severe sentences the morning after pay- night. Here is another step in the quicken- ing life of the regiment. Esprit de corps is raising its head, class prejudice and dour * ^ independence ' ' notwithstanding. Again, a timely hint dropped by the Col- onel on battalion parade this morning has set us thinking. We begin to wonder how we shall compare with the first-line regiments when we find ourselves * ^ oot there. ' ' Silently we resolve that when we, the first of the Service Battalions, take our place in trench or firing line alongside the Old Regiment, no one shall be found to draw unfavourable comparisons between parent and offspring. We intend to show ourselves chips of the old block. No one who knows the Old Eegiment can ask more of a young battalion than that. IV THE CONVEESION OP PEIVATE M'SLATTEKY OiTE evening a rumour ran round the barracks. Most barrack rumours die a natural death, but this one was confirmed by the fact that next morning the whole battalion, instead of performing the usual platoon exercises, was told oif for instruction in the art of presenting arms. ^*A" Company discussed the portent at breakfast. **What kin' o' a thing is a Eeview?'' in- quired Private M^Slattery. Private Mucklewame explained. Private M'Slattery was not impressed, and said so quite frankly. In the lower walks of the in- dustrial world Eoyalty is too often a mere name. Personal enthusiasm for a Sovereign whom they have never seen, and who in their minds is inextricably mixed up with the House of Lords, and capitalism, and the police, is impossible to individuals of the stamp of Private M'Slattery. To such, Eoy- alty is simply the head and corner-stone 20 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND of a legal s^^stem which officionsly prevents a man from being drunk and disorderly, and the British Empire an expensive luxury for which the working man pays while the idle rich draw the profits. If M'Slattery's opinion of the Civil Code was low, his opinion of Military Law was at zero. In his previous existence in his native Clydebank, when weary of rivet-heating and desirous of change and rest, he had been accustomed to take a day ofP and become pleasantly intoxicated, being comfortably able to afford the loss of pay involved by his ab- sence. On these occasions he was accustomed to sleep off his potations in some public place — usually upon the pavement outside his last house of call — and it was his boast that so long as nobody interfered with him he inter- fered with nobody. To this attitude the tolerant police force of Clydebank assented, having their hands full enough, as a rule, in dealing with more militant forms of alco- hohsm. But Private M^Slattery, No. 3891, soon realised that he and Mr. Matthew M^ Slat- tery, rivet-heater and respected citizen of Clydebank, had nothing in common. Only last week, feeling pleasantly fatigued after five days of arduous military training, he had followed the invariable practice of his civil life, and taken a day otf. The result had fairly staggered him. In the orderly-room upon Monday morning he was charged with — PEIVATE M^SLATTEEY^S CONVERSIOI^T 21 (1) Being absent from Parade at 9 a.m. on Saturday. (2) Being absent from Parade at 2 p.m. on Saturday. (3) Being absent from Tattoo at 9.30 p.m. on Saturday. (4) Being drunk in High Street about 9.40 P.M. on Saturday. (5) Striking a Non-Commissioned Officer. (6) Attempting to escape from Ms escort. (7) Destroying Government property. (Three panes of glass in the guard-room.) Private M^Slattery, asked for an explana- tion, had pointed out that if he had been treated as per his working arrangement with the police at Clydebank, there would have been no trouble whatever. As for his day off, he was willing to forgo his day's pay and call the thing square. However, a hidebound CO. had fined him ^ve shillings and sentenced him to seven days' C.B. Consequently he was in no mood for Royal Reviews. He stated his opinions upon the subject in a loud voice and at some length. No one contradicted him, for he possessed the straightest left in the company; and no dog barked even when M^Slattery said that black was white. ^*I wunner ye jined the Airmy at all, M^Slattery," observed one bold spirit, when the orator paused for breath. * ^ I wunner myself, ' ' said M' Slattery simply. If I had kent all aboot this ^attention,' and a 22 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND *stan'-at-ease,' and needin' tae luft your hand tae your bunnet whenever you saw yin o ' they gentry-pups of officers goin' by, — dagont if I'd hae done it, Germans or no 1 (But I had a dram in me at the time.) I'm weel kent in Clydebank, and they'll tell you there that I'm no the man to be wastin' my time presenting airms tae kings or any other bodies." However, at the appointed hour M^ Slattery, in the front rank of A Company, stood to at- tention because he had to, and presented arms very creditably. He now cherished a fresh grievance, for he objected upon principle to have to present arms to a motor-car stand- ing two hundred yards away upon his right front. ^*Wull we be gettin' hame to our dinners now?" he inquired gruffly of his neighbour. *^ Maybe he'll tak' a closer look at us," sug- gested an optimist in the rear rank. **He micht walk doon the line. ' ' ' ' Walk ! No him ! ' ' replied Private M* Slat- tery. ' ' He '11 be awa ' hame in the motor. Hae ony o' you billies gotten a fag?" There was a smothered laugh. The officers of the battalion were standing rigidly at at- tention in front of A Company. One of these turned his head sharply. '^No talking in the ranks there!" he said. * ^ Sergeant, take that man 's name. ' ' Private M^ Slattery, rumbling mutiny, sub- sided, and devoted his attention to the move- ments of the Royal motor-car. PEIVATE M^SLATTERY'S CONVERSION 23 Then the miracle happened. The great car rolled smoothly from the saluting-base, over the undulating turf, and came to a standstill on the extreme right of the line, half a mile away. There descended a slight figure in Miaki. It was the King — the King whom Private M^ Slattery had never seen. Another figure followed, and another. '* Herself iss there too!'' whinnied an ex- cited Highlander on M* Slattery 's right. ' * And the young leddy! Pless me, they are all for walking town the line on their feet. And the sun so hot in the sky! We shall see them close!" Private M* Slattery gave a contemptuous sniff. The excited battalion was called to a sense of duty by the voice of authority. Once more the long lines stood stiff and rigid — waiting, waiting, for their brief glimpse. It was a long time coming, for they were posted on the extreme left. Suddenly a strangled voice was uplifted — *^In God's name, what for can they no come tae us? Never heed the others!" Yet Private M^ Slattery was quite unaware that he had spoken. At last the little procession arrived. There was a handshake for the Colonel, and a word with two or three of the officers ; then a quick scrutiny of the rank and file. For a moment — yea, more than a moment — keen Eoyal eyes rested upon Private M^ Slattery, standing like 24 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND a graven image, with his great chest straining the buttons of his tunic. Then a voice said, apparently in M^Slat- tery's ear — **A magnificent body of men, Colonel. I congratulate you.'' A minute later M^Slattery was aroused from his trance by the sound of the Colonel's ringing voice — ^^Highlanders, three cheers for His Majesty the King!" M^Slattery led the whole Battalion, his glengarry high in the air. Suddenly his eye fell upon Private Muckle- wame, blindly and woodenly yelling himself hoarse. In three strides M^Slattery was standing face to face with the unconscious criminal. *^Yous low, lousy puddock," he roared — '*tak' off your bonnet!" He saved Muckle- wame the trouble of complying, and strode back to his place in the ranks. ^^Yin mair, chaps," he shouted — '^for the young leddy ! ' ' And yet there are people who tell us that the formula, O.H.M.S., is a mere relic of antiquity. *'ceime" '^Beiitg in Private DnnsMe, Sergeant-Major," says tlie Company Commander. The Sergeant-Ma j or throws open the door, and barks — ^^ Private Dunshie's escort!" The order is repeated fortissimo by some one ontside. There is a clatter of ammuni- tion boots getting into step, and a solemn procession of four files into the room. The leader thereof is a stumpy but enormously important-looking private. He is the escort. Number two is the prisoner. Numbers three and four are the accuser — counsel for the Crown, as it were — and a witness. The pro- cession reaches the table at which the Captain is sitting. Beside him is a young officer, one Bobby Little, who is present for ^instruc- tional" purposes. ^^Mark time!" commands the Sergeant- Ma jor. '^Halt! Right turn!" This evolution brings the accused face to face with his judge. He has been deprived 26 THE FIEST HUNDEEB THOUSAND of Ms cap, and of everything else *^ which may be employed as, or contain, a missile.'' (They think of everything in the King's Eegnlations.) ^^What is this man's crime, Sergeant- Major?" inquires the Captain. *^0n this sheet, sir," replies the Sergeant- Ma j or. . . . By a *^ crime" the ordinary civilian means something worth recording in a special edition of the evening papers — something with a meat-chopper in it. Others, more catholic in their views, will tell you that it is a crime to inflict corporal punishment on any human being; or to permit performing animals to appear upon the stage ; or to subsist upon any food but nuts. Others, of still finer clay, will classify such things as Futurism, The Tango, Dickeys, and the Albert Memorial as crimes. The point to note is, that in the eyes of all these persons each of these things is a sin of the worst possible degree. That being so, they designate it a ^ ^ crime. " It is the strong- est term they can employ. But in the Army, ^ ' crime ' ' is capable of in- finite shades of intensity. It simply means ^^misdemeanour," and may range from being unshaven on parade, or making a frivolous complaint about the potatoes at dinner, to irrevocably perforating your rival in love with a bayonet. So let party politicians, when they discourse vaguely to their con- stituents about ^^the prevalence of crime in CEIME 27 the Army under the present effete and un- democratic system/' walk warily. Every private in the Army possesses what is called a conduct-sheet^ and upon this his crimes are recorded. To be precise, he has two such sheets. One is called his Company sheet, and the other his Regimental sheet. His Company sheet contains a record of every misdeed for which he has been brought before his Company Commander. His Regimental sheet is a more select document, and contains only the more noteworthy of his achievements — crimes so interesting that they have to be communicated to the Commanding Officer. However, this morning we are concerned only with Company conduct-sheets. It is 7.30 A.M., and the Company Commander is sitting in judgment, with a little pile of yellow Army forms before him. He picks up the first of these, and reads — ^^ Private Dunshie. While on active service, refusinp to obey an order. Lance-Corporal Ness!"^ The figure upon the prisoner's right sud- denly becomes animated. Lance-Corporal Ness, taking a deep breath, and fixing his eyes resolutely on the whitewashed wall above the Captain's head, recites — ' ' Sirr, at four p.m. on the f uf th unst. I was in charge of a party told off for tae scrub the floor of Room Nummer Seeventeen. I or- dered the prisoner tae scrub. He refused. I warned him. He again refused. ' ' 28 THE PIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND Click ! Lance-Corporal Ness has run down. He has just managed the sentence in a breath. ' ^ Corporal Mackay ! ' ' The figure upon Lance-Corporal Ness's right stiffens, and inflates itself. *^Sirr, on the fufth unst. I was Orderly Sergeant. At aboot four-thirrty p.m., Lance- Corporal Ness reported this man tae me for re- fusing for tae obey an order. I confined him. ' ' The Captain turns to the prisoner. ^^What have you to say, Private Dun- shie?" Private Dunshie, it appears, has a good deal to say. ^^I jined the Airmy for tae fight they Ger- mans, and no for tae be learned tae scrub floors '^ **Sirr!" suggests the Sergeant-Ma jor in his ear. *^Sirr," amends Private Dunshie reluc- tantly. '^I was no in the habit of scrubbin' the floor mysel' where I stay in Glesca'; and ma wife would be affronted ' ' But the Captain looks up. He has heard enough. *^Look here, Dunshie," he says. *'Glad to hear you want to fight the Germans. So do L So do we all. All the same, we've got a lot of dull jobs to do first.'' (Captain Blaikie has the reputation of being the most mono- syllabic man in the British Army.) *^ Coals, and floors, and fatigues like that: they are CEIME 29 your job. I have mine too. Kept me up till two this morning. But the point is this. You have refused to obey an order. Very seri- ous, that. Most serious crime a soldier can commit. If you start arguing now about small things, where will you be when the big orders come along — eh I Must learn to obey. Soldier now, whatever you were a month ago. So obey all orders like a shot. Watch me next time I get one. No disgrace, you Iniow ! Ought to be a soldier's pride, and all that. Seer' ** Yes — sirr," replies Private Dunshie, with less truculence. The Captain glances down at the paper before him. ** First time you tave come before me. Admonished ! ' ' * ^ Eight turn ! Quick march ! ' ' thunders the Sergeant-Ma j or. The procession clumps out of the room. The Captain turns to his disciple. *^ That's my homely and paternal tap," he observes. *^For first offenders only. That chap's all right. Soon find out it's no good fussing about your rights as a true-born British elector in the Army. Sergeant- Major!" ^^Sirrl" ^^ Private McNulty!" After the usual formalities, enter Private McNulty and escort. Private McNulty is a small scared-looking man with a dirty face. 30 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND '^Private McNulty, sirr!" annonnces the Sergeant-Ma j or to the Company Commander, with the air of a popular lecturer on entom- ology placing a fresh insect under the micro- scope. Captain BlaiMe addresses the shivering culprit — '^Private McNulty; charged with destroy- ing Government property. Corporal Mather ! ' ' Corporal Mather clears his throat, and assuming the wooden expression and fish- like gaze common to all public speakers who have learned their oration by heart, begins — ^'Sirr, on the night of the sixth inst. I was Orderly Sergeant. Going round the pris- oner's room about the hour of nine-thirty I noticed that his three biscuits had been cut and slashed, appariently with a knife or other instrument. ' ' ^^Whatdidyoudor' **Sirr, I inquired of the men in the room who was it had gone for to do this. Sirr, they said it was the prisoner. ' ' Two witnesses are called. Both certify, casting grieved and virtuous glances at the prisoner, that this outrage upon the property of His Majesty was the work of Private McNulty. To the unsophisticated Bobby Little this charge appears rather a frivolous one. If you may not cut or slash a biscuit, what are you to do with it I Swallow it whole? CRIME 31 << Private McNultyT' queries the Captain. Private McNulty, in a voice which is shrill with righteous indignation, gives the some- what unexpected answer — * ^ Sirr, I plead! guilty ! ' ' ' ' Guilty — eh ? You did it, then ? ' ' '^Yes, sir.'' **Whyr' This is what Private McNulty is waiting for. * ^ The men in that room, sirr, ' ' he announces indignantly, ^^ appear tae look on me as a sort of body that can be treated onyways. They go for tae aggravate me. I was sittin' on my bed, with my knife in my hand, cutting a piece bacca and interfering with naebody, when they all commenced tae fling biscuits at me. I was keepin' them off as weel as I could; but havin' a knife in my hand, I'll no deny but what I gave twa three of them a bit cut. ' ' ^^Is this true?" asks the Captain of the first witness, curtly. *^Yes, sir." * ' You saw the men throwing biscuits at the prisoner?" ^^Yes, sir." *^He was daen' it himsel'!" proclaims Pri- vate McNulty. ^^This true!" *^Yes, sir." The Captain addresses the other witness. * ' You doing it too ? ' ' 9 9 32 THE FIRST HUNDEED TH0USA:N"D **Yes, sir.'' The Captain tnrns again to the prisoner. *^Why didn't you lodge a complaint? (The schoolboy code does not obtain in the Army.) ^'I did, sir. I tellt" — indicating Corporal Mather with an elbow — ^*this genelman here. ' ' Corporal Mather cannot help it. He swells perceptibly. But swift puncture awaits him. ^^ Corporal Mather, why didn't you mention this?" *'I didna think it affected the crime, sir." *^Not your business to think. Only to make a straightforward charge. Be very careful in future. You other two ' ' — the witnesses come guiltily to attention — ^^I shall talk to your platoon sergeant about you. Not going to have Government property knocked about!" Bobby Little's eyebrows, willy-nilly, have been steadily rising during the last five min- utes. He knows the meaning of red tape now! Then comes sentence. ^< Private McNulty, you have pleaded guilty to a charge of destro^dng Government prop- erty, so you go before the Commanding Offi- cer. Don't suppose you'll be punished, beyond paying for the damage." ** Eight turn! Quick march!" chants the Sergeant-Ma j or. CEIME 33. The downtrodden McNulty disappears, with his traducers. But Bobby Little's eyebrows have not been altogether thrown away upon his Company Commander. ^^Got the biscuits here, Sergeant-Major?" *^Yes, sirr." *'Show them." The Sergeant-Major dives into a pile of brown blankets, and presently extracts three small brown mattresses, each two feet square. These appear to have been stabbed in several places with a knife. Captain Blaikie's eyes twinkle, and he chuckles to his now scarlet-faced junior — *^More biscuits in heaven and earth than ever came out of Huntley and Palmer's, my son ! Private Robb ! ' ' Presently Private Eobb stands at the table. He is a fresh-faced, well-set-up youth, with a slightly receding chin and a most dejected manner. ^'Private Rohh/' reads the Captain. *^ While on active service, drunk and singing in Wellington Street about nine p.m. on Sat- urday, the sixth. Sergeant Garrett!" The proceedings follow their usual course, except that in this case some of the evidence is ^* documentary" — put in in the form of a report from the sergeant of the Military Police who escorted the melodious Eobb home to bed. The Captain addresses the prisoner. *^ Private Robb, this is the second time. 34 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAISTD Sorry — very sorry. In all otlier ways you are doing* well. Very keen and promising soldier. Why is it — eh T ' The contrite Eobb hangs his head. His judge continues — ^'I'U tell you. You haven't found out yet how much you can hold. That itT' The prisoner nods assent. <^ "Well — find out! See! It's one of the first things a young man ought to learn. Very valuable piece of information. I know my- self, so I'm safe. Want you to do the same. Every man has a different limit. What did you have on Saturday?" Private Eobb reflects. *^Five pints, sirr," he announces. *^Well, next time try three, and then you won't go serenading policemen. As it is, you will have to go before the Commanding Officer and get punished. Want to go to the front, don't you?" '*Yes, sirr." Private Eobb's dismal fea- tures flush. *^Well, mind this. We all want to go, but we can't go till every man in the battalion is efficient. You want to be the man who kept the rest from going to the front — eh?" *^No, sirr, I do not." **A11 right, then. Next Saturday night say to yourself: ^Another pint, and I keep the Battalion back!' If you do that, you'll come back to barracks sober, like a decent CEIME 35 chap. That ^11 do. Don't salute with your cap off. Next man, Sergeant-Major!^' ^*Good boy, that," remarks the Captain to Bobby Little, as the contrite Eobb is removed. ^^Keen as mustard. But his high-water mark for beer is somewhere in his boots. All right, now IVe scared him.'' *^Last prisoner, sirr," announces the Ser- geant-Ma j or. '^Glad to hear it. H'm! Private McQueen again ! ' ' Private McQueen is an unpleasant-looking creature, with a drooping red moustache and a cheese-coloured complexion. His misdeeds are recited. Having been punished for mis- conduct early in the week, he has piled Pelion on Ossa by appearing fighting drunk at de- faulters' parade. From all accounts he has livened up that usually decorous assemblage considerably. . After the corroborative evidence, the Cap- tain asks his usual question of the prisoner — *^ Anything to say I" *^No," growls Private McQueen. The Captain takes up the prisoner's con- duct-sheet, reads it through, and folds it up deliberately. *^I am going to ask the Commanding Officer to discharge you, ' ' he says ; and there is noth- ing homely or paternal in his speech now. *^ Can't make out why men like you join the Army — especially this Army. Been a nui- sance ever since you came here. Drunk — 36 THE FIRST HUISTDEED THOUSAND beastly drunk — four times in three weeks. Always dirty and insubordinate. Always try- ing to stir Tip trouble among the young sol- diers. Been in the army before, have n 't you 1 ^ ' ^^No." *^ That's not true. Can always tell an old soldier on parade. Fact is, you have either deserted or been discharged as incorrigible. Going to be discharged as incorrigible again. Keeping the regiment back, that's why: that's a real crime. Go home, and explain that you were turned out of the King's Army because you weren't worthy of the honour of staying in. When decent men see that people like you have no place in this regiment, perhaps they will see that this regiment is just the place for them. Take him away. ' ' Private McQueen shambles out of the room for the last time in his life. Captain Blaikie, a little exhausted by his own unusual loqua- city, turns to Bobby Little with a contented sigh. ^^ That's the last of the shysters," he says. ^^Been weeding them out for six weeks. Now I have got rid of that nobleman I can look the rest of the Company in the face. Come to breakfast ! " VI THE LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PEESIANS One's first days as a newly- joined subaltern are very like one's first days at school. The feeling is jnst the same. There is the same natural shyness, the same reverence for people who afterwards turn out to be of no conse- quence whatsoever, and the same fear of transgressing the Laws of the Medes and Per- sians — regimental traditions and conventions — which alter not. Dress, for instance. ^*Does one wear a sword on parade?" asks the tyro of himself his first morning. **I'll put it on, and chance it." He invests himself in a monstrous clay- more and steps on to the barrack square. Not an officer in sight is carrying anything more lethal than a light cane. There is just time to scuttle back to quarters and disarm. Again, where should one sit at meal-times? We had supposed that the CO. would be en- throned at the head of the table, with a major sitting on his right and left, like Cherubim and Seraphim; while the rest disposed them- 38 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND selves in a descending scale of .greatness until it came down to persons like ourselves at the very foot. But the CO. has a disconcerting habit of sitting absolutely anywhere. He appears to be just as happy between two Sec- ond Lieutenants as between Cherubim and Seraphim. Again, we note that at breakfast each officer upon entering sits down and shouts loudly, to a being concealed behind a screen, for food, which is speedily forthcom- ing. Are we entitled to clamour in this per- emptory fashion too! Or should we creep round behind the screen and take what we can get? Or should we sit still, and wait till we are served? We try the last expedient first, and get nothing. Then we try the second, and are speedily convinced, by the demeanour of the gentleman behind the screen, that we have committed the worst error of which we have yet been guilty. There are other problems — saluting, for instance. On the parade ground this is a simple matter enough; for there the golden rule appears to be — When in doubt, salute! The Colonel calls up his four Company Com- manders. They salute. He instructs them to carry on this morning with coal fatigues and floor-scrubbing. The Company Comman- ders salute, and retire to their Companies, and call up their subalterns, who salute. They instruct these to carry on this morning with coal fatigues and floor-scrubbing. The sixteen subalterns salute, and retire to their platoons. LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PERSIANS 39 Here they call up their Platoon Sergeants, who salnte. They instruct these to carry on this morning with coal fatigues and floor- scrubbing. The Platoon Sergeants salute, and issue commands to the rank and file. The rank and file, having no instructions to salute sergeants, are compelled, as a last resort, to carry on with the coal fatigues and floor- scrubbing themselves. You see, on parade saluting is simplicity itself. But we are not always on parade ; and then more subtle problems arise. Some of those were discussed one day by four junior officers, who sat upon a damp and slippery bank by a muddy roadside during a * ^fall-out'' in a route-march. The four (^ ^ reading from left to right," as they say in high journalistic so- ciety) were Second Lieutenant Little, Second Lieutenant Waddell, Second Lieutenant Cock- erell, and Lieutenant Struthers, surnamed ** Highbrow." Bobby we know. Waddell was a slow-moving but pertinacious student of the science of war from the kingdom of Fife. Cockerell came straight from a crack public- school corps, where he had been a cadet officer ; so nothing in the heaven above or the earth be- neath was hid from him. Struthers owed his superior rank to the fact that in the far back ages, before the days of the O.T.C., he had held a commission in a University Corps. He was a scholar of his College, and was an expert in the art of accumulating masses of knowledge in quick time for examination purposes. He 40 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND knew all the little red manuals by heart, was an infallible authority on buttons and badges, and would dip into the King's Eegulations or the Field Service Pocket-book as another man might dip into the ^* Sporting Times." Strange to say, he was not very good at drill- ing a platoon. We all know him. ^^What do you do when you are leading a party along a road and meet a Staff Of&cer?" asked Bobby Little. '^Make a point,'' replied Cockerell patron- isingly, **of saluting all persons wearing red bands round their hats. They may not be entitled to it, but it tickles their ribs and gets you the reputation of being an intelligent young officer." ^^But I say," announced Waddell plain- tively, ''I saluted a man with a red hat the other day, and he turned out to be a Military Policeman ! ' ' *^As a matter of fact," announced the pun- dit Struthers, after the laughter had subsided, *'you need not salute anybody. No compli- ments are paid on active service, and we are on active service now. ' ' *^Yes, but suppose some one salutes you?^' objected the conscientious Bobby Little. '^You must salute back again, and some- times you don't know how to do it. The other day I was bringing the company back from the ranges and we met a company from another battalion — the Mid Mudshires, I think. Before I knew where I was the fel- LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PEESIANS 41 low in charge called them to attention and then gave ^Eyes right!' " *^What did yon do?" asked Struthers anxiously. ^'I hadn't time to do anything except grin, and say, *Good morning!' " confessed Bobby Little. ^*You were perfectly right," announced Struthers, and Cockerell murmured assent. **Are you sure?" persisted Bobby Little. '*As I passed the tail of their company one of their subs turned to another and said quite loud, *My"TTod, what swine!' " ^^ Showed his rotten ignorance," commented Cockerell. At this moment Mr. Waddell, whose thoughts were never disturbed by conver- sation around him, broke in with a ques- tion. '^What does a Tommy do," he inquired, '4f he meets an officer wheeling a wheel- barrow?" **Who is wheeling the barrow," inquired the meticulous Struthers — ^Hhe officer or the Tommy!" **The Tommy, of course!" replied Waddell in quite a shocked voice. '^What is he to do? If he tries to salute he will upset the barrow, you know." '^He turns his head sharply towards the officer for six paces, ' ' explained the ever-ready Struthers. ^^When a soldier is not in a posi- tion to salute in the ordinary way — >> 42 THE FIRST HUNDEEB THOUSAND ''I say,'' inquired Bobby Little ratber shyly, ^^do you ever look the other way when you meet a Tommy T' **How do you mean?'' asked everybody. **Well, the other day I met one walking out with his girl along the road, and I felt so blooming de trop that -" Here the * ^fall-in" sounded, and this deli- cate problem was left unsolved. But Mr. Waddell, who liked to get to the bottom of things, continued to ponder these matters as he marched. He mistrusted the omnis- cience of Struthers and the superficial infalli- bility of the self-satisfied Cockerell. Accord- ingly, after consultation with that eager searcher after knowledge, Second Lieutenant Little, he took the laudable but fatal step of carrying his difficulties to one Captain Wag- staffe, the humorist of the Battalion. Wagstaffe listened with an appearance of absorbed interest. Finally he said — *' These are very important questions, Mr. Waddell, and you acted quite rightly in laying them before me. I will consult the Deputy Assistant Instructor in Military Etiquette, and will obtain a written answer to your inquiries. ' ' *^0h, thanks awfully, sir!" exclaimed Waddell. The result of Captain Wagstaffe's applica- tion to the mysterious official just designated was forthcoming next day in the form of a neatly typed document. It was posted in the LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PEESIANS 43 Ante-room (the CO. being out at dinner), and ran as follows; — SALUTES Young Officees, Hints for the Guidance of The following is the correct procedure for a young^ officer in charge of an armed party upon meeting — (a) A Staff Officer riding a bicycle. Correct Procedure. — If marching at attention, order your men to march at ease and to light cigarettes and eat bananas. Then, having fixed bayonets, give the order: Across the road — - straggle I (&) A funeral. Correct Procedure. — Strike up Tipperary, and look the other way. (c) A General Officer, who strolls across your Bar- rack Square precisely at the moment when you and your Platoon have got into mutual difficulties. Correct Procedure. — Lie down flat upon your face (directing your platoon to do the same), cover your head with gravel, and pretend you are not there. Special Cases (a.) A soldier, wheeling a wheelbarrow and bal- ancing a swill-tub on his head, meets an officer walk- ing out in review dress. Correct Procedure. — The soldier will immediately cant the swill-tub to an angle of forty-five degrees, 44 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND at a distance of one and a half inclies above his right eyebrow. (In the case of Rifle Regiments the sol- dier will balance the swill-tnb on his nose.) He will then invite the officer, by a smart movement of the left ear, to seat himself on the wheelbarrow. Correct Acknowledgment, — The officer will com- ply, placing his feet npon the right and left hubs of the wheel respectively, with the ball of the toe in each case at a distance of one inch (when serving abroad, 2% centimetres) from the centre of gravity of the wheelbarrow. (In the case of Rifle Regiments the officer will tie his feet in a knot at the back of his neck.) The soldier will then advance six paces, after which the officer will dismount and go home and have a bath. (&) A soldier, with his arm round a lady's waist in the gloaming, encounters an officer. Correct Procedure. — The soldier will salute with his disengaged arm. The lady will administer a sharp tap with the end of her umbrella to the officer's tunic, at point one inch above the lowest button. Correct Acknowledgment. — The officer will take the end of the umbrella firmly in his right hand, and will require the soldier to introduce him to the lady. He will then direct the soldier to double back to barracks. (c) A party of soldiers, seated upon the top of a transport waggon, see an officer passing at the side of the road. Correct Procedure. — The senior IST.C.O. (or if no N.C.O. be present, the oldest soldier) will call the men to attention, and the party, taking their time from the right, will spit upon the officer's head in a Boldier-like manner. LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PERSIANS 45 Correct Acknowledgment. — The officer will break into a smart trot. ; {d) K soldier, driving an officer's motor-car without the knowledge of the officer, encounters the officer in a narrow country lane. Correct Procedure. — The soldier will open the throttle to its full extent and run the officer over. Correct Acknowledgment. — No acknowledgment is required. Note. — -None of the above compliments will he paid upon active service. Unfortunately the Colonel came home from dining out sooner than was expected, and found this outrageous document still upon the notice-board. But he was a good Colonel. He merely remarked approvingly — **H'm. Quite so! Non semper arcum tendit Apollo. It's just as well to keep smil- ing these days.'' Nevertheless, Mr. Waddell made a point in future, when in need of information, of seek- ing the same from a less inspired source than Captain Wagstaffe. There was another Law of the Medes and Persians with which our four friends soon became familiar — that which governs the re- lations of the various ranks to one another. Great Britain is essentially the home of the chaperon. We pride ourselves, as a nation, upon the extreme care with which we protect 46 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND our young gentlewomen from contaminating influences. But the fastidious attention which we bestow upon our national maidenhood is as nothing in comparison with the protective commotion with which we surround that shrinking sensitive plant, Mr. Thomas Atkins. Take etiquette and deportment. If a soldier wishes to speak to an officer, an introduction must be effected by a sergeant. Let us sup- pose that Private M^Splae, in the course of a route-march, develops a blister upon his great toe. He begins by intimating the fact to the nearest lance-corporal. The lance- corporal takes the news to the platoon ser- geant, who informs the platoon commander, who may or may not decide to take the opin- ion of his company commander in the matter. Anyhow, when the hobbling warrior finally obtains permission to fall out and alleviate his distress, a corporal goes with him, for fear he should lose himself, or his boot — it is wonderful what Thomas can lose when he sets his mind to it — or, worst crime of all, his rifle. Again, if two privates are detailed to empty the regimental ashbin, a junior N.C.O. ranges them in line, calls them to attention, and marches them off to the scene of their labours, decently and in order. If a soldier obtains leave to go home on furlough for the week- end, he is collected into a party, and, after being inspected to see that his buttons are clean, his hair properly cut, and his nose LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PEESIANS 47 correctly blown, is marched off to tlie sta- tion, where a ticket is provided for him, and he and his fellow-wayfarers are safely tucked into a third-smoker labelled *^ Mili- tary Party.'' (No wonder he sometimes gets lost on arriving at Waterloo!) In short, if there is a job to be done, the senior soldier present chaperons somebody else while he does it. This system has been attacked on the ground that it breeds loss of self-reliance and initiative. As a matter of fact, the re- sult is almost exactly the opposite. Under its operation a soldier rapidly acquires the art of placing himself under the command of his nearest superior in rank; but at the same time he learns with equal rapidity to take command himself if no superior be pres- ent — no bad thing in times of battle and sudden death, when shrapnel is whistling, and promotion is taking place with grim and unceasing automaticity. This principle is extended, too, to the enforcement of law and order. If Private M'Sumph is insubordinate or riotous, there is never any question of informal correction or summary justice. News of the incident wends its way upward, by a series of prop- erly regulated channels, to the officer in command. Presently, by the same route, an order comes back, and in a twinkling the offender finds himself taken under arrest and marched off to the guard-room by two 48 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND of Ms own immediate associates. (One of them may be his own rear-rank man.) But no officer or non-commissioned officer ever lays a finger on him. The penalty for striking a superior officer is so severe that the law decrees, very wisely, that a soldier must on no account ever be arrested by any save men of his own rank. If Private M'Sumph, while being removed in custody, strikes Private Tosh upon the nose and kicks Private Cosh upon the shin, to the effu- sion of blood, no great harm is done — ex- cept to the lacerated Cosh and Tosh; but if he had smitten an intruding officer in the eye, his punishment would have been dire and grim. So, though we may call military law cumbrous and grandmotherly, there is sound sense and real mercy at the root of it. But there is one Law of the Medes and Per- sians which is sensibly relaxed these days. We, the newly joined, have always been given to understand that whatever else you do, you must never, never betray any interest in your profession — in short, talk shop — at Mess. But in our Mess no one ever talks anything else. At luncheon, we relate droll anecdotes concerning our infant platoons; at tea, we explain, to any one who will listen, exactly how we placed our sentry line in last night's operations; at dinner, we brag about our Company musketry returns, and quote un- LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PEESIAISTS 49 truthful extracts from our buit registers. At breakfast, every one has a newspaper, which he props before him and reads, generally aloud. We exchange observations upon the war news. We criticise von Kluck, and speak kindly of Joffre. We note, daily, that there is nothing to report on the Allies' right, and wonder regularly how the Eussians are really getting on in the Eastern theatre. Then, after observing that the only sports- man in the combined forces of the German Empire is — or was — the captain of the Emden, we come to the casualty lists- — and there is silence. Englishmen are fond of saying, with the satisfied air of men letting o:ff a really excel- lent joke, that every one in Scotland knows every one else. As we study the morning's Eoll of Honour, we realise that never was a more truthful jest uttered. There is not a name in the list of those who have died for Scotland which is not familiar to us. If we did not know the man — too often the boy — himself, we knew his people, or at least where his home was. In England, if you live in Kent, and you read that the Northumberland Fusiliers have been cut up or the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry badly knocked about, you merely sigh that so many more good men should have fallen. Their names are glorious names, but they are only names. But never a Scottish regiment comes under fire but the whole of Scotland feels it. Scot- 50 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND land is small enough to know all lier sons by heart. You may live in Berwickshire, and the man who has died may have come from Skye; but his name is quite familiar to you. Big England's sorrow is national; little Scot- land's is personal. Then we pass on to our letters. "Many of us — particularly the senior officers — have news direct from the trenches — scribbled scraps torn out of field-message books. We get constant tidings of the Old Regiment. They marched thirty-five miles on such a day; they captured a position after being under continuous shell fire for eight hours on another; they were personally thanked by the Field-Marshal on another. Oh, we shall have to work hard to get up to that standard ! *^They want more officers," announces the Colonel. ^^ Naturally, after the time they've been having ! But they must go to the Third Battalion for them: that's the proper place. I will not have them coming here: I've told them so at Headquarters. The Service Bat- talions simply must be led by the officers who have trained them if they are to have a Chinaman's chance when we go out. I shall threaten to resign if they try any more of their tricks. That'll frighten 'em! Even dug-outs like me are rare and valuable objects at present." The Company Commanders murmur assent — on the whole sympathetically. Anxious though they are to get upon business terms LAWS OF THE MEDES AND PEESIANS 51 with the Kaiser, they are loath to abandon the unkempt bnt sturdy companies over which they have toiled so hard, and which now, though destitute of blossom, are rich in promise of fruit. But the senior subalterns look up hopefully. Their lot is hard. Some of them have been in the Service for ten years, yet they have been left behind. They command no companies. *^Here," their faces say, *^we are merely marking time while others learn. Send usF' • ••••• However, though they have taken no offi- cers yet, signs are not wanting that they will take some soon. To-day each of us was pre- sented with a small metal disc. Bobby Little examined his curiously. Upon the face thereof was stamped, in ragged, ir- regular capitals — **What is this forT' he asked. Captain Wagstaffe answered. **You wear it round your neck,'' he said. 52 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND Our four friends, once bitten, regarded the humorist suspiciously. *^Are you rotting us?^' asked Waddell cautiously. ^^No, my son," replied Wagstaffe, **I am not." *^ What is it for, then?" *^It's called an Identity Disc. Every sol- dier on active service wears one." ^^Why should the idiots put one's religion on the thing?" inquired Master Cockerell, scornfully regarding the letters *^C. of E." upon his disc. Wagstaffe regarded him curiously. * ' Think it over, ' ' he suggested. VII SHOOTIN^G STEAIGHT ''What for is the wee felly gaun' tae show us puctures 1 ' ' Second Lientenant Bobby Little, assisted by a sergeant and two unhandy privates, is engaged in propping a large and highly- coloured work of art, mounted on a rough wooden frame and supported on two unsteady legs, against the wall of the barrack square. A half -platoon of A Company, seated upon an adjacent bank, chewing grass and enjoying the mellow autumn sunshine, regard the swaying masterpiece with frank curiosity. For the last fortnight they have been en- gaged in imbibing the science of musketry. They have learned to hold their rifles cor- rectly, sitting, kneeling, standing, or lying; to bring their backsights and foresights into an undeviating straight line with the base of the bulPs-eye; and to press the trigger in the manner laid down in the Musketry Eegulations — without wriggling the body or ''pulling-off." 54: THE FIEST HUISTDEED THOUSAND They have also learned to adjnst their sights, to perform the loading motions rapidly and correctly, and to obey such simple com- mands as — '^At them twa weemen" — ofi&cers' wives, probably — ^^ proceeding from left tae right across the square, at five hundred yairds^' — they are really about fifteen yards away, covered with confusion — ^'five roonds, fire!'* But as yet they have discharged no shots from their rifles. It has all been make-believe, with dummy cartridges, and fictitious ranges, and snapping triggers. To be quite frank, they are getting just a little tired of musketry training — forgetting for the moment that a soldier who cannot use his rifle is merely an expense to his country and a free gift to the enemy. But the sight of Bobby Little's art gallery cheers them up. They contemplate the picture with childlike interest. It resem- bles nothing so much as one of those pleasing but imaginative posters by the display of which our Eailway Companies seek to attract the tourist to the less remunerative portions of their systems. *^What for is the wee felly gaun' tae show us puctures V^ Thus Private Mucklewame. A pundit in the rear rank answers him. ^^Yon's Gairmany." ^^Gairmany ma auntie!" retorts Muckle- wame. ** There's no chumney-stalks in Gair- many." SHOOTING STEAIGHT 55 *^ Maybe no; but there's wundmiills. See the wundmull there — on yon wee knowe ! ' ' i i There a pit-heid I ' ' exclaims another voice. This homely spectacle is received with an affectionate sigh. Until two months ago more than half the platoon had never been out of sight of at least half a dozen. * * See the kirk, in ablow the brae ! " says some one else, in a pleased voice. ^^It has a nock in the steeple. ' ' *^I hear they Gairmans send signals wi' their Mrk-nocks," remarks Private M^Mick- ing, who, as one of the Battalion signallers — or ^^ buzzers," as the vernacular has it, in imi- tation of the buzzing of the Morse instrument — regards himself as a sort of junior Staff Officer. **They jist semaphore with the haunds of the nock " ^*I wonder,'' remarks the dreamy voice of Private M^ Leary, the humorist of the platoon, *^did ever a Gairman buzzer pit the ba' through his ain goal in a fitba' match?" This irrelevant reference to a regrettable incident of the previous Saturday afternoon is greeted with so much laughter that Bobby Little, who has at length fixed his picture in position, whips round. * * Less talking there ! " he announces severely, *^or I shall have to stand you all at attention ! " There is immediate silence — there is noth- ing the matter with Bobby's discipline — and the outraged M^Micking has to content him- self with a homicidal glare in the direction of 56 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND M^Leary, who is now hanging virtuously upon his officer's lips. ''This," proceeds Bobby Little, '*is what is known as a landscape target." He indicates the picture, which, apparently overcome by so much public notice, promptly falls flat upon its face. A fatigue party under the sergeant hurries to its assistance. ''It is intended," resumes Bobby presently, "to teach you — us — to become familiar with various kinds of country, and to get into the habit of picking out conspicuous features of the landscape, and getting them by heart, and — er — so on. I want you all to study this picture for three minutes. Then I shall face you about and ask you to describe it to me." After three minutes of puckered brows and hard breathing the squad is turned to its rear, and the examination proceeds. "Lance-Corporal Ness, what did you notice in the foreground of the picture?" Lance-Corporal Ness gazes fiercely before him. He has noticed a good deal, but can remember nothing. Moreover, he has no very clear idea what a foreground may be. "Private Mucklewamef " Again silence, while the rotund Muckle- wame perspires in the throes of mental ex- ertion. "Private Wemyss?" No answer. "Private M'Micking?" SHOOTING STRAIGHT 57 The '* buzzer" smiles feebly, bnt says nothing. '^Well," — desperately — *' Sergeant An- gus ! Tell them what you noticed in the fore- ground. ' ' Sergeant Angus {floruit a.d. 1895) springs smartly to attention, and replies, with the instant obedience of the old soldier — *^The sky, sirr." ^^Not in the foreground, as a rule," replies Bobby Little gently. ** About turn again, all of you, and we '11 have another try. ' ' In his next attempt Bobby abandons in- dividual catechism. **Now," he begins, ^'what conspicuous ob- jects do we notice on this target? In the foreground I can see a low knoll. To the left I see a windmill. In the distance is a tall chimney. Half -right is a church. How would that church be marked on a map I * ' No reply, *^Well," explains Bobby, anxious to parade a piece of knowledge which he only acquired himself Si day or two ago, *^ churches are denoted in maps by a cross, mounted on a square or circle, according as the church has a square tower or a steeple. What has this church got ? ' ' *^A nock!" bellow the platoon, with stun- ning enthusiasm. (All but Private M^Mick- ing, that is.) ^^A clock, sir," translates the sergeant, sotto voce. 58 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND **A clock? All right: but -what I wanted was a steeple. Then, farther away, we can see a mine, a winding brook, and a house, with a wall in front of it. Who can see themf To judge by the collective expression of the audience, no one does. Bobby ploughs on. *^Upon the skyline we notice — Squa'd, Captain WagstafPe has strolled up. He is second in command of A Company. Bobby explains to him modestly what he has been trying to do. * * Yes, I heard you, ' ' says Wagstaff e. ^ ' You take a breather, while I carry on for a bit. Squad, stand easy, and tell me what you can see on that target. Lance-Corporal Ness, show me a pit-head. ' ' Lance-Corporal Ness steps briskly forward and lays a grubby forefinger on Bobby's *^mine." ^^ Private Mucklewame, show me a burn.'/ The brook is at once identified. ^* Private M^Leary, shut your eyes and tell me what there is just to the right of the windmill. ' ' ^^A wee knowe, sirr," replies M^Leary at once. Bobby recognises his *4ow knolP' — also the fact that it is no use endeavouring to instruct the unlettered until you have learned their language. <> By way of contrast to the frivolous game of chance in the butts, the proceedings at the firing-point resolve themselves into a des- perately earnest test of skill. The fortnight's range-practice is drawing to a close. Each evening registers have been made up, and firing averages adjusted, with the result that A and D Companies are found to have en- tirely outdistanced B and C, and to be running neck and neck for the championship of the battalion. Up till this morning D's average worked out at something under fifteen (out of a possible twenty), and A's at something over fourteen points. Both are quite amazing and incredible averages for a recruits' course; but then nearly everything about ^^K(l)" is amazing and incredible. Up till half an hour ago D had, if anything, increased their lead: then dire calamity overtook them. SHOOTING STRAIGHT 77 One Pumpherston, Sergeant-Major and crack shot of the Company, solemnly blows down the barrel of his rifle and prostrates himself majestically npon his more than con- siderable stomach, for the purpose of firing his Byq rounds at &ve hundred yards. His average score so far has been one under * ^pos- sible." Three officers and a couple of stray corporals gather behind him in eulogistic attitudes. ^^How are the Company doing generally, Sergeant-Major r' inquires the Captain of D Company. **Very well, sirr, except for some careless- ness," replies the great man impressively. * * That man there " — he indicates a shrinking figure hurrying rearwards — *^has just spoilt his own score and another man's by putting two shots on the wrong target." There is a horrified hum at this, for to fire upon some one else's target is the gravest crime in musketry. In the first place, it counts a miss for yourself. In the second, it may do a grievous wrong to your neighbour; for the law ordains that, in the event of more than five shots being found upon any target, only the worst ^ve shall count. Therefore, if your un- solicited contribution takes the form of an outer, it must be counted, to the exclusion, pos- sibly, of a bull. The culprit broke into a double. Having delivered himself, Sergeant-Major Pumpherston graciously accepted the charger of cartridges which an obsequious acolyte was 78 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND proffering, rammed it into the magazine, ad- justed the sights, spread out his legs to an obtuse angle, and fired his first shot. All eyes were turned upon target Number Seven. But there was no signal. All the other markers were busy flourishing discs or flags ; only Number Seven remained cold and aloof. The Captain of D Company laughed satiri- cally. *^ Number Seven gone to have his haircut!" he observed. *^ Third time this morning, sir/' added a sycophantic subaltern. The sergeant-major smiled indulgently. **I can do without signals, sir," he said. **I know where the shot went all right. I must get the next a little more to the left. That last one was a bit too near to three o 'clock to be a certainty. ' ' He fired again — with precisely the same result. Every one was quite apologetic to the ser- geant-major this time. *^This must be stopped," announced the Captain. **Mr. Simson, ring up Captain Wagstaffe on the telephone." But the sergeant-major would not hear of this. **The butt-registers are good enough for me, sir," he said with a paternal smile. He fired again. Once more the target stared back, blank and unresponsive. SHOOTING STRAIGHT 79 This time the audience were too disgusted to speak. They merely shrugged their shoul- ders and glanced at one another with sar- castic smiles. The Captain, who had suffered a heavy reverse at the hands of Captain Wagstaffe earlier in the morning, began to rehearse the wording of his address over the telephone. The sergeant-major fired his last two shots with impressive aplomb — only to be abso- lutely ignored twice more by Number Seven. Then he rose to his feet and saluted with os- tentatious respectfulness. *^Four bulls and one inner, I thinJc, sir. I'm afraid I pulled that last one off a bit.'' The Captain is already at the telephone. For the moment this most feminine of instru- ments is found to be in an accommodating frame of mind. Captain Wagstaffe's voice is quickly heard. *^That you, WagstaffeT' inquires the Cap- tain. *^I'm so sorry to bother you, but could you make inquiries and ascertain when the marker on Number Seven is likely to come out of the chloroform?" *4Ie has been sitting up and taking nour- ishment for some hours," replies the voice of Wagstaffe. *'What message can I deliver to him?" * ' None in particular, except that he has not signalled a single one of Sergeant-Major Pum- 80 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND plierston's shots!'* replies the Oaptain of D, with crushing simplicity. ^*Half a moM'' replies Wagstaffe. . ,. . Then, presently — * ^ Hallo ! Are you there, Whitson T ' ^^ Yes. We are still here/' Captain Whitson assures him frigidly. *^ Eight. Well, I have examined Number Seven target, and there are no shots on it of any kind whatever. But there are ten shots on Number Eight, if that's any help. Buck up with the next lot, will you? We are getting rather bored here. So long ! ' ' There was nothing in it now. D Company had finished. The last two representatives of A were firing, and subalterns with note-books were performing prodigies of arithmetic. Bobby Little calculated that if these two scored eighteen points each they would pull the Company's total average up to fifteen pre- cisely, beating D by a decimal. The two slender threads upon which the suc- cess of this enterprise hung were named Lind- say and Budge. Lindsay was a phlegmatic youth with watery eyes. Nothing disturbed him, which was fortunate, for the commotion which surrounded him was considerable. A stout sergeant lay beside him. on a waterproof sheet, whispering excited counsels of perfec- tion, while Bobby Little danced in the rear, beseeching him to fire upon the proper target. *^Now, Lindsay," said Captain Whitson, in SHOOTING STEAIGHT 81 a trembling voice, ^^you are going to get into a good comfortable position, take yonr time, and score Rye bulls.'' The amazing part of it all was tbat Lindsay very nearly did score five bulls. He actually got four, and would have had a fifth had not the stout sergeant, in excess of solicitude, tenderly wiped his watery eye for him with a grubby handkerchief just as he took the first pull for his third shot. Altogether he scored nineteen; and the gallery, full of congratulations, moved on to inspect the performance of Private Budge, an extremely nervous subject: who, thanks to the fact that public attention had been con- centrated so far upon Lindsay, and that his ministering sergeant was a matter-of-fact in- dividual of few words, had put on two bulls — • eight points. He now required to score only nine points in three shots. Suddenly the hapless youth became aware of the breathless group in his rear. He promptly pulled his trigger, and just flicked the outside edge of the target — two points. *^I doot I'm gettin' a thing nairvous," he muttered apologetically to the sergeant. ^* Havers! Shut your heid and give the bull a bash!" responded that admirable person. The twitching Budge, bracing himself, scored an inner — three points. *^A bull, and we do it!" murmured Bobby Little. Fortunately Budge did not hear. 82 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND ^^Ye^re no daen badly/' admitted the ser- geant grudgingly. Budge, a little piqued, determined to do better. He raised bis foresight slowly; took the first pull; touched ^^six o'clock'' on the distant bull — luckily the light was perfect — • and took the second pull for the last time. Next moment a white disc rose slowly out of the earth and covered the bull's-eye. So Bobby Little was able next morning to congratulate his disciples upon being ^^the best-shooting platoon in the best-shooting Company in the best-shooting Battalion in the Brigade. ' ' Not less than fifty other subalterns within a radius of ^ve miles were saying the same thing to their platoons. It is right to foster a spirit of emulation in young troops. vin BILLETS Scene, a village street, deserted. Bain falls. (It has been falling for abont three weeks.) A tucket sounds. Enter, reluctantly, soldiery. They grouse^ There appear severally, in doorways, chil- dren. They stare. And at chamber-windows, serving-maids. They make eyes. The soldiery make friendly signs. Such is the stage setting for our daily morn- ing parade. "We have been here for some weeks now, and the popnlace is getting nsed to "US. But when we first burst upon this peaceful township I think we may say, with- out undue egoism, that we created a pro- found sensation. In this sleepy corner of Hampshire His Majesty's uniform, enclosing a casual soldier or sailor on furlough, is a common enough sight, but a whole regiment on the march is the rarest of spectacles. As for this tatterdemalion northern horde, which swept down the street a few Sundays ago, with kilts swinging, bonnets cocked, and pipes skirling, as if they were actually re- 84 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND turning from a triumpliant campaign instead of only rehearsing for one — well, as I say, the inhabitants had never seen anything like US in the world before. We achieved a succes fou. In fact, we were quite embarrassed by the attention bestowed upon us. During our first few parades the audience could with difficulty be kept off the stage. It was im- possible to get the children into school, or the maids to come in and make the beds. Whenever a small boy spied an officer, he stood in his way and saluted him. Dogs enlisted in large numbers, sitting down with an air of pleased expectancy in the super- numerary rank, and waiting for this new and delightful pastime to take a fresh turn. When we marched out to our training area, later in the day, infant schools were decanted on to the road under a beaming vicar, to utter what we took to be patriotic sounds and wave handkerchiefs. Off duty, we fraternised with the inhab- itants. The language was a difficulty, of course; but a great deal can be done by mutual goodwill and a few gestures. It would have warmed the heart of a philologist to note the success with which a couple of kilted heroes from the banks of Loch Lo- mond would sidle up to two giggling damo- sels of Hampshire at the corner of the High Street, by the post office, and invite them to come for a walk. Though it was ob- vious that neither party could understand BILLETS 85 a single word that the other was saying, they never failed to arrive at an tinder- standing; and the quartette, having formed two-deep, would disappear into a gloaming as black as ink, to inhale the evening air and take sweet counsel together — at a tem- perature of about twenty-five degrees Fahr- enheit. You ought to see us change guard. A similar ceremony takes place, we believe, outside Buckingham Palace every morning, and draws a considerable crowd; but you simply cannot compare it with ours. How often does the guard at Buckingham Palace -Q.X bayonets? Once! and the thing is over. It is hardly worth while turning out to see. We sometimes do it as much as seven or eight times before we get it right, and even then we only stop because the sergeant-in- charge is threatened with clergyman's sore throat. The morning Private Mucklewame fixed his bayonet for the first time, two small boys stayed away from school all day in order to see him unfix it when he came off guard in the afternoon. Has any one ever done that at Buckingham Palace ? However, as I say, they have got used to us now. We fall in for our diurnal labours in comparative solitude, usually in heavy rain and without pomp. "We are fairly into the collar by this time. We have been worked desperately hard for more than four months ; we are grunting doggedly away at our job, 86 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND not because we like it, but because we know it is the only thing to do. To march, to dig, to extend, to close; to practise ad- vance-guards and rear-guards, and pickets, in fair weather or foul, often with empty stomachs — that is our daily and sometimes our nightly programme. We are growing more and more efficient, and our powers of endurance are increasing. But, as already stated, we no longer go about our task like singing birds. It is a quarter to nine in the morning. All down the street doors are opening, and men appear, tugging at their equipment. (Yes, we are partially equipped now.) Most of B Company live in this street. They are fortunate, for only two or three are billeted in each little house, where they are quite domestic pets by this time. Their billeting includes * ^ subsistence, ' ^ which means that they are catered for by an experienced female instead of a male cooking-class still in the elementary stages of its art. *^A'* are not so fortunate. They are living in barns or hay-lofts, sleeping on the floor, eating on the floor, existing on the floor generally. Their food is cooked (by the earnest band of students aforementioned) in open-air camp-kitchens; and in tliis weather it is sometimes difficult to keep the fires alight, and not always possible to kindle them. ^'D'' are a shade better off. They occupy BILLETS 87 a large empty mansion at the end of the street. It does not contain a stick of furni- ture; but there are fireplaces (with Adam mantelpieces), and the one thing of which the. War Office never seems to stint us is coal. So ^^D" are warm, anyhow. Thirty men live in the drawing-room. Its late tenant would probably be impressed with its new scheme of upholstery. On the floor, straw palliasses and gravy. On the walls, *^ ciga- rette photties" — by the way, the children down here call them **fag picters.'' Across the room run clothes-lines, bearing steaming garments (and tell it not in Gath!) an occa- sional hare skin. *^C" are billeted in a village two miles away, and we see them but rarely. The rain has ceased for a brief space — it always does about parade time — and we accordingly fall in. The men are carrying picks and shovels, and make no attempt to look pleased at the circumstance. They real- ise that they are in for a morning ^s hard digging, and very likely for an evening's field operations as well. When we began company training a few weeks ago, entrench- ing was rather popular. More than half of us are miners or tillers of the soil, and the pick and shovel gave us a home-like sensa- tion. Here was a chance, too, of showing regular soldiers how a job should be prop- erly accomplished. So we dug with great enthusiasm. 88 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND But A Company have got over that now. They have developed into sufficiently old soldiers to have acquired the correct military attitude towards manual labour. Trench- digging is a ^ ^fatigue," to be classed with coal-carrying, floor-scrubbing, and other civil- ian pursuits. The word *^ fatigue" is a shibboleth with the British private. Per- suade him that a task is part of his duty as a soldier, and he will perform it with tolerable cheerfulness ; but once allow him to regard that task as a ^ ^fatigue,'' and he will shirk it whenever possible, and regard him- self as a deeply injured individual when called upon to undertake it. Our battalion has now reached a sufficient state of maturity to be constantly on the qui vive for cun- ningly disguised fatigues. The other day, when kilts were issued for the first time, Pri- vate Tosh, gloomily surveying his newly un- veiled extremities, was heard to remark with a sigh — '^Anither fatigue! Knees tae wash noo!'' Presently Captain Blaikie arrives upon the scene; the senior subaltern reports all pres- ent, and we tramp oif through the mud to our training area. We are more or less in possession of our proper equipment now. That is to say, our wearing apparel and the appurtenances thereof are no longer held in position with string. The men have belts, pouches, and BILLETS 89 slings in wMch to carry their greatcoats. The greatcoats were the last to materialise. Since their arrival we have lost in decorative effect what we have gained in martial appearance. For a month or two each man wore over his uniform during wet weather — in other words, all day — -a garment which the Army Ord- nance Department described as — '' Great- coat, Civilian, one.'' An Old Testament writer would have termed it ^ ^ a coat of many colours." A tailor would have said that it was a ^* superb vicuna raglan sack." You and I would have called it, quite simply, a reach-me-down. Anyhow, the combined effect was unique. As we plodded patiently along the road in our tarnished finery, with our eye- arresting checks and imitation velvet collars, caked with mud and wrinkled with rain, we looked like nothing so much on earth as a gang of welshers returning from an unsuc- cessful day at a suburban race-meeting. But now the kHaki-mills have ground out another million yards or so, and we have regulation greatcoats. Water-bottles, haver- sacks, mess-tins, and waterproof sheets have been slowly filtering into our possession ; and whenever we ^^ mobilise," which we do as a rule about once a fortnight — whether owing to invasion scares or as a test of efficiency we do not know — we fall in on our alarm-posts in something distinctly resembling the full * ^ Christmas-tree " rig. Sam Browne belts have been wisely discarded by the officers 90 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND in favour of web-equipment ; ' and although Bobby Little's shoulders ache with the weight of his pack, he is comfortably conscious of two things — firstly, that even when separ- ated from his baggage he can still subsist in fair comfort on what he carries upon his person; and secondly, that his * ^ expectation of life,'' as the insurance offices say, has in- creased about a hundred per cent, now that the German sharpshooters will no longer be able to pick him out from his men. Presently we approach the scene of our day's work, Area Number Fourteen. We are now far advanced in company training. The barrack square is a thing of the past. Commands are no longer preceded by cau- tions and explanations. A note on a whistle, followed by a brusque word or gesture, is sufficient to set us smartly on the move. Suddenly we are called upon to give a test of our quality. A rotund figure upon horse- back appears at a bend in the road. Captain Blaikie recognises General Freeman. (We may note that the General's name is not really Freeman. We are much harried by generals at present. They roam about the country on horseback, and ask company commanders what they are doing; and no company commander has ever yet succeeded in framing an answer which sounds in the least degree credible. There are three gen- erals; we call them Freeman, Hardy, and Willis, because we suspect that they are all BILLETS 91 — to judge from their fondness for keeping "US on the run — financially interested in the consumption of shoe-leather. In other re- spects they differ, and a wise company com- mander will carefully bear their idiosyn- crasies in mind and act accordingly, if he wishes to be regarded as an intelligent officer.) Freeman is a man of action. He likes to see people running about. When he appears upon the horizon whole battalions break into a double. Hardy is one of the old school: he likes things done decently and in order. He wor- ships bright buttons, and exact words of com- mand, and a perfectly wheeling line. He mistrusts unconventional movements and in- dividual tactics. *^No use trying to run,'' he says, ^^ before you can walk." When we see him, we dress the company and advance in review order. Willis gives little trouble. He seldom criti- cises, but when he does his criticism is always of a valuable nature; and he is particularly courteous and helpful to young officers. But, like lesser men, he has his fads. These are two — feet and cookery. He has been known to call a private out of the ranks on a route- march and request him to take his boots off for purposes of public display. **A soldier marches on two things,'' he announces — ^^his feet and his stomach." Then he calls up another man and asks him if he knows how to make a sea-pie. The man never does 93 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND know, wMcli is fortunate, for otherwise Gen- eral Willis would not be able to tell Mm. After that he trots happily away, to ask some one else. However, here we are face to face with General Freeman. Immediate action is called for. Captain Blaikie flings an order over his shoulder to the subaltern in command of the leading platoon — *^Pass back word that this road is under shell fire. Move!" — and rides forward to meet the General. In ten seconds the road behind him is abso- lutely clear, and the men are streaming out to right and left in half -platoons. Waddell's platoon has the hardest time, for they were passing a quickset hedge when the order came. However, they hurl themselves blas- phemously through, and double on, scratched and panting. '^Good morning, sir!'* says Captain Blaikie, saluting. *^Good morning!" says General Freeman. *^What was that last movement?" '^The men are taking * artillery' formation, sir. I have just passed the word down that the road is under shell fire." *^ Quite so. But don't you think you ought to keep some of your company in rear, as a supporting line? I see you have got them all up on one front. ' ' By this time A Company is advancing in its original direction, but split up into eight BILLETS 93 half -platoons in single file — four on each side of the road, at intervals of thirty yards. The movement has been quite smartly carried ont. Still, a critic must criticise or go out of business. However, Captain BlaiMe is an old hand. **I was assuming that my company formed part of a battalion, sir,'^ he explained. ^* There are supposed to be three other com- panies in rear of mine. ' ' ^*I see. Still, tell two of your sections to fall back and form a supporting line. ^ ' Captain Blaikie, remembering that generals have little time for study of such works as the new drill-book, and that when General Freeman says ^* section '^ he probably means ** platoon,'' orders Numbers Two and Four to fall back. This manoeuvre is safely accom- plished. ^^Now, let me see them close on the road. ' ' Captain Blaikie blows a whistle, and slaps himself on the top of the head. In three minutes the long-suffering platoons are back on the road, extracting thorns from their flesh and assuaging the agony of their abrasions by clandestine massage. General Freeman rides away, and the column moves on. Two minutes later Captain Wagstaife doubles up from the rear to an- nounce that General Hardy is only two hun- dred yards behind. *^Pass back word to the men," groans 94 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND Captain Blaikie, '*to march at attention, put their caps straight, and slope their shovels properly. And send an orderly to that hill- top to look ont for General Willis. Tell him to unlace his boots when he gets there, and on no account to admit that he knows how to make a sea-pie!" IX MID-CHANNEL The Great War has been terribly hard on the text-books. When we began to dig trenches, many weeks ago, we always selected a site with a good field of fire. ^^No good pntting yonr trenches," said the text-book, ** where you can't see the enemy.'' This seemed only common-sense ; so we dng onr trenches in open plains, or on the forward slope of a hill, where we could command the enemy's movements up to two thousand yards. Another maxim which we were urged to take to heart was — When not entrenched, always take advantage of natural cover of any kind; such as farm buildings, planta- tions, and railway embankments. We were also given practice in describing and recognising inconspicuous targets at long range, in order to be able to harass the enemy the moment he showed himself. Well, recently generals and staff officers 96 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND liave been coming home from the front and giving US lectures. We regard most lectures as a ^ ^fatigue'' — but not these. We have learned more from these quiet-mannered, tired-looking men in a brief hour than from all the manuals that ever came out of Gale and Poldens\ We have heard the history of the War from the inside. We know why our Army retreated from Mons; we know what prevented the relief of Antwerp. But above all, we have learned to revise some of our most cherished theories. Briefly, the amended version of the law and the prophets comes to this : — Never, under any circumstances, place your trenches where you can see the enemy a long way oif . If you do, he will inevitably see you too, and will shell you out of them in no time. You need not be afraid of being rushed; a field of fire of two hundred yards or so will be sufficient to wipe him off the face of the earth. Never, under any circumstances, take cover in farm buildings, or plantations, or behind railway embankments, or in any place likely to be marked on a large-scale map. Their position and range are known to a yard. Your safest place is the middle of an open plain or ploughed field. There it will be more diffi- cult for the enemy's range-takers to gauge your exact distance. In musketry, concentrate all your energies on taking care of your rifle and practising MIB-CHANNEL 97 * ^ rapid. '^ You will seldom have to fire over a greater distance than two hundred yards ; and at that range British rapid fire is the most dreadful medium of destruction yet devised in warfare. All this scraps a good deal of laboriously acquired learning, but it rings true. So .we site our trenches now according to the lessons taught us by the bitter experience of others. Having arrived at our allotted area, we get to work. The firing-trench proper is outlined on the turf a hundred yards or so down the reverse slope of a low hill. When it is finished it will be a mere crack in the ground, with no front cover to speak of ; for that would make it conspicuous. Number One Platoon gets to work on this. To Number Two is assigned a more subtle task — namely, the construc- tion of a dummy trench a comfortable dis- tance ahead, dug out to the depth of a few inches, to delude inquisitive aeroplanes, and rendered easily visible to the enemy's observ- ing stations by a parapet of newly-turned earth. Numbers Three and Four concentrate their energies upon the supporting trench and its approaches. The firing-trench is our place of business — our office in the city, so to speak. The supporting trench is our suburban residence, whither the weary toiler may betake himself periodically (or, more correctly, in relays) for purposes of refreshment and repose. The firing-trench, like most business premises, is 98 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND severe in design and destitute of ornament. But the suburban trench lends itself to more imaginative treatment. An auctioneer's cata- logue would describe it as A commodious hijou residence^ on (or of) chalky soil; three feet wide and six feet deep; in the style of the test troglodyte period. Thirty seconds brisk crawl (or per stretcher) from the firing line. Gas laid on — But only once, in a field near Aldershot, where Private Mucklewame first laid bare, and then perforated, the town main with his pick. — With own water supply — ankle-deep at times — telephone J and the usual offices. We may note that the telephone commu- nicates with the observing-station, lying well forward, in line with the dummy trench. The most important of the usual offices is the hospital — a cavern excavated at the back of the trench, and roofed over with hurdles, earth, and turf. It is hardly necessary to add that we do not possess a real field-telephone. But when you have spent four months in firing dummy cartridges, performing bayonet exercises with- out bayonets, taking hasty cover from non- existent shell fire, capturing positions held by no enemy, and enacting the part of a * ^ casu- alty '^ without having received a scratch, telephoning without a telephone is a com- paratively simple operation. All you require is a ball of string and no sense of humour. MID-CHANlSrEL 99 Second Lieutenant Waddell manages our telephone. Meanwhile we possess onr sonls in patience. "We know that the factories are hnmming night and day on our behalf; and that if, upon a certain day in a certain month, the contractors do not deliver our equipment down to the last water-bottle cork, ^^K'^ will want to know the reason why ; and we cannot imagine any contractor being so foolhardy as to provoke that terrible man into an inquiring attitude of mind. Now we are at work. We almost wish that Freeman, Hardy, and Willis could see us. Our buttons may occasionally lack lustre; we may cherish unorthodox notions as to the correct method of presenting arms; we may not always present an unbroken front on the parade-ground — but we cafh dig! Even the fact that we do not want to, cannot alto- gether eradicate a truly human desire to ^ ^ show off. ' ' * ^ Each man to his art, ' ' we say. We are quite content to excel in ours, the oldest in the world. We know enough now about the conditions of the present war to be aware that when we go out on service only three things will really count — to march ; to dig ; and to fire, upon occasion, fifteen rounds a minute. Our rapid fire is already fair ; we can march more than a little; and if men who have been excavating the bowels of the earth for eight hours a day ever since they were old enough to swing a pick cannot make 100 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND short work of a Hampshire chalk down, they are no true members of their Trades Union or the First Hundred -Thousand. We have stuck to the phraseology of our old calling. ^^Whaur's ma drawer?" inquires Private Hogg, a thick-set young man with bandy legs, wiping his countenance with a much-tattooed arm. He has just completed five strenuous minutes with a pick. *^Come away, Geordie, wi' yon shovel!'' The shovel is preceded by an adjective. It is the only adjective that A Company knows. (No, not that one. The second on the list!) Mr. George Ogg steps down into the breach, and sets to work. He is a small man, strongly resembling the Emperor of China in a third- rate provincial pantomime. His weapon is the spade. In civil life he would have shov- elled the broken coal into a ^^ hutch," and ^^ hurled" it away to the shaft. That was why Private Hogg referred to him as a *' drawer." In his military capacity he now removes the chaJky soil from the trench with great dexterity, and builds it up into a neat parapet behind, as a precaution against the back-blast of a *' Black Maria." There are not enough picks and shovels to go round — cela va sans dire. However, Pri- vate Mucklewame and others, who are not of the delving persuasion, exhibit no resentment. Digging is not their department. If you MID-CHANNEL 101 hand them a pick and shovel and invite them to set to work, they lay the pick upon the ground beside the trench and proceed to shovel earth over it until they have lost it. At a later stage in this great war-game they will fight for these picks and shovels like wild beasts. Shrapnel is a sure solvent of pro- fessional etiquette. However, to-day the pickless squad are lined up a short distance away by the relent- less Captain Wagstaffe, and informed — *^You are under fire from that wood. Dig yourselves in ! " Digging oneself in is another highly un- popular fatigue. First of all you produce your portable entrenching-tool — it looks like a combination of a modern tack-hammer and a medieval back-scratcher — and fit it to its haft. Then you lie flat upon your face on the wet grass, and having scratched up some small lumps of turf, proceed to build these into a parapet. Into the hole formed by the excavation of the turf you then put your head, and in this ostrich-like posture await further instructions. Private Mucklewame is of opinion that it would be equally effective, and infinitely less fatiguing, simply to lie down prone and close the eyes. After Captain Wagstaffe has criticised the preliminary parapets — most of them are con- demned as not being bullet-proof — the work is continued. It is not easy, and never com- fortable, to dig lying down; but we must all 102 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND learn to do it; so we proceed painfully to construct a shallow trough for our bodies and an annexe for our boots. Gradually we sink out of sight, and Captain Wagstaffe, standing fifty yards to our front, is able to assure us that he can now see nothing — except Private Mucklewame 's lower dorsal curve. By this time the rain has returned for good, and the short winter day is drawing to a gloomy close. It is after three, and we have been working, with one brief interval, for nearly five hours. The signal is given to take shelter. We huddle together under the leaf- less trees, and get wetter. Next comes the order to unroll greatcoats. Five minutes later comes another — to fall in. Tools are counted; there is the usual maddening wait while search is made for a missing pick. But at last the final word of command rings out, and the sodden, leaden- footed procession sets out on its four-mile tramp home. We are not in good spirits. One's frame of mind at all times depends largely upon what the immediate future has to offer; and, frankly, we have little to inspire us in that direction at present. When we joined, four long months ago, there loomed largely and splendidly before our eyes only two alternatives — victory in battle or death with honour. We might live, or w.e might die; but life, while it lasted, would not lack MID-CHANNEL 103 great moments. In our haste we had over- looked the long dreary waste which lay — which always lies — between dream and ful- filment. The glorious splash of patriotic fervour which launched us on our way has subsided ; we have reached mid-channel ; and the haven where we would be is still afar off. The brave future of which we dreamed in our dour and uncommunicative souls seems as remote as ever, and the present has settled down into a permanency. To-day, for instance, we have tramped a certain number of miles; we have worked for a certain number of hours ; and we have got wet through for the hundredth time. We are now tramping home to a dinner which will probably not be ready, because, as yesterday, it has been cooked in the open ail* under weeping skies. While waiting for it, we shall clean the same old rifle. When night falls, we shall sleep uneasily upon a comfortless floor, in an atmosphere of stale food and damp humanity. In the morning we shall rise up reluctantly, and go forth, probably in heavy rain, to our labour until the evening — the same labour and the same evening. We admit that it can't be helped: the officers and the authorities do their best for us under dis- couraging circumstances: but there it is. Out at the front, we hear, men actually get as much as three days off at a time — three days of hot baths and abundant food and 104 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND dry beds. To us, in onr present frame of mind, that seems worth any number of bul- lets and frost-bites. And — bitterest thought of all — New Year's Day, with all its convivial associations, is only a few weeks away. When it comes, the folk at home will celebrate it, doubtless with many a kindly toast to the lads **oot there," and the lads *^doon there." But what will that profit us? In this barbarous country we understand that they take no notice of the sacred festival at all. There will probably be a route-march, to keep us out of the pub- lic-houses. Et patiti, et patita. Are we fed up? Yes! As we swing down the village street, slightly cheered by a faint aroma of Irish stew — the cooks have got the fires alight after all — ^the adjutant rides up, and reins in his horse beside our company commander. Battalion orders of some kind! Prob- ably a full-dress parade, to trace a missing bayonet ! Presently he rides away; and Captain Blaikie, instead of halting and dismissing us in the street as usual, leads us down an alley into the backyard which serves as our apol- ogy for a parade-ground. We form close column of platoons, stand at ease, and wait resignedly. Then Captain Blaikie 's voice falls upon our ears. MID-CHANNEL 105 '*A Company, I have an announcement to make to you. His Majesty the King — " So that is it. Another Royal Review! Well, it will be a break in the general monotony, ^ ' — who has noted your hard work, good discipline, and steady progress with the keen- est satisfaction and pride — ' ' We are not utterly forgotten, then. * ' — has commanded that every man in the battalion is to have seven days' full leave of absence. ' ' **A-a-ah!'' We strain our tingling ears. *^We are to go by companies, a week at a time. * C ' will go first. ' ' ^^C indeed! Who are '*C," to ? '*A Company's leave — our leave — will begin on the twenty-eighth of December, and extend to the third of January. ' ' The staccato words sink slowly in, and then thoughts come tumbling. ^^Free — free on New Year's Day! Almichty! Free to gang hame! Free tae " Then comes an icy chill upon our hearts. How are we to get home? Scotland is hun- dreds of miles away. The fare, even on a ^^ soldier's" ticket — But the Captain has not quite finished. ** Every man will receive a week's pay in advance; and his fare, home and back, will be paid by Government. That is all." And quite enough too! We rock upon 106 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND our sqnelcliiiig feet. But the Captain adds, without any suspicion of his parade-ground manner — ^*If I may say so, I think that if ever men deserved a good holiday, you do. Company, slope arms! Dis — miss!'* We do not cheer: we are not built that way. But as we stream off to our Irish stew, the dourest of us says in his heart — *^God Save the King!'' DEEDS OF DAEKNESS A MOOiTLiT, wintry night. Four hundred men are clumping along the frost-bound road, under the pleasing illusion that because they are neither whistling nor talking they are making no noise. At the head of the column march Captains Mackintosh and Shand, the respective com- manders of C and D Companies. Occasion- ally Mackintosh, the senior, interpolates a remark of a casual or professional nature. To all these his colleague replies in a low and reproachful whisper. The pair represent two schools of military thought — a fact of which their respective subalterns are well aware, — and act accordingly. ''In preparing troops for active service, you must make the conditions as real as pos- sible from the very outset, '^ postulates Shand. ''Perform all your exercises just as you would in war. When you dig trenches, let every man work with his weather-eye open and his rifle handy, in case of sudden attack. If you 108 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND go out on night operations don't advertise your position by stopping to give your men a recitation. No talking — no smoking — no unnecessary delay or exposure! Just go straight to your point of deployment, and do what you came out to do." To this Mackintosh replies, — *^ That's all right for trained troops. But ours aren 't half -trained yet ; all our work just now is purely educational. It's no use ex- pecting a gang of rivet-heaters from Clyde- bank to form an elaborate outpost line, just because you whispered a few sweet nothings in the dark to your leading section of fours! You simply must explain every step you take, at present." But Shand shakes his head. * * It 's not soldierly, ' ' he sighs. Hence the present one-sided — or appar- ently one-sided — dialogue. To the men marching immediately behind, it sounds like something between a soliloquy and a chat over the telephone. Presently Captain Mackintosh announces, — **We might send the scouts ahead now I think." Shand gives an inaudible assent. The column is halted, and the scouts called up. A brief command, and they disappear into the darkness, at the double. C and D Companies give them ^ve minutes start, and move on. The road at this point runs past a low mossy wall, surmounted by a venerable yew hedge, DEEDS OF DARKNESS 109 clipped at intervals into tlie semblance of some heraldic monster. Beyond the hedge, in the middle distance, looms a sqnare and stately Georgian mansion, whose lights twinkle hos- pitably. *^I think, Shand," suggests Mackintosh with more formality, now that he is approach- ing the scene of action, * * that we might attack at two different points, each of us with his own company. What is your opinion?'' The officer addressed makes no immediate reply. His gaze is fixed upon the yew hedge, as if searching for gun positions or vulnerable points. Presently, however, he turns away, and coming close to Captain Mackintosh, puts his lips to his left ear. Mackintosh prepares his intellect for the reception of a pearl of strategy. But Captain Shand merely announces, in his regulation whisper, — **Dam pretty girl lives in that house, old man ! ' ' n Private Peter Dunshie, scout, groping pain- fully and profanely through a close-growing wood, paused to unwind a clinging tendril from his bare knees. As he bent down, his face came into sudden contact with a cold, wet, prickly bramble-bush, which promptly drew a loving but excoriating finger across his right cheek. 110 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND He started back, with a muffled exclama- tion. Instantly there arose at his very feet the sound as of a motor-engine being wound up, and a flustered and protesting cock-pheas- ant hoisted itself tumultuously clear of the undergrowth and sailed away, shrieking, over the trees. - Finally, a hare, which had sat cowering in the bracken, hare-like, when it might have loped away, selected this, the one moment when it ought to have sat still, to bolt frantically between Peter's bandy legs and speed away down a long moon-dappled avenue. Private Dunshie, a prey to nervous shock, said what naturally rose to his lips. To be frank, he said it several times. He had spent the greater part of his life selling evening papers in the streets of Glasgow: and the profession of journalism, though it breeds many virtues in its votaries, is entirely useless as a preparation for conditions either of si- lence or solitude. Private Dunshie had no experience of either of these things, and con- sequently feared them both. He was acutely afraid. What he understood and appreciated was Argyle Street on a Saturday night. That was life ! That was light ! That was civilisa- tion! As for creeping about in this uncanny wood, filled with noxious animals and adhesive vegetation — well, Dunshie was heartily sorry that he had ever volunteered for service as a scout. He had only done so, of course, DEEDS OF DAEKNESS 111 because the post seemed to offer certain re- laxations from the austerity of company- routine — a little more freedom of movement, a little less trench-digging, and a minimum of supervision. He would have been thankful for a supervisor now ! That evening, when the scouts doubled ahead. Lieutenant Simson had halted them upon the skirts of a dark, dreich plantation, and said — **A and B Companies represent the enemy. They are beyond that crest, finishing the trenches which were begun the 'other day. They intend to hold these against our attack. Our only chance is to take them by surprise. As they will probably have thrown out a line of outposts, you scouts will now scatter and endeavour to get through that line, or at least obtain exact knowledge of its compo- sition. My belief is that the enemy will con- tent themselves with placing a piquet on each of the two roads which run through their position; but it is possible that they will also post sentry-groups in the wood which lies between. However, that is what you have to find out. Don't go and get cap- tured. Move!" The scouts silently scattered, and each man set out to pierce his allotted section of the enemy's position. Private Dunshie, who had hoped for a road, or at least a cart-track, to follow, found himself, by the worst of luck, assigned to a portion of the thick belt of 113 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND wood wMch stretched between the two roads. Nature had not intended him for a pioneer: he was essentially a city man. However, he toiled on, rending the undergrowth, putting up game, falling over tree-roots, and gener- ally acting as advertising agent for the ap- proaching attack. By way of contrast, two hundred yards to his right, picking his way with cat-like care and rare enjoyment, was Private M^Snape. He was of the true scout breed. In the dim and distant days before the call of the blood had swept him into * ^ K ( 1 ) , ' ' he had been a Boy Scout of no mean repute. He was clean in person and courteous in manner. He could be trusted to deliver a message promptly. He could light a fire in a high wind with two matches, and provide himself with a meal of sorts where another would have starved. He could distinguish an oak from an elm, and was sufficiently familiar with the movements of the heavenly bodies to be able to find his way across country by night. He was truth- ful, and amenable to discipline. In short, he was the embodiment of a system which in times of peace had served as a text for in- numerable well-meaning but muddle-headed politicians of a certain type, who made a specialty of keeping the nation upon the alert against the insidious encroachments of — Heaven help us! — Militarism! To-night all M^Snape's soul was set on getting through the enemy's outpost line, and DEEDS OP DAEKNESS 113 discovering a way of ingress for the host behind him. He had no map, but he had the Plough and a fitful moon to guide him, and he held a clear notion of the disposition of the trenches in his retentive brain. On his left he could hear the distressing sounds of Dunshie's dolorous progress; but these were growing fainter. The reason was that Dunshie, like most persons who follow the line of least resistance, was walking in a circle. In fact, a few minutes later his circuitous path brought him out upon the long straight road which ran up over the hill towards the trenches. With a sigh of relief Dunshie stepped out upon the good hard macadam, and proceeded with the merest show of stealth up the gentle gradient. But he was not yet at ease. The over-arching trees formed a tunnel in which his footsteps reverberated uncomfortably. The moon had retired behind a cloud. Dun- shie, gregarious and urban, quaked anew. Ee- flecting longingly upon his bright and cosy billet, with the ** subsistence " which was doubtless being prepared against his return, he saw no occasion to reconsider his opinion that in the country no decent body should ever be called up to go out after dark unac- companied. At that moment Dunshie would have bartered his soul for the sight of an electric tram. The darkness grew more intense. Some- thing stirred in the wood beside him, and his 114 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND sMn tingled. An owl hooted suddenly, and he jumped. Next, the gross darkness was illuminated by a pale and ghostly radiance, coming up from behind; and something brushed past him — something which squeaked and panted. His hair rose upon his scalp. A friendly * * Good-night ! ' ' uttered in a strong Hampshire accent into his left ear, accentu- ated rather than soothed his terrors. He sat down suddenly upon a bank by the roadside, and feebly mopped his moist brow. The bicycle, having passed him, wobbled on up the hill, shedding a fitful ray upon alter- nate sides of the road. Suddenly — raucous and stunning, but oh, how sweet! — rang out the voice of Dunshie 's lifelong friend, Private Mucklewame. ' ' Halt ! Wha goes there ? ' ' The cyclist made no reply, but kept his devious course. Private Mucklewame, who liked to do things decently and in order, stepped heavily out of the hedge into the middle of the road^ and repeated his question in a reproving voice. There was no answer. This was most irregular. According to the text of the spirited little dialogue in which Mucklewame had been recently rehearsed by his piquet commander, the man on the bicycle ought to have said *^ Friend!'' This cue re- ceived, Mucklewame was prepared to continue. Without it he was gravelled. He tried once more. ^^Halt! Wha goes " DEEDS OF DARKNESS 115 **0n His Majesty ^s Service, my lad!" re- sponded a hearty voice; and the postman, supplementing this information with a friendly good-night, wobbled up the hill and disap- peared from sight. The punctilious Mucklewame was still glar- ing severely after this unseemly ^*gagger," when he became aware of footsteps upon the road. A pedestrian was plodding up the hill in the wake of the postman. He would stand no nonsense this time. ^'Halt!" he commanded. **Wha goes there r' **Hey, Jock," inquired a husky voice, **is that you!" This was another most irregular answer. Declining to be drawn into impromptu irrele- vancies, Mucklewame stuck to his text. ** Advance yin," he continued, **and give the coontersign, if any!" Private Dunshie drew nearer. *^ Jock," he inquired wistfully, *'hae ye got- ten a fag?" ^^Aye," replied Mucklewame, friendship getting the better of conscience. **Wull ye give a body yin?" *'Aye. But ye canna smoke on ootpost duty, ' ' explained Mucklewame sternly. * ' For- bye, the officer has no been roond yet," he added. **Onyway," urged Dunshie eagerly, '*let me be your prisoner! Let me bide with the other boys in here ahint the dyke !" 116 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND The hospitable Mucklewame agreed, and Scout Dunshie, overjoyed at the prospect of human companionship, promptly climbed over the low wall and attached himself, in the role of languishing captive, to Number Two Sentry-Group of Number Three Piquet. in Meanwhile M'Snape had reached the for- ward edge of the wood, and was cautiously reconnoitring the open ground in front of him. The moon had disappeared altogether now, but M^Snape was able to calculate, by reason of the misdirected exuberance of the vigilant Mucklewame, the exact position of the sentry- group on the left-hand road. About the road on his right he was not so certain; so he set out cautiously towards it, keeping to the edge of the wood, and pausing every few yards to listen. There must be a sentry-group some- where here, he calculated — say midway be- tween the roads. He must walk warily. Easier said than done. At this very moment a twig snapped beneath his foot with a noise like a pistol-shot, and a covey of partridges, lying out upon the stubble beside him, made an indignant evacuation of their bedroom. The mishap seemed fatal: M'Snape stood like a stone. But no alarm followed, and presently all was still again — so still, indeed, that presently, out on the DEEDS OF DAEKNESS 117 right, two hundred yards away, M^Snape heard a man cough and then spit. Another sentry was located ! Having decided that there was no sentry- group between the two roads, M* Snape turned his back upon the wood and proceeded cau- tiously forward. He was not quite satisfied in his mind about things. He knew that Cap- tain Wagstaffe was in command of this section of the defence. He cherished a wholesome respect for that efficient officer, and doubted very much if he would really leave so much of his front entirely unguarded. Next moment the solution of the puzzle was in his very hand — in the form of a stout cord stretching from right to left. He was just in time to avoid tripping over it. It was suspended about six inches above the ground. You cannot follow a clue in two direc- tions at once; so after a little consideration M^ Snape turned and crawled along to his right, being careful to avoid touching the cord. Presently a black mass loomed before him, acting apparently as terminus to the cord. Lying flat on his stomach, in order to get as much as possible of this obstacle between his eyes and the sky, M^ Snape was presently able to descry, plainly silhouetted against the starry landscape, the profile of one Bain, a scout of A Company, leaning comfort- ably against a small bush, and presumably holding the end of the cord in his hand. 118 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND M* Snape wriggled silently away, and paused to reflect. Then he began to creep forward once more. Having covered fifty yards, he turned to his right again, and presently found himself exactly between Bain and the trenches. As he expected, his hand now descended upon another cord, lying loosely on the ground, and running at right angles to the first. Plainly Bain was holding one end of tliis, and some one in the trenches — Captain Wag- staffe himself, as like as not — was holding the other. If an enemy stumbled over the trip-cord, Bain would warn the defence by twitching the alarm-cord. Five minutes later M* Snape was back at the rendezvous, describing to Simson what he had seen. That wise subaltern promptly conducted him to Captain Mackintosh, who was waiting with his Company for something to go upon. Shand had departed with his own following to make an independent attack on the right flank. Seven of the twelve scouts were there. Of the missing, Dunshie, as we know, was sunning his lonely soul in the society of his foes; two had lost themselves, and the remaining two had been captured by a reconnoitring patrol. Of the seven which strayed not, four had discovered the trip-cord; so it was evident that that ingenious contrivance extended along the whole line. Only M^ Snape, however, had penetrated farther. The general report was DEEDS OF DARKNESS 119 tliat the position was closely guarded from end to end. **You say you found a cord running back from Bain to the trenches, M^Snape," asked Captain Mackintosh, *^and a sentry holding on to it r' ^^Yess, sirr," replied the scout, standing stiffly to attention in the dark. *^If we could creep out of the wood and rush Jiimf we might be able to slip our attack in at that point,'' said the Captain. **You say there is cover to within twenty yards of where he is sitting?" ^*Yes, sirr." *' Still, I'm afraid he'll pull that cord a bit too soon for us." *^He'll no, sirr," remarked M^Snape con- fidently. * ^ Why not 1 ' ' asked the Captain. M' Snape told him. Captain Mackintosh surveyed the small wizened figure before him almost affection- ately. *^M^ Snape," he said, '* to-morrow I shall send in your name for lance-corporal!" IV The defenders were ready. The trenches were finished: ^*A" and *^B" had adjusted their elbow-rests to their liking, and blank 120 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND ammunition had been served out. Orders upon the subject of firing were strict. ^^We won't loose off a single shot until we actually see you, ' ' Captain Blaikie had said to Captain Mackintosh. **That will teach your men to crawl upon their little tummies, and ours to keep their eyes skinned.'' (Captain Wagstaffe's string alarm had been an afterthought. At least, it was not men- tioned to the commander of the attack.) Orders were given that the men were to take things easily for half an hour or so, as the attack could not possibly be developed within that time. The officers established themselves in a splinter-proof shelter at the back of the supporting trench, and partook of provender from their haversacks. **I don't suppose they'll attack much before nine," said the voice of a stout major named Kemp. ^^My word, it is dark in here! And dull ! Curse the Kaiser ! ' ' *^I don't know," said Wagstaffe thought- fully. ^^War is hell, and all that, but it has a good deal to recommend it. It wipes out all the small nuisances of peace-time. ' ' ^^Suchas ?" ^^Well, Suffragettes, and Futurism, and — and " ^^ Bernard Shaw," suggested another voice. ^^Hall Caine " '^Yes, and the Tango, and party politics, and golf-maniacs. Life and Death, and the things that really are big, get viewed DEEDS OF DARKNESS 121 in their proper perspective for once in a way. ' ' *^And look how the War has bucked up the nation/' said Bobby Little, all on fire at once. '^Look at the way girls have given np fuss- ing over clothes and things, and taken to nursing. ' ' **My poor young friend," said the voice of the middle-aged Kemp, **tell me honestly, would you like to be attended to by some of the young women who have recently taken up the nursing profession T' ^^Eather!" said Bobby, with thoughtless fervour. *^I didn't say owe/^ Kemp pointed out, amid laughter, *^but some. Of course we all know of one. Even I do. It's the rule, not the exception, that we 9,re dealing with just now. ' ' Bobby, realising that he had been unfairly surprised in a secret, felt glad that the dark- ness covered his blushes. * ^ Well, take my tip, ' ' continued Kemp, * * and avoid amateur ministering angels, my son. I studied the species in South Africa. For twenty-four hours they nurse you to death, and after that they leave you to perish of starvation. Women in war-time are best left at home." A youthful paladin in the gloom timidly mentioned the name of Florence Night- ingale. **One Nightingale doesn't make a base 122 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND hospital," replied Kemp. **I take off my hat — we all do — to women who are willing to undergo the drudgery and discomfort which hospital training involves. But I'm not talking about Florence Nightingales. The young person whom I am referring to is just intelligent enough to understand that the only possible thing to do this season is to nurse. She qualifies herself for her new profession by dressing up like one of the chorus of ^The Quaker Girl/ and getting her portrait, thus attired, into the ^Tatler.' Having achieved this, she has graduated. She then proceeds to invade any hospital that is available, where she flirts with everything in pyjamas, and freezes you with a look if you ask her to empty a basin or change your sheets. I know her! IVe had some, and I know her! She is one of the minor horrors of war. In peace-time she goes out on Alexandra Day, and stands on the steps of men's clubs and pesters the members to let her put a rose in their button-holes. What such a girl wants is a good old-fashioned mother who knows how to put a slipper to its right use ! ' ' ^'I don't think," observed Wagstaffe, since Kemp had apparently concluded his philippic, ^Hhat young girls are the only people who lose their heads. Consider all the poisonous young blighters that one sees about town just now. Their uplift is enormous, and their manners in public horrid; and they hardly DEEDS OF DARKNESS 123 know enough about their new job to stand at attention when they hear ^God Save the King.' In fact, they deserve to be nursed by your little friends, Bobby!" ^*They are all that you say," conceded Kemp. **But after all, they do have a fairly stiff time of it on duty, and they are going to have a much stiffer time later on. And they are not going to back out when the ro- mance of the new uniform wears off, remem- ber. Now these girls will play the angel-of- mercy game for a week or two, and then jack up and confine their efforts to getting hold of a wounded officer and taking him to the theatre. It is dernier cri to take a wounded officer about with you at present. Wounded officers have quite superseded Pekinese, I am told." *^ Women certainly are the most extraordi- nary creatures," mused Ayling, a platoon commander of **B." **In private life I am a beak at a public school ' ' **What school?" inquired several voices. Ayling gave the name, found that there were two of the school's old boys present, and continued — **Just as I was leaving to join this bat- talion, the Head received a letter from a boy's mother intimating that she was obliged to withdraw her son, as he had received a com- mission in the army for the duration of the war. She wanted to know if the Head would keep her son's place open for him 124 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND until he came back! Wliat do you tMnk of thatr' ^ ^ Sense of proportion wasn 't invented when women were made, ' ' commented Kemp. * ^ But we are wandering from the subject, which is: what advantages are we, personally, deriving from the war 1 Wagger, what are you getting outofitr' ^*Half-a-crown a day extra pay as Assist- ant Adjutant,'' replied Wagstaffe laconically. **Ainslie, wake up and tell us what the war has done for you, since you abandoned the Stock Exchange and took to foot-slogging. ' ' * ^ Certainly, ' ' replied Ainslie. * ' A year ago I spent my days trying to digest my food, and my nights trying to sleep. I was not at all successful in either enterprise. I can now sit down to a supper of roast pork and bottled stout, go to bed directly afterwards, sleep all night, and wake up in the morning without thinking unkind things of anybody — not even my relations-in-law ! Bless the Kaiser, say I! Borrodaile, what about you? Any complaints ? ' ' ^^ Thank you," replied Borrodaile 's dry voice; *^ there are no complaints. In civil life I am what is known as a * prospective candidate.' For several years I have been exercising this, the only, method of advertis- ing permitted to a barrister, by nursing a constituency. That is, I go down to the coun- try once a week, and there reduce myself to speechlessness soliciting the votes of the DEEDS OF DAEKNESS 125 people who put my opponent in twenty years ago, and will keep him in by a two thousand majority as long as he cares to stand. I have been at it five years, but so far the old gentle- man has never so much as betrayed any knowl- edge of my existence. ' ' **That must be rather galling," said Wag- statfe. '^Ah! but listen! Of course party politics have now been merged in the common cause — see local organs, passim — and both sides are working shoulder to shoulder for the maintenance of our national existence." ^^ Applause f murmured Kemp. '^That is to say," continued Borrodaile with calm relish, *^my opponent, whose strong suit for the last twenty years has been to cry down the horrors of militarism, and the madness of national service, and the un- wieldy size of the British Empire, is now compelled to spend his evenings taking the chair at mass meetings for the encourage- ment of recruiting. I believe the way in which he eats up his own previous utter- ances on the subject is quite superb. On these occasions I always send him a telegram, containing a kindly pat on the back for him and a sort of semi-official message for the audience. He has to read this out on the platform ! ' ' *'What sort of message!" asked a delighted voice. *^0h — Send along some more of our hoys. 126 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND Lord Kitchener says there are hone to touch them, Borrodaile, Bruce and Wallace High- landers, Or — All success to the meeting, and best thanks to you personally for carrying on in my absence, Borrodaile, Bruce and Wallace Highlanders, I have a lot of quiet fun," said Borrodaile meditatively, ^* compos- ing those telegrams. I rather fancy" — he examined the luminous watch on his wrist — **yes, it's ^Ye minutes past eight: I rather fancy the old thing is reading one now ! ' ' The prospective candidate leaned back against the damp wall of the dug-out with a happy sigh. ^*What have you got out of the war, Ayling?" he inquired. * * Change, ' * said Ay ling. **For better or worse?" ^*If you had spent seven years in a big public school, ' ' said Ayling, * ^ teaching exactly the same thing, at exactly the same hour, to exactly the same kind of boy, for weeks on end, what sort of change would you welcome most?" *^ Death," said several voices. ^* Nothing of the kind!" said Ayling warmly. **It's a great life, if you are cut out for it. But there is no doubt that the regularity of the hours, and the absolute certainty of the future, make a man a bit groovy. Now in this life we are living we have to do lots of dull or unpleasant things, but they are never quite the same things. They are progressive, and not circular, if DEEDS OF DARKNESS 127 you know what I mean; and tlie immediate future is absolutely unkaown, which is an un- told blessing. What about you, SketchleyT' A fat voice replied — **War is good for adipose Special Eeser- vists. I have decreased four inches round the waist since October. Next!" So the talk ran on. Young Lochgair, heir to untold acres in the far north and master of unlimited pocket-money, admitted frankly that the sum of eight-and-sixpence per day, which he was now earning by the sweat of his brow and the expenditure of shoe-leather, was sweeter to him than honey in the honey- comb. Hattrick, who had recently put up a plate in Harley Street, said it was good to be earning a living wage at last. Mr. Waddell, pressed to say a few words of encouragement of the present campaign, delivered himself of a guarded but illuminating eulogy of war as a cure for indecision of mind; from which, coupled with a coy reference to *^some one" in distant St. Andrews, the company were enabled to gather that Mr. Waddell had car- ried a position with his new sword which had proved impregnable to civilian assault. Only Bobby Little was silent. In all this genial symposium there had been no word of the spur which was inciting him — and doubt- less the others — along the present weary and monotonous path; and on the whole he was glad that it should be so. None of us care to talk, even privately, about the Dream of 128 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND Honour and the Hope of Glory. The only difference between Bobby and the others was that while they could cover np their aspira- tions with a jest, Bobby mnst say all that was in his heart, or keep silent. So he held his peace. A tall figure loomed against the starlit sky, and Captain Wagstaffe, who had been out in the trench, spoke quickly to Major Kemp : — ^^I thing we had better get to our places, sir. Some criminal has cut my alarm-cord ! ' ' Five minutes previously, Private Bain, lulled to a sense of false security by the still- ness of the night, had opened his eyes, which had been closed for purposes of philosophic reflection, to find himself surrounded by four ghostly figures in greatcoats. With creditable presence of mind he jerked his alarm-cord. But, alas ! the cord came with his hand. He was now a prisoner, and his place in the scout-line was being used as a point of deploy- ment for the attacking force. ^^We're extended right along the line now,'' said Captain Mackintosh to Simson. ^^I can't wait any longer for Shand: he has probably lost himself. The sentries are all behind us. Pass the word along to crawl forward. Every man to keep as low as he DEEDS OF DAEKNESS 129 can, and dress by the right. No one to charge unless he hears my whistle, or is fired on," The whispered word — Captain Mackintosh knows when to whisper quite as well as Cap- tain Shand — runs down the line, and pres- ently we begin to creep forward, stooping low. Sometimes we halt ; sometimes we swing back a little ; but on the whole we progress. Once there is a sudden exclamation. A highly- strung youth, crouching in a field drain, has laid his hand upon what looks and feels like a clammy human face, lying recumbent and staring heavenward. Too late, he recognises a derelict scarecrow with a turnip head. Again, there is a pause while the extreme right of the line negotiates an unexpected barbed-wire fence. Still, we move on, with enormous caution. We are not certain where the trenches are, but they must be near. At any moment a crackling volley may leap out upon us. Pulses begin to beat. In the trench itself eyes are strained and ears cocked. It is an eerie sensation to know that men are near you, and creeping nearer, yet remain inaudible and invisible. It is a very dark night. The moon appears to have gone to bed for good, and the stars are mostly covered. Men unconsciously endeavour to fan the darkness away with their hands, like mist. The broken ground in front, with the black woods beyond, might be concealing an army corps for all the watchers in the trenches can tell. Far away to the south a bright 130 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND finger of light occasionally stabs the murky heavens. It is the searchlight of a British cruiser, keeping ceaseless vigil in the English Channel, fifteen miles away. If she were not there we should not be making-believe here with such comfortable deliberation. It would be the real thing. Bobby Little, who by this time can almost discern spiked German helmets in the gloom, stands tingling. On either side of him are ranged the men of his platoon — some eager, some sleepy, but all silent. For the first time he notices that in the distant woods ahead of him there is a small break — a mere gap — through which one or two stars are twinkling. If only he could contrive to get a line of sight direct to that patch of sky He moves a few yards along the trench, and brings his eye to the ground-level. No good: a bush intervenes, fifteen yards away. He moves further and tries again. Suddenly, for a brief moment, against the dimly illuminated scrap of horizon, he descries a human form, clad in a kilt, advancing stealthily. . . . '^Number one Platoon — at the enemy in front — rapid fire!'' He is just in time. There comes an over- wrought roar of musketry all down the line of trenches. Simultaneously, a solid wall of men rises out of the earth not fifty yards away, and makes for the trenches with a long-drawn battle yell. DEEDS OF DAEKNESS 131 Make-believe has its thrills as well as the genuine article. And so home to bed. M^Snape duly became a lance-corporal, while Dunshie resigned his post as a scout and returned to duty with the company. XI OLYMPUS Under this designation it is convenient to lump the whole heavenly host which at pres- ent orders our goings and shapes our ends. It includes — (1) The War Office; (2) The Treasury; (3) The Army Ordnance Office; (4) Our Divisional Office; — and other more local and immediate homes of mystery. The Olympus which controls the destinies of *^K(1) '^ differs in many respects from the Olympus of antiquity, but its celestial in- habitants appear to have at least two points in common with the original body — namely, a childish delight in upsetting one another's arrangements, and an untimely sense of hu- mour when dealing with mortals. So far as our researches have gone, we have been able to classify Olympus, roughly, into three departments — OLYMPUS 133 (1) Eound Game Department (including Dockets, Indents, and all official correspondence). (2) Fairy Godmother Department. (3) Practical Joke Department. The outstanding feature of the Round Game Department is its craving for irrelevant in- formation and its passion for detail. **Open your hearts to us,'' say the officials of the Department; ** unburden your souls; keep nothing from us — and you will find us most accommodating. But stand on your dignity; decline to particularise; hold back one irrel- evant detail — and it will go hard with you! Listen, and we will explain the rules of the game. Think of something you want im- mediately — say the command of a brigade, or a couple of washers for the lock of a ma- chine-gun — and apply to us. The applica- tion must be made in writing, upon the Army Form provided for the purpose, and in tripli- cate. And — you must put in all the details you can possibly think of.'' For instance, in the case of the machine- gun washers — by the way, in applying for them, you must call them Gim, Machine, Light VicherSf Washers for lock of, two. That is the way we always talk at the Ordnance Office. An Ordnance officer refers to his wife's mother as Law, Mother-in-, one — you should state when the old washers were lost, and by whom; also why they were lost, and where they are now. Then write a short 134 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND history of the machine-gnn from which they were lost, giving date and place of birth, together with a statement of the exact num- ber of rounds which it has fired — a machine- gun fires about ^ve hundred rounds a min- ute — adding the name and military record of the pack-animal which usually carries it. When you have filled up this document you forward it to the proper quarter and await results. The game then proceeds on simple and automatic lines. If your application is re- ferred back to you not more than five times, and if you get your washers within three months of the date of application, you are the winner. If you get something else instead — say an aeroplane, or a hundred wash-hand basins — it is a draw. But the chances are that you lose. Consider. By the rules of the game, if Olympus can think of a single detail which has not been thought of by you — for instance, if you omit to mention that the lost washers were circular in shape and had holes through the middle — you are ipso facto disqualified, under Eule One. Eule Two, also, is liable to trip you up. Possibly you may have written the pack-mule's name in small block capitals, instead of ordinary italics underlined in red ink, or put the date in Roman figures instead of Arabic numerals. If you do this, your application is referred back to you, and you lose a life. And even if you survive OLYMPUS 135 Eules One and Two, Enle Three will probably get you in the end. Under its provision your application mnst be framed in such language and addressed in such a manner that it passes through every department and sub-depart- ment of Olympus before it reaches the right one. The rule has its origin in the principle which governs the passing of wine at well- regulated British dinner-tables. That is, if you wish to offer a glass of port to your neighbour on your right, you hand the decanter to the neighbour on your left, so that the original object of your hospitality receives it, probably empty, only after a complete circuit of the table. In the present instance, the gentleman upon your right is the President of the Washer Department, situated somewhere in the Army Ordnance Office, the remaining guests representing the other centres of Olympian activity. For every department your application misses, you lose a life, three lost lives amoimting to disqualification. When the washers are issued, however, the port- wine rule is abandoned; and the washers are despatched to you, in defiance of all the laws of superstition and tradition, ^^widder shins," or counter-clockwise. No wonder articles thus jeopardised often fail to reach their destination ! Your last fence comes when you receive a document from Olympus announcing that your washers are now prepared for you, and that 136 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND if you will sign and return the enclosed re- ceipt they will be sent off upon their last journey. You are now in the worst dilemma of all. Olympus will not disgorge your washers until it has your receipt. On the other hand, if you send the receipt, Olympus can always win the game by losing the wash- ers, and saying that you have got them. In the face of your own receipt you cannot very well deny this. So you lose your washers, and the game, and are also made liable for the misappropriation of two washers, for which Olympus holds your receipt. Truly, the gods play with loaded dice. On the whole, the simplest (and almost uni- versal) plan is to convey a couple of washers from some one else 's gun. The game just described is played chiefly by officers; but this is a democratic age, and the rank and file are now occasionally per- mitted to take part. For example, boots. Private M^Splae is the possessor, we will say, of a pair of flat feet, or arched insteps, or other military in- commodities, and his regulation boots do not fit him. More than that, they hurt him ex- ceedingly, and as he is compelled to wear them through daily marches of several miles, they gradually wear a hole in his heel, or a groove in his instep, or a gathering on his great toe. So he makes the first move in the game, and reports sick — **sair feet." OLYMPUS 137 The Medical Officer, a terribly efficient in- dividual, keenly — sometimes too keenly — alert for signs of malingering, takes a cursory glance at M^Splae's feet, and directs the patient's attention to the healing properties of soap and water. M^Splae departs, grum- bling, and reappears on sick parade a few days later, palpably worse. This time, the M.O. being a little less pressed with work, M^Splae is given a dressing for his feet, coupled with a recommendation to procure a new pair of boots without delay. If M^Splae is a novice in regimental diplomacy, he will thereupon address himself to his pla- toon sergeant, who will consign him, elo- quently, to a destination where only boots with asbestos soles will be of any use. If he is an old hand, he will simply cut his next parade, and will thus, rather ingeniously, obtain access to his company commander, being brought up before him at orderly-room next morning as a defaulter. To his cap- tain he explains, with simple dignity, that he absented himself from parade because he found himself unable to *^rise up" from his bed. He then endeavours, by hurriedly unlacing his boots, to produce his feet as evidence; but is frustrated, and awarded three extra fatigues for not formally report- ing himself sick to the orderly sergeant. The real point of issue, namely, the unsuit- ability of M'Splae's boots, again escapes attention. 138 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND There tlie matter rests until, a few days later, M'Splae falls out on a long regimental ronte-march, and hobbles home, chaperoned by a not ungrateful lance-corporal, in a state of semi-collapse. This time the M.O, reports to the captain that Private M'Splae will be unfit for further duty until he is provided with a proper pair of boots. Are there no boots in the quartermaster's store? The captain explains that there are plenty of boots, but that under the rules of the present round game no one has any power to issue them. (This rule was put in to prevent the game from becoming too easy, like the spot-barred rule in billiards.) It is a fact well known to Olympus that no regimental officer can be trusted with boots. Not even the colonel can gain access to the regimental boot store. For all Olympus can tell, he might draw a pair of boots and wear them himself, or dress his children up in them, or bribe the brigadier with them, in- stead of issuing them to Private M^Splae. No, Olympus thinks it wiser not to put temp- tation in the way of underpaid officers. So the boots remain locked up, and the taxpayer is protected. But to be just, there is always a solution to an Olympian enigma, if you have the patience to go on looking for it. In this case the proper proceeding is for all con- cerned, including the prostrate M^Splae, to wait patiently for a Board to sit. No date OLYMPUS 139 is assigned for this event, bnt it is bound to occur sooner or later, like a railway acci- dent or an eclipse of tlie moon. So one day, out of a cloudless sky, a Board materialises, and sits on M^Splae^s boots. If M^Splae's company commander happens to be presi- dent of the Board the boots are condemned, and the portals of the quarter-master's store swing open for a brief moment to emit a new pair. When M^Splae comes out of hospital, the boots, provided no one has appropriated them during the term of his indisposition, are his. He puts them on, to find that they pinch him in the same place as the old pair. Then there is the Fairy Godmother Depart- ment, which supplies us with unexpected treats. It is the smallest department on Olympus, and, like most philanthropic in- stitutions, is rather unaccountable in the man- ner in which it distributes its favours. It is somewhat hampered in its efforts, too, by the Practical Joke Department, which appears to exercise a sort of general right of interference all over Olympus. For in- stance, the Fairy Godmother Department de- crees that officers from Indian regiments, who were home on leave when the War broke out and were commandeered for service with the Expeditionary Force, shall continue to draw pay on the Indian scale, which is con- siderably higher thap. that which prevails 140 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND at home. So far, so good. But the Practical Joke Department hears of this, and scents an opportunity, in the form of * ^ deductions. ' ' It promptly bleeds the beneficiaire of certain sums per day, for quarters, horse allowance, forage, and the like. It is credibly reported that one of these warriors, on emerging from a week's purgatory in a Belgian trench, found that his accommodation therein had been charged against him, under the head of *^ lodgings,'' at the rate of two shillings and threepence a night ! But sometimes the Fairy Godmother De- partment gets a free hand. Like a benevolent maiden aunt, she unexpectedly drops a twenty- pound note into your account at Cox's Bank, murmuring something vague about *^ addi- tional outfit allowance"; and as Mr. Cox makes a point of backing her up in her little secret, you receive a delightful surprise next time you open your pass-book. She has the family instinct for detail, too, this Fairy Godmother. Perhaps the electric light in your bedroom fails, and for three days you have to sit in the dark or purchase candles. An invisible but observant little cherub notes this fact; and long afterwards a postal order for tenpence flutters down upon you from Olympus, marked ^^ light al- lowance." Once Bobby Little received a mysterious postal order for one-and-five- pence. It was in the early days of his novitiate, before he had ceased to question OLYMPUS 141 the workings of Providence. So lie made inquiries, and after prolonged investigation discovered the source of the windfall. On field service an officer is entitled to a certain sum per day as * Afield allowance.^' In bar- racks, however, possessing a bedroom and other indoor comforts, he receives no such gratuity. Now Bobby had once been com- pelled to share his room for a few nights with a newly- joined and homeless subaltern. He was thus temporarily rendered the owner of only half a bedroom. Or, to put it another way, only half of him was able to sleep in barracks. Obviously, then, the other half was on field service, and Bobby was there- fore entitled to half field allowance. Hence the one-and-fivepence. I tell you, little es- capes them on Olympus. So does much, but that is another story. Last of all comes the Practical Joke De- partment. It covers practically all of one side of Olympus — the shady side. The jokes usually take the form of an order, followed by a counter-order. For example — In his magisterial days Ayling, of whom we have previously heard, was detailed by his Headmaster to undertake the organisation of a school corps to serve as a unit of the Officers ^ Training Corps — then one of the spoilt bant- lings of the War Office. Being a vigorous and efficient young man, Ayling devoted four 142 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND weeks of his smnmer holiday to a course of training with a battalion of regulars at Alder- shot. During that period, as the prospective commander of a company, he was granted the pay and provisional rank of captain, which all will admit was handsome enough treatment. Three months later, when after superhuman struggles he had pounded his youthful legion- aries into something like efficiency, his ap- pointment to a commission was duly confirmed, and he found himself gazetted — Second Lieu- tenant. In addition to this, he was required to refund to the Practical Joke Department the difference between second lieutenant 's pay and the captain's pay which he had received during his month's training at Aldershot! But in these strenuous days the Department has no time for baiting individuals. It has two or three millions of men to sharpen its wit upon. Its favourite pastime at present is a sort of giant's game of chess, the fair face of England serving as board, and the various units of the K. armies as pieces. The object of the players is to get each piece through as many squares as possible in a given time, it being clearly understood that no move shall count unless another piece is evicted in the process. For instance, we, the a;th Brigade of the ytld Division, are suddenly uprooted from billets at A and planted down in barracks at B, displacing the ^th Brigade of the qth Divi- sion in the operation. We have barely cleaned up after the pth — an Augean task — and OLYMPUS 143 officers have just concluded messing, fur- nishing, and laundry arrangements with the local banditti, when the Practical Joke De- partment, with its tongue in its cheek, bids us prepare to go under canvas at C. Married officers hurriedly despatch advance parties, composed of their wives, to secure houses or lodgings in the bleak and inhospitable environs of their new station; while a rapidly ageing Mess President concludes yet another demor- alising bargain with a ruthless and omnipo- tent caterer. Then — this is the cream of the joke — the day before we expect to move, the Practical Joke Department puts out a play- ful hand and sweeps us all into some half- completed huts at D, somewhere at the other end of the Ordnance map, and leaves us there, with a happy chuckle, to sink or swim in an Atlantic of mud. So far as one is able to follow the scoring of the game, some of the squares in the chess- board are of higher value than others. For instance, if you are dumped down into com- paratively modern barracks at Aldershot, which, although they contain no furniture, are at least weatherproof and within reach of shops, the Practical Joke Department scores one point. Barracks condemned as unsafe and insanitary before the war, but now reckoned highly eligible, count three points; rat-ridden billets count five. But if you can manoeuvre your helpless pawns into Mud- splosh Camp, you receive ten whole points, 144 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND with a bonus of two points thrown in if you can effect the move without previous notice of any kind. We are in Mudsplosh Camp to-day. In transferring us here, the Department secured full points, including bonus. Let it not be supposed, however, that we are decrying our present quarters. Mud- splosh Camp is — or is going to be ^ — a nobly planned and admirably equipped military centre. At present it consists of some three hundred wooden huts, in all stages of con- struction, covering about twenty acres of high moorland. The huts are heated with stoves, and will be delightfully warm when we get some coal. They are lit by — or rather wired for — electric light. Meanwhile a candle-end does well enough for a room only a hundred feet long. There are numerous other adjuncts to our comfort — wash-houses, for instance. These will be invaluable, when the water is laid on. For the present, there is a capital standpipe not a hundred yards away ; and all you have to do, if you want an invigorating scrub, is to wait your turn for one of the two tin basins supplied to each fifty men, and then splash to your heart's content. There is a spacious dining-hall; and as soon as the roof is on, our successors, or their successors, will make merry therein. Meanwhile, there are worse places to eat one's dinner than the floor — the mud outside, for instance. OLYMPUS 145 The stables are lofty and well ventilated. At least, we are sure they will be. Pending their completion the horses and mules are very comfortable, picketed on the edge of the moor. . . . After all, there are only sixty of them; and most of them have rugs; and it can't possibly go on snowing for ever. The only other architectural feature of the camp is the steriliser, which has been work- ing night and day ever since we arrived. No, it does not sterilise water or milk, or any- thing of that kind — only blankets. Those men standing in a queue at its door are carry- ing their bedding. (Yes, quite so. When blankets are passed from regiment to regi- ment for months on end, in a camp where opportunities for ablution are not lavish, these little things will happen.) You put the blankets in at one end of the steriliser, turn the necessary handles, and wait. In due course the blankets emerge, steamed, dried, and thoroughly purged. At least, that is the idea. But listen to Privates Ogg and Hogg, in one of their celebrated cross-talk duologues. Ogg (examining his hlanJcet), * ^They're a' there yet. See ! ' ' Hogg (an optimist). ''Aye; but they must have gotten an awfu' fricht!" But then people like Ogg are never satis- fied with anything. However, the feature of this camp is the mud. That is why it counts ten points. There 146 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND was no mud, of course, before the camp was constructed — only dry turf, and wild yel- low gorse, and fragrant heather. But the Practical Joke Department were not to be discouraged by the superficial beauties of nature. They knew that if you crowd a large number of human dwellings close to- gether, and refrain from constructing any roads or drains as a preliminary, and fill these buildings with troops in the rainy sea- son, you will soon have as much mud as ever you require. And they were quite right. The depth varies from a few inches to about a foot. On the outskirts of the camp, how- ever, especially by the horse lines or going through a gate, you may find yourself up to your knees. But, after all, what is mud? Most of the officers have gum-boots, and the men will probably get used to it. Life in K(l) is largely composed of getting used to things. In the more exclusive and fashionable dis- tricts — round about the Orderly-room, and the Canteen, and the Guard-room — elevated *' duck- walks'' are laid down, along which we delicately pick our way. It would warm the heart of a democrat to observe the ready — nay, hasty — courtesy with which an officer, on meeting a private carrying two over- flowing buckets of kitchen refuse, steps down into the mud to let his humble brother-in- arms pass. Where there are no duck-walks, we employ planks laid across the mud. In OLYMPUS 147 comparatively dry weather these planks lie some two or three inches below the mud, and much innocent amusement may be derived from trying to locate them. In wet weather, however, the planks float to the surface, and then of course everything is plain sailing. When it snows, we feel for the planks with our feet. If we find them we perform an involuntary and unpremeditated ski-ing act: if we fail, we wade to our quarters through a sort of neapolitan ice — snow on the top, mud underneath. Our parade-ground is a mud-flat in front of the huts. Here we take our stand each morning, sinking steadily deeper until the order is given to move off. Then the bat- talion extricates itself with one tremendous squelch, and we proceed to the labours of the day. Seriously, though — supposing the com- manding officer were to be delayed one morn- ing at orderly-room, and were to ride on to the parade-ground twenty minutes late, what would he find? Nothing! Nothing but a great parterre of glengarries, perched upon the mud in long parallel rows, each glengarry flanked on the left-hand side by the muzzle of a rifle at the slope. (That detached patch over there on the left front, surrounded by air-bubbles, is the band. That cavity like the crater of an extinct volcano, in Number one Platoon of A Company, was once Pri- vate Mucklewame.) 148 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOTJSAND And yet people talk about the sinking of the Birkenhead! This morning some one in the Department has scored another ten points. Word has just been received that we are to move again to-morrow — to a precisely similar set of huts about a hundred yards away ! They are mad wags on Olympus. XII AND SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE ''Firing parrty, revairse arrms!^" Thus the platoon sergeant — a little anxi- ously; for we are new to this feat, and only rehearsed it for a few minutes this morning. It is a sunny afternoon in late February. The winter of our discontent is past. (At least, we hope so.) Comfortless months of training are safely behind us, and lo ! we have grown from a fortuitous concourse of atoms to a cohesive unit of fighting men. Spring is coming; spring is coming; our blood runs quicker; active service is within measurable distance; and the future beckons to us with both hands to step down at last into the arena, and try our fortune amid the uncertain but illimitable chances of the greatest game in the world. To all of us, that is, save one. The road running up the hill from the little mortuary is lined on either side by members of our company, specklessly turned out and 150 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND standing to attention. At the' foot of the slope a gun-carriage is waiting, drawn by two great dray horses and controlled by a private of the Royal Artillery, who looks incongru- ously perky and cockney amid that silent, kilted assemblage. The firing party form a short lane from the gun-carriage to the door of the mortuary. In response to the ser- geant's command, each man turns over his rifle, and setting the muzzle carefully upon his right boot — after all, it argues no extra respect to the dead to get your barrel filled with mud — rests his hands upon the butt- plate and bows his head, as laid down in the King's Eegulations. The bearers move slowly down the path from the mortuary, and place the coffin upon the gun-carriage. Upon the lid lie a very dingy glengarry, a stained leather belt, and a bayonet. They are humble trophies, but we pay them as much reverence as we would to the baton and cocked hat of a field-marshal, for they are the insignia of a man who has given his life for his country. On the hill-top above us, where the great military hospital rears its clock-tower four- square to the sky, a line of convalescents, in natty blue uniforms with white facings and red ties, lean over the railings deeply inter- ested. Some of them are bandaged, others are in slings, and all are more or less maimed. They follow the obsequies below with critical approval. They have been present at enough SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 151 hnrried and promiscuous interments of late — more than one of them has only just escaped being the central figure at one of these func- tions — that they are capable of appreciating a properly conducted funeral at its true value. ** They 're putting away a bloomin' Jock,'' remarks a gentleman with an empty sleeve. *^And very nice, too!" responds another on crutches, as the firing party present arms with creditable precision. *^Not 'arf a bad bit of eye-wash at all for a bandy-legged lot of coal- shovellers." ^^That lot's out of K(l)," explains a well- informed invalid with his head in bandages. ** Pretty 'ot stuff they're gettin'. Tres mou- tar del Now we 're off . " The signal is passed up the road to the band, who are waiting at the head of the pro- cession, and the pipes break into a lament. Corporals step forward and lay four wreaths upon the coffin — one from each company. Not a man in the battalion has failed to con- tribute his penny to those wreaths; and pen- nies are not too common with us, especially on a Thursday, which comes just before pay-day. The British private is commonly reputed to spend all, or most of, his pocket-money upon beer. But I can tell you this, that if you give him his choice between buying himself a pint of beer and subscribing to a wreath, he will most decidedly go thirsty. The serio-comic charioteer gives his reins a twitch, the horses wake up, and the gun- 152 THE FIRST HUISTDEED THOUSAND carriage begins to move slowly along tlie lane of mourners. As the dead private passes on Ms way the walls of the lane melt, and his comrades fall into their nsnal fours behind the gun-carriage. So we pass up the hill towards the military cemetery, with the pipes wailing their hearts out, and the muffled drums marking the time of our regulation slow step. Each foot seems to hang in the air before the drums bid us put it down. In the very rear of the procession you may see the company commander and three sub- alterns. They give no orders, and exact no attention. To employ a colloquialism, this is not their funeral. Just behind the gun-carriage stalks a soli- tary figure in civilian clothes — the unmistak- able ^^ blacks" of an Elder of the Kirk. At first sight, you have a feeling that some one has strayed into the procession who has no right there. But no one has a better. The sturdy old man behind the coffin is named Adam Carmichael, and he is here, having travelled south from Dumbarton by the night train, to attend the funeral of his only son. n Peter Carmichael was one of the first to enlist in the regiment. There was another Carmichael in the same company, so Peter at SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 153 roll-call was usually addressed by the sergeant as ^ * Twenty-seven fufty-fower Carmichael, " 2754 being his regimental number. The army does not encourage Christian names. When his attestation paper was filled up, he gave his age as nineteen ; his address, vaguely, as Een- f rewshire ; and his trade, not without an air, as a ^^holder-on." To the mystified Bobby Little he entered upon a lengthy explanation of the term in a language composed almost entirely of vowels, from which that officer gathered, dimly, that holding-on had some- thing to do with shipbuilding. Upon the barrack square his platoon com- mander 's attention was again drawn to Peter, owing to the passionate enthusiasm with which he performed the simplest evolutions, such as forming fours and sloping arms — military exercises which do not intrigue the average private to any great extent. Unfor- tunately, desire frequently outran perform- ance. Peter was undersized, unmuscular, and extraordinarily clumsy. For a long time Bobby Little thought that Peter, like one or two of his comrades, was left-handed, so made allowances. Ultimately he discovered that his indulgence was misplaced: Peter was equally incompetent with either hand. He took longer in learning to ^x bayonets or present arms than any other man in the platoon. To be fair, Nature had done little to help him. He was thirty-three inches round the chest, five feet four in height, 154 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND and weighed possibly nine stone. His com- plexion was pasty, and, as Captain Wagstaffe remarked, you could hang your hat on any bone in his body. His eyesight was not all that the Regulations require, and on the mus- ketry-range he was ^^put back,^' to his deep distress, ^^for further instruction." Alto- gether, if you had not known the doctor who passed him, you would have said it was a mystery how he passed the doctor. But he possessed the one essential attribute of the soldier. He had a big heart. He was keen. He allowed nothing to come between him and his beloved duties. (^'He was aye daft for to go sogerinV' his father explained to Captain Blaikie; ^^but his mother would never let him away. He was ower wee, and ower young.") His rifle, buttons, and boots were always without blemish. Further, he was of the opinion that a merry heart goes all the way. He never sulked when the platoon were kept on parade ^ve minutes after the breakfast bugle had sounded. He made no bones about obeying orders and saluting officers — acts of abasement which grated sorely at times upon his colleagues, who reverenced no one except themselves and their Union. He appeared to revel in muddy route-marches, and invariably pro- voked and led the choruses. The men called him ^*Wee Pe'er," and ultimately adopted him as a sort of company mascot. Whereat Pe'er's heart glowed; for when your asso- SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 155 ciates attach a diminutive to your Christian name, you possess something which million- aires would gladly give half their fortune to purchase. And certainly he required all the social success he could win, for professionally Peter found life a rigorous affair. Sometimes, as he staggered into barracks after a long day, carrying a rifle made of lead and wearing a pair of boots weighing a hundredweight apiece, he dropped dead asleep on his bed- ding before he could eat his dinner. But he always hotly denied the imputation that he was *^sick.'' Time passed. The regiment was shaking down. Seven of Peter's particular cronies were raised to the rank of lance-corporal — but not Peter. He was ^^off the square" now — that is to say, he was done with re- cruit drill for ever. He possessed a sound knowledge of advance-guard and outpost work; his conduct-sheet was a blank page. But he was not promoted. He was *^ower wee for a stripe," he told himself. For the present he must expect to be passed over. His chance would come later, when he had filled out a little and got rid of his cough. The winter dragged on: the weather was appalling: the grousers gave tongue with no uncertain voice, each streaming field-day. But Wee Pe'er enjoyed it all. He did not care if it snowed ink. He was a ^ ^ so jer. " One day, to his great delight,, he was 156 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND *^ warned for guard'' — a particnlarly un- popular branch of a soldier's duties, for it means sitting in the guard-room for twenty- four hours at a stretch, fully dressed and accoutred, with intervals of sentry-go, usu- ally in heavy rain, by way of exercise. When Peter 's turn for sentry-go came on he splashed up and down his muddy beat — the battalion was in billets now, and the usual sentry's verandah was lacking — as proud as a pea- cock, saluting officers according to their rank, challenging stray civilians with great sever- ity, and turning out the guard on the slight- est provocation. He was at his post, soaked right through his greatcoat, when the orderly officer made his night round. Peter sum- moned his colleagues; the usual inspection of the guard took place; and the sleepy men were then dismissed to their fireside. Peter remained; the officer hesitated. He was supposed to examine the sentry in his knowledge of his duties. It was a profit- less task as a rule. The tongue-tied youth merely gaped like a stranded fish, until the sergeant mercifully intervened, in some such words as these — ' ' This man, sirr, is liable to get over-excited when addressed by an officer." Then, soothingly — **Now, Jimmy, tell the officer what would ye dae in case of fire?" ^^ Present airrms !" announces the desperate James. Or else, almost tearfully, *^I canna SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 157 mind. I had it all fine just noo, but it *s awa ' oot o' ma heid!" Therefore it was with no great sense of anticipation that the orderly officer said to Private Carmichael, — ^^Now, sentry, can you repeat any of your duties?" Peter saluted, took a full breath, closed both eyes, and replied rapidly, — *^For tae tak' chairge of all Government property within sicht of this guairdhoose tae turrn out the guaird for all arrmed pairties approaching also the commanding officer once a day tae salute all officers tae challenge all pairsons approaching this post tae- " His recital was interrupted by a fit of coughing. ' ^ Thank you, ' ' said the officer hastily ; ' ' that will do. Good night ! ' ' Peter, not sure whether it would be correct to say *^good night" too, saluted again, and returned to his cough. **I say," said the officer, turning back, **you have a shocking cold. ^ ' *^Och, never heed it, sirr," gasped Peter politely. '^Call the sergeant," said the officer. The fat sergeant came out of the guard- house again, buttoning his tunic. *^Sirr?" '^Take this man off sentry-duty and roast him at the guard-room fire." 158 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND a I will, sirr/' replied the sergeant; and added paternally, ^Hhis man lias no right for to be here at all. He should have re- ported sick when warned for guard; but he would not. He is very attentive to his duties, sirr. ' ' **Good boy!'' said the officer to Peter. **I wish we had more like you. ' ' Wee Pe'er blushed, his teeth, momentarily ceased chattering, his heart swelled. Appear- ances to the contrary, he felt warm all through. The sergeant laid a fatherly hand upon his shoulder. *^Go you your ways intil the guard-room, boy,'' he commanded, ^^and send oot Dunshie. He'll no hurt. Get close in ahint the stove, or you'll be for Cambridge!" (The last phrase carries no academic signi- ficance. It simply means that you are likely to become an inmate of the great Cambridge Hospital at Aldershot.) Peter, feeling thoroughly disgraced, cast an appealing look at the officer. *^In you go!" said that martinet. Peter silently obeyed. It was the only time in his life that he ever felt mutinous. A month later Brigade Training set in with customary severity. The life of company officers became a burden. They spent hours in thick woods with their followers, taking cover, ostensibly from the enemy, in reality from brigade-majors and staff officers. A sub- SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 159 altern never tied Ms platoon in a knot but a general came trotting ronnd the corner. The wet weather had ceased, and a biting east wind reigned in its stead. On one occasion an elaborate night opera- tion was arranged. Four battalions were to assemble at a given point ^Ye miles from camp, and then advance in column across country by the light of the stars to a position indicated on the map, where they were to de- ploy and dig themselves in ! It sounded simple enough in operation orders ; but when you try to move four thousand troops — even well- trained troops — across three miles of broken country on a pitch-dark night, there is always a possibility that some one will get mislaid. On this particular occasion a whole battalion lost itself without any delay or difficulty what- soever. The other three were compelled to wait for two hours and a half, stamping their feet and blowing on their fingers, while overheated staff officers scoured the country for the truants. They were discovered at last waiting virtuously at the wrong rendez- vous, three-quarters of a mile away. The brazen-hatted strategist who drew up the operation orders had given the point of assembly for the brigade as: . . . the field S.W. of Welliitgtok Wood and due E. of Hae-gmait's Copse, immediately helotu the first in Ghostly Bottom, — but omitted to under- line the O indicated. The result was that three battalion commanders assembled at the 160 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND O in *' ghostly," while the fourth, ignoring the adjective in favour of the noun, took up his station at the first in *^ bottom." The operations had been somewhat optim- istically timed to end at 11 p.m., but by the time that the four battalions had effected a most unloverly tryst, it was close on ten, and beginning to rain. The consequence was that the men got home to bed, soaked to the skin, and asking the Powers Above rhetorical questions, at three o'clock in the morning. Next day Brigade Orders announced that the movement would be continued at night- fall, by the occupation of the hastily-dug trenches, followed by a night attack upon the hill in front. The captured position would then be retrenched. When the tidings went round, fourteen of the more quick-witted spirits of *^A" Com- pany hurriedly paraded before the Medical Officer and announced that they were **'sick in the stomach." Seven more discovered abrasions upon their feet, and proffered their sores for inspection, after the manner of Oriental mendicants. One skrimshanker, despairing of producing any bodily ailment, rather ingeniously assaulted a comrade-in- arms, and was led away, deeply grateful, to the guard-room. Wee Peter, who in the course of last night's operations had stumbled into an old trench half-filled with ice-cold SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 161 water, and whose temperature to-day, had he known it, was a hundred and two, paraded with his company at the appointed time. The company, he reflected, would get a bad name if too many men reported sick at once. Next day he was absent from parade. He was *^for Cambridge'' at last. Before he died, he sent for the officer who had befriended him, and supplemented, or rather corrected, some of the information contained in his attestation paper. He lived in Dumbarton, not Eenfrewshire. He was just sixteen. He was not — this con- fession cost him a great effort — a full-blown ^^holder-on'' at all; only an apprentice. His father was **weel kenf in the town of Dum- barton, being a chief engineer, employed by a great firm of shipbuilders to extend new machinery on trial trips. Needless to say, he made a great fight. But though his heart was big enough, his body was too frail. As they say on the sea, he was over-engined for his beam. And so, three days later, the simple soul of Twenty-seven fifty-four Carmichael, **A" Company, was transferred, on promotion, to another company — the great Company of Happy Warriors who walk the Elysian Fields. 163 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND in ec Firing parrty^ one round hlanJc — loadf There is a rattle of bolts, and a dozen barrels are pointed heavenwards. The com- pany stands rigid, except the bnglers, who are beginning to finger their instruments. ''Firer' There is a crackling volley, and the pipes break into a brief, sobbing wail. Wayfarers upon the road below look np curiously. One or two young females with perambulators come hurrying across the grass, exhorting apathetic babies to sit up and admire the pretty funeral. Twice more the rifles ring out. The pipes cease their wailing, and there is an expectant silence. The drum-major crooks his little finger, and eight bugles come to the ^* ready." Then *^Last Post,'' the requiem of every soldier of the King, swells out, sweet and true. The echoes lose themselves among the drip- ping pines. The chaplain closes his book, takes off his spectacles, and departs. Old Carmichael permits himself one brief look into his son's grave, resumes his crape- bound tall hat, and turns heavily away. He finds Captain Blaikie's hand waiting for him. He grips it, and says — ^^Weel, the laddie has had a grand sojer's SOME FELL BY THE WAYSIDE 163 funeraL His mother will be pleased to hear that/' He passes on, and shakes hands with the platoon sergeant and one or two of Peter's cronies. He declines an invitation to the Sergeants' Mess. ^^I hae a trial-trnp the morn," he explains. *^I must be steppin'. God keep ye all, brave lads!" The old gentleman sets off down the station road. The company falls in, and we march back to barracks, leaving Wee Pe 'er — the first name on onr Eoll of Honour — alone in his glory beneath the Hampshire pines. XIII CONCEET PITCH We have only two topics of conversation now — tEe date of onr departure, and onr destina- tion. Both are wrapped in mystery so pro- found that our range of speculation is prac- tically unlimited. Conjecture rages most fiercely in the Offi- cers' Mess, which is in touch with sources of unreliable information not accessible to the rank and file. The humblest subaltern ap- pears to be possessed of a friend at court, or a cousin in the Foreign Office, or an aunt in the Intelligence Department, from whom he can derive fresh and entirely different information each week-end leave. Master Cockerell, for instance, has it straight from the Horse Guards that we are going out next week — as a single unit, to be brigaded with two seasoned regi- ments in Flanders. He has a considerable following. Then comes Waddell, who has been in- formed by the Assistant sub-Editor of an COJ^CERT PITCH 165 evening jonrnal widely read in Ms native Dundee, that The First Hundred Thousand are to sit here, eating the bread of im- patience, until The First Half Million are ready. Thereupon we shall break through our foeman's line at a point hitherto un~ assailed and known only to the scribe of Dundee, and proceed to roll up the German Empire as if it were a carpet, into some obscure corner of the continent of Europe. Bobby Little, not the least of whose gifts is a soaring imagination, has mapped out a sort of strategical Cook's Tour for us, beginning with the sack of Constantinople, and ending, after a glorified route-march up the Danube and down the Ehine, which shall include a pitched battle once a week and a successful siege once a month, with a *^ circus" entry into Potsdam. Captain Wagstaffe offers no opinion, but darkly recommends us to order pith helmets. However, we are rather suspicious of Captain Wagstaffe these days. He suffers from an over-developed sense of humour. The rank and file keep closer to earth in their prognostications. In fact, some of them cleave to the dust. With them it is a case of hope deferred. Quite half of them enlisted under the firm belief that they would forth- with be furnished with a rifle and ammunition and despatched to a vague place called ^^the front," there to take pot-shots at the Kaiser. That was in early August. It is now early 166 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND April, and they are still here, performing monotonous evolutions and chafing under the bonds of discipline. Small wonder that they have begun to doubt, these simple souls, if they are ever going out at all. Private M^Slattery put the general opinion in a nutshell. **This regiment," he announced, *4s no' for the front at all. We're jist tae bide here, for tae be inspecMt by Chinese Min- isters and other heathen bodies !'' This withering summary of the situation was evoked by the fact that we had once been called out, and kept on parade for two hours in a north-east wind, for the edifica- tion of a bevy of spectacled dignitaries from the Far East. For the Scottish artisan the word ^ ^minister," however, has only one sig- nificance; so it is probable that M^Slattery's strictures were occasioned by sectarian, rather than racial, prejudice. Still, whatever our ultimate destination and fate may be, the fact remains that we are now as fit for active service as seven months' relentless schooling, under mak- believe conditions, can render us. We shall have to begin all over again, we know, when we find ourselves up against the real thing, but we have at least been thoroughly grounded in the rudiments of our profession. We can endure hail, rain, snow, and vapour; we can march and dig with the best; we have mastered the first principles of mus- CONCERT PITCH 167 ketry; we can advance in an extended line without losing touch or bunching; and we have ceased to regard an order as an insult, or obedience as a degradation. "We eat when we can and what we get, and we sleep wherever we happen to find ourselves lying. That is something. But there are certain military accomplishments which can only be taught us by the enemy. Taking cover, for instance. When the thin, intermittent crackle of blank ammunition shall have been replaced by the whistle of real bullets, we shall get over our predilection for sitting up and taking notice. The conversation of our neighbour, or the deplorable antics of B Company on the neighbouring skyline, will interest us not at all. We shall get down, and stay down. We shall also be relieved of the necessity of respecting the property of those exalted persons who surround their estates with barbed wire, and put up notices, even now, warning off troops. At present we either crawl painfully through that wire, tearing our kilts and lacerating our legs, or go round another way. **Oot there," such un- wholesome deference will be a thing of the past. Would that the wire-setters were going out with us. We would give them the place of honour in the forefront of battle ! We have fired a second musketry course, and are now undergoing Divisional Training, 168 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND with the result that we take our walks abroad several thousand strong, greatly to the derangement of local traffic. Considered all round, Divisional Train- ing is the pleasantest form of soldiering that we have yet encountered. We parade bright and early, at full battalion strength, accom- panied by our scouts, signallers, machine- guns, and transport, and march off at the appointed minute to the starting-point. Here we slip into our place in an already moving column, with three thousand troops in front of us and another two thousand behind, and tramp to our point of deployment. We feel pleasantly thrilled. We are no longer a battalion out on a route-march: we are members of a White Army, or a Brown Army, hastening to frustrate the designs of a Blue Army, or a Pink Army, which has landed (according to the General Idea issued from Headquarters) at Portsmouth, and is reported to have slept at Great Snoreham, only ten miles away, last night. Meanwhile our Headquarters Staff is en- gaged in the not always easy task of ^* getting into touch" with the enemy — anglice, finding him. It is extraordinary how elusive a force of several thousand troops can be, especially when you are picking your way across a defective half -inch map, and the commanders of the opposing forces cherish dissimilar views as to where the point of encounter is supposed to be. However, con- CONCEET PITCH 169 tact is at length established; and if it is not time to go home, we have a battle. Various things may now happen to you. You may find yourself detailed for the Firing- line. In that case your battalion will take open order; and you will advance, princi- pally upon your stomach, over hill and dale until you encounter the enemy, doing like- wise. Both sides then proceed to dis- charge blank ammunition into one another ^s faces at a range, if possible, of about ^ve yards, until the ^^ cease fire'' sounds. Or you may find yourself in Support. In that case you are held back until the battle has progressed a stage or two, when you advance with fixed bayonets to prod your own firing line into a further display of valour and agility. Or you may be detailed as Eeserve. Membership of Brigade Eeserve should be avoided. You are liable to be called upon at any moment to forsake the sheltered wood or lee of a barn under which you are huddling, and double madly up a hill or along a side road, tripping heavily over ingenious entanglements composed of the telephone wires of your own signallers, to enfilade some unwary detachment of the enemy or repel a flank attack. On the other hand, if you are ordered to act as Divisional Eeserve, you may select the softest spot on the hillside behind which you are sheltering, get out your haversack ration, 170 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND and prepare to spend an extremely peaceful (or extremely dull) day. Mimic warfare enjoys one enormous advantage over the genuine article : battles — provided you are not out for tlie night — must always end in time for the men to get back to their dinners at ^ve o'clock. Under this inexorable law it follows that, by the time the General has got into touch with the enemy and brought his firing line, supports, and local reserves into action, it is time to go home. So about three o'clock the bugles sound, and the combatants, hot and grimy, fall back into close order at the point of deployment, where they are presently joined by the Divisional Keserve, blue-faced and watery-eyed with cold. This done, principals and understudies, casting envious glances at one another, form one long column of route and set out for home, in charge of the subalterns. The senior officers trot off to the *^pow-wow," there, with the utmost humility and defer- ence, to extol their own tactical dispositions, belittle the achievements of the enemy, and impugn the veracity of one another. Thus the day's work ends. Our divisional column, with its trim, sturdy, infantry bat- talions, its jingling cavalry and artillery, its real live staff, and its imposing transport train, sets us thinking, by sheer force of con- trast, of that dim and distant time seven months ago, when we wrestled perspiringly all through long and hot September days, CONCEET PITCH 171 on a dusty barrack square, with squad upon squad of dazed and refractory barbarians, who only ceased shuffling their feet in order to ex- pectorate. And these are the self -same men! Never was there a more complete vindication of the policy of pegging away. n So much for the effect of its training upon the regiment as a whole. But when you come to individuals, certain of whom we have encountered and studied in this rambling nar- rative, you find it impossible to generalise. Your one unshakable conclusion is that it takes all sorts to make a type. There are happy, careless souls like McLeary and Hogg. There are conscientious but slow- moving worthies like Mucklewame and Budge. There are drunken wasters like — well, we need name no names. We have got rid of most of these, thank heaven! There are simple-minded enthusiasts of the breed of Wee Pe'er, for whom the sheer joy of **sojering" still invests dull routine and hard work with a glamour of their own. There are the old hands, versed in every labour- saving (and duty-shirking) device. There are the feckless and muddle-headed, making heavy weather of the simplest tasks. There is another class, which divides its time be- tween rising to the position of sergeant and 172 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND being reduced to the ranks, for causes whicTi need not be specified. There is yet another, which knows its drill-book backwards, and can grasp the details of a tactical scheme as quickly as a seasoned officer, but remains in the ruck because it has not sufficient force of character to handle so much as a sentry-group. There are men, again, with initiative but no endurance, and others with endurance but no initiative. Lastly, there are men, and a great many of them, who appear to be quite incapable of coherent thought, yet can handle machinery or any mechanical device to a marvel. Yes, we are a motley organisation. But the great sifting and sorting machine into which we have been cast is shaldng us all out into our appointed places. The efficient and authoritative rise to non-com- missioned rank. The quick-witted and well- educated find employment on the Orderly Eoom staff, or among the scouts and signallers. The handy are absorbed into the transport, or become machine-gunners. The sedentary take post as cooks, or tailors, or officers ' servants. The waster hews wood and draws water and empties swill-tubs. The great, mediocre, undistinguished majority merely go to stiffen the rank and file, and right nobly they do it. Each has his niche. To take a few examples, we may begin with a typical member of the undistin- guished majority. Such an one is that CONCERT PITCH' 173 esteemed citizen of Wishaw, John Muckle- wame. He is a rank-and-file man by train- ing and instinct, but he forms a rare backbone for K(l). There are others, of more parts — Killick, for instance. Not long ago he was living softly, and driving a Eolls-Royce for a Duke. He is now a machine-gun sergeant, and a very good one. There is Dobie. He is a good mechanic, but short-legged and shorter-winded. He makes an excellent armourer. Then there is Private Mellish. In his company roll he is described as **an actor." But his, orbit in the theatrical firmament has never carried him outside his native Dunoon, where he follows the blameless but monoton- ous calling of a cinematograph operator. On enlistment he invited the attention of his platoon from the start by referring to his rear-rank man as *Hhis young gentleman''; and despite all the dissuading influences of barrack-room society, his manners never fell below this standard. In a company where practically every man is addressed either as **Jock'' or ^* Jimmy,'' he created a profound and lasting sensation one day, by saying in a winning voice to Private Ogg, — **Do not stand on ceremony with me, Mr. Ogg. Call me Cyril ! ' ' For such an exotic there could only be one destination, and in due course Cyril became an officer's servant. He now polishes the buttons and washes the hose-tops of Captain 174 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND Wagstai^e; and his elegant extracts amuse that student of human nature exceedingly. Then comes a dour, silent, earnest speci- men, whose name, incredible as it may appear, is M* Ostrich. He keeps himself to himself. He never smiles. He is not an old soldier, yet he performed like a veteran the very first day he appeared on parade. He carries out all orders with solemn thorough- ness. He does not drink; he does not swear. His nearest approach to animation comes at church, where he sings the hymns — especially God, our help in ages past! — as if he were author and composer combined. His harsh, rasping accent is certainly not that of a Highlander, nor doe« it smack altogether of the Clydeside. As a matter of fact he is not a Scotsman at all, though five out of six of us would put him down as such. Alto- gether he is a man of mystery; but the regiment could do with many more such. Once, and only once, did he give us a peep behind the scenes. Private Burke, of D Company, a cheery soul, who possesses the entirely Hibernian faculty of being able to combine a most fanatical and seditious brand of Nationalism with a genuine and ardent enthusiasm for the British Empire, one day made a contemptuous and ribald reference to the Ulster Volunteers and their leader. M* Ostrich, who was sitting on his bedding at the other side of the hut, promptly rose to his feet, crossed the floor in three strides, and CONCEET PITCH 175 silently felled the humorist to the earth. Plainly, if M' Ostrich comes safe through the war, he is prepared for another and grimmer campaign. Lastly, that jack-of-all trades and master of none, Private Dunshie. As already re- corded, Dunshie's original calling had been that of a street news-vendor. Like all literary men, he was a Bohemian at heart. Eoutine wearied him; discipline galled him; the sight of work made him feel faint. After a month or two in the ranks he seized the first opportunity of escaping from the toils of his company, by volunteering for service as a Scout. A single experience of night opera- tions in a dark wood, previously described, decided him to seek some milder employment. •Observing that the regimental cooks appeared to be absolved, by virtue of their office, not only from all regimental parades, but from all obligations on the subject of correct attire and personal cleanliness, he volunteered for service in the kitchen. Here for a space — clad in shirt, trousers, and canvas shoes, un- utterably greasy and waxing fat — he pros- pered exceedingly. But one sad day he was detected by the cook-sergeant, having just finished cleaning a flue, in the act of washing his hands in ten gallons of B Company's soup. Once more our versatile hero found himself turned adrift with brutal and agonising sud- denness, and bidden to exercise his talents elsewhere. 176 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND After a fortnight's uneventful dreariness with his platoon, Dunshie joined the machine- gunners, because he had heard rumours that these were conveyed to and from their labours in limbered waggons. But he had been mis- informed. It was the guns that were carried ; the gunners invariably walked, sometimes carrying the guns and the appurtenances thereof. His very first day Dunshie was compelled to double across half a mile of boggy heathland carrying two large stones, meant to represent ammunition-boxes, from an imaginary waggon to a dummy gun. It is true that as soon as he was out of sight of the corporal he deposited the stones upon the ground, and ultimately proffered two others, picked up on nearing his destination, to the sergeant in charge of the proceedings; but even thus the work struck him as unreason- ably exacting, and he resigned, by the simple process of cutting his next parade and being ignominiously returned to his company. After an unsuccessful application for em- ployment as a * ^ buzzer, ' ' or signaller, Dunshie made trial of the regimental transport, where there was a shortage of drivers. He had strong hopes that in this way he would attain to permanent carriage exercise. But he was quickly undeceived. Instead of being offered a seat upon the box of a G.S. waggon, he was bidden to walk behind the same, applying the brake when necessary, for fourteen miles. The next day he spent cleaning stables, CONCERT PITCH 177 under a particularly officious corporal. On the third, he was instructed in the art of grooming a mule. On the fourth, he was left to perform this feat unaided, and the mule, acting under extreme provocation, kicked him in the stomach. On the fifth day he was re- turned to his company. But Mecca was at hand. That very morn- ing Dunshie's company commander received the following ukase from headquarters: — Officers commanding Companies will render to the Orderly Room without fail, hy 9 a.m. to-morrow J the name of one man qualified to act as chiropodist to the Company, Major Kemp scratched his nose in a dazed fashion, and looked over his spectacles at his Quartermaster-Sergeant. **What in thunder will they ask for next?" he growled. *^Have we got any tame chiro- podists in the company, Eaef Quartermaster-Sergeant Rae turned over the Company roll. ** There is no — no — no man of that pro- fession here, sirr," he reported, after scanning the document. *^But,'' he added optimistic- ally, ^* there is a machine-fitter and a glass- blower. Will I warn one of them ? ' ' *^I think we had better call for a volunteer first," said Major Kemp tactfully. Accordingly, that afternoon upon parade, platoon commanders were bidden to hold a 178 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND witch Imnt, and smell out a chiropodist. But the enterprise terminated almost immediately ; for Private Dunshie, caressing his injured abdomen in Number Three Platoon, heard the invitation, and quickly stepped forward. ^ ^ So you are a chiropodist as well as everything else, Dunshie!'' said Ayling incredulously. ^^ That's right, sirr," assented Dunshie politely. ^ ' Are you a professional ? ' ' *^No exactly that, sirr," was the modest reply. ^ * You just make a hobby of it ? " *^Just that, sirr." ^^Have you had much experience?" *^No that much." *'But you feel capable of taking on the job?" **I do, sirr." **You seem quite eager about it." **Yes, sirr," said Dunshie, with gusto. A sudden thought occurred to Ayling. **Do you know what a chiropodist is?" he asked. ^^No, sirr," replied Dunshie, with unabated aplomb. To do him justice, the revelation of the nature of his prospective labours made no difference whatever to Dunshie 's willingness to undertake them. Now, upon Saturday mornings, when men stand stiffly at attention CONCERT PITCH 179 beside their beds to have their feet inspected, you may behold, sweeping majestically in the wake of the Medical Officer as he makes his rounds, the swelling figure of Private Dunshie, carrying the implements of his gruesome trade. He has found his vocation at last, and his bearing in consequence is something between that of a Court Physician and a StafE Officer. ni So much for the rank and file. Of the officers we need only say that the old hands have been a godsend to our young regiment; while the juniors, to quote their own Colonel, have learned as much in six months as the average subaltern learns in three years ; and whereas in the old days a young officer could always depend on his platoon sergeant to give him the right word of command or instruct him in company routine, the posi- tions are now in many cases reversed. But that by the way. The outstanding feature of the relationship between officers and men during all this long, laborious, sometimes heart-breaking winter has been this — that, despite the rawness of our material and the novelty of our surroundings, in the face of difficulties which are now happily growing dim in our memory, the various ranks have never quite given up trying, never altogether lost faith, never entirely forgotten the Cause 180 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND which has brought us together. And the result — the joint result — of it all is a real live regiment, with a morale and soul of its own. But so far everything has been purely suppositious. We have no knowledge as to what our real strength or weakness may be. We have run our trial trips over a landlocked stretch of smooth water. To-morrow, when we steam out to face the tempest which is shaking the foundations of the world, we shall see what we shall see. Some of us, who at present are exalted for our smartness and efficiency, will indubitably be found wanting — wanting in stamina of body or soul — while others, hitherto undistinguished, will come to their own. Only War itself can discover the qualities which count in War. But we silently pray, in our dour and inarticulate hearts, that the supreme British virtue — the virtue of holding on, and holding on, and holding on, until our end is accomplished — may not be found wanting in a single one of us. To take a last survey of the regiment which we have created — one little drop in the incredible wave which has rolled with gathering strength from end to end of this island of ours during the past six months, and now hangs ready to crash upon the gates of our enemies — what manner of man has it produced? What is he like, this impromptu Thomas Atkins? CONCEET PITCH 181 Well, when lie joined, Ms outstanding fea- ture was a sort of surly independence, the surliness being largely based upon the fear of losing the independence. He has got over that now. He is no longer morbidly sensitive about his rights as a free and independent citizen and the backbone of the British elec- torate. He has bigger things to think of. He no longer regards sergeants as upstart slave-drivers — frequently he is a sergeant himself — nor officers as grinding capitalists. He is undergoing the experience of the rivets in Mr. Kipling's story of ^^The Ship that Found Herself. *' He is adjusting his per- spectives. He is beginning to merge himself in the Eegiment. He no longer gets drunk from habit. "When he does so now, it is because there were no potatoes at dinner, or because there has been a leak in the roof of his hut for a week and no one is attending to it, or because his wife is not receiving her separation allowance. Being an inarticulate person, he finds getting drunk the simplest and most effective ex- pedient for acquainting the powers that be with the fact that he has a grievance. For- merly, the morning list of *^ drunks'' merely reflected the nearness or remoteness of pay- day. Now, it is a most reliable and invalu- able barometer of the regimental atmosphere. He has developed — quite spontaneously, for he has had few opportunities for imitation — many of the characteristics of the regular 182 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND soldier. He is quick to discover Mmself aggrieved, but is readily appeased if lie feels that Ms officer is really doing Ms best for Mm, and that both of them are the victims of a higher power. On the other hand, he is often amazingly cheerful under uncomfort- able and depressing surroundings. He is growing quite fastidious, too, about his per- sonal appearance when oif duty. (You should see our quiffs on Saturdays!) He is quite incapable of keeping possession of his clothing, his boots, his rifle, his health, or anything that is his, without constant supervision and nurse-maiding. And that he is developing a strong bent towards the sentimental is evinced by the choruses that he sings in the gloaming and his taste in picture post-cards. So far he may follow the professional model, but in other respects he is quite sui generis. No sergeant in a Highland regiment of the line would ever refer to a Cockney private, with all humility, as *'a young English gentleman''; neither would an ordinary sol- dier salute an officer quite correctly with one hand while employing the other to light his pipe. In **K(1)" we do these things and many others, which give us a cachet of our own of which we are very rightly and properly proud. So we pin our faith to the man who has been at once our despair and our joy since the month of August. He has character; he has grit ; and now that he is getting discipline CONCEET PITCH 183 as well, lie is going to be an everlasting credit to the cause wMch. roused his manhood and the land which gave him birth. That is the tale of The First Hundred Thousand — Part One. Whether Part Two will be forthcoming, and how much of it there will be, depends upon two things — the course of history, and the present historian's eye for cover. BOOK TWO LIVE BOUNDS XIV THE BACK OF THE PEONT The last few days have afforded us an excel- lent opportunity of studying the habits of that ubiquitous attendant of our movements, the Staff Officer. He is not always a real Staff Officer — the kind that wears a red hatband. Sometimes he is an obvious ** dug-out/' with a pronounced embonpoint or a game leg. Sometimes he is a mere stripling, with a rapidly increasing size in hats. Sometimes he is an ordinary human being. But whoever he is, and whatever his age or rank, one thing is certain. He has no mean: he is either very good or very bad. When he is good he is very good indeed, and when he is bad he is horrid. He is either Jekyll or Hyde. Thrice blessed, then, is that unit which, upon its journey to the seat of war, encoun- ters only the good of the species. To transfer a thousand men, with secrecy and despatch, 188 THE FIEST HUNDKED THOUSAND from camp to train, from train to ship, from ship to train, and from train to a spot near the battle line, is a task which calls for the finest organisation and the most skilful ad- ministration. Let it be said at once that onr path to our present address has been almost universally lined with Jekylls. The few Hydes whom we have encountered are by this time merely a subject for amusing anecdote. As for the organisation of our journey — well, it was formulated upon Olympus, and was marked by those Olympian touches of which mention has been previously made. For instance, immense pains were taken, by means of printed rules and official memoranda, to acquaint us with the procedure to be fol- lowed at each point of entrainment or em- barkation. Consequently we set out upon our complicated pilgrimage primed with explicit instructions and ready for any emergency. We filled up forms with count- less details of our equipment and personnel, which we knew would delight the heart of the Round Game Department. We divided our followers, as directed, into Loading Parties, and Ration Parties, and Hold Parties, and many other interesting sub- divisions, as required by the rules of the game. But we had reckoned without the Practical Joke Department. The Round Game Department having furnished us with one set of rules, the Practical Joke Depart- THE BACK OF THE FEONT 189 ment prepared another, entirely different, and issued ttiem to the officers who superin- tended such things as entrainment and embarkation. At least, that is the most charitable explanation of the course of action adopted by the few Mr. Hydes whom we encountered. Two of these humorists linger in the mem- ory. The first was of the type which is ad- miringly referred to in commercial circles as a hustler. His hustling took the form of beginning to shout incomprehensible orders almost before the train had drawn up at the platform. After that he passed from party to party, each of which was working strenu- ously under its own sergeant, and commanded them (not the sergeant) to do something else, somewhere else — a course of action naturally calculated to promote unity and celerity of action all round. A perspiring sergeant who ventured to point out that his party were working under the direct orders of their Com- pany Commander, was promptly placed under arrest, and his flock enjoyed a welcome and protracted breathing-space until an officer of sufficient standing to cope with Mr. Hyde — unfortunately he was Major Hyde — could be discovered and informed. The second required more tactful handling. As our train-load drew up at the platform, the officer in charge — it was Captain Blaikie, supported by Bobby Little — stepped out, saluted the somewhat rotund Colonel Hyde 190 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND wltom he saw before Mm, and proffered a sheaf of papers. ^^Good-morning, sir," he said. *^Here is my train statement. Shall I carry on with the unloading? I have all my parties detailed. ' ' The great man waved away the papers magnificently. (To be just, even the Jekylls used to wave away our papers.) ^^Take those things away," he commanded, in a voice which made it plain that we had encountered another hustler. **Burn them, if you like! Now listen to me. Tell off an officer and seventy men at once. ' ' **I have all the necessary parties detailed already, sir." **Will you listen to me!" roared the Colonel. He turned to where Captain Blaikie's detachment were drawn up on the platform. *^Take the first seventy men of that lot, and tell them to stand over there, under an officer." Captain Blaikie gave the necessary order. *^Now," continued Colonel Hyde, ^*tell them to get the horses out and on board that steamer at once. The rest of your party are to go by another steamer. See?" ' ' Yes, sir, perfectly. But ' ' **Do you understand my order?" thundered the Colonel, with increasing choler. *'I do, sir," replied Blaikie politely, '^but " **Then, for heaven's sake, carry on!" THE BACK OP THE FRONT 191 Blaikie saluted. <^Very good, sir," lie answered. *^Mr. Little, come with me." He turned upon Ms heel and disappeared rapidly round a corner, followed by the mys- tified Bobby. Once out of the sight of the Colonel, Cap- tain Blaikie halted, leaned against a con- venient pillar, and lit a cigarette. ^^And what do you think of that?" he inquired. Bobby told him. *^ Quite so," agreed Blaikie. ^^But what you say helps nobody, though doubtless soothing to the feelings. Now listen, Bobby, and I will give you your first lesson in the Tactical Handling of Brass Hats. Of course we might do as that dear old gentleman sug- gests, and send seventy horses and mules on a sea voyage in charge of a party of cooks, signallers, and machine-gunners, and let the grooms and drivers go with the bicycles and machine-guns and field kitchens. But I don't think we will. Nobody would enjoy the ex- periment much — except perhaps the mules. No : we will follow the golden rule, which is : When given an impossible job by a Brass Hat, salute smartly, turn about, and go and wait round a corner for five minutes. Then come back and do the job in a proper manner. Our five minutes are up : the coast should be clear. Come along, Bobby, and help me to exchange those two parties." 192 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND But we encountered surprisingly few Hydes. Nearly all were Jekylls — Jekylls of the most competent and courteous type. True, they were inclined to treat our laboriously com- pleted returns with frivolity. ^^ Never mind those things, old man,'* they would say. '*Just tell me who you are, and how many. That's right: now I know all about you. Got your working parties fixed up? Good! They ought to have everything cleared in a couple of hours. I'll see that a ration of hot tea is served out for them. Your train starts at a quarter past seven this evening — remember to call it nineteen- fifteen, by the way, in this country — and you ought to be at the station an hour before the time. I'll send you a guide. What a fine-looking lot these chaps of yours are! Best lot I've seen here for a very long time. Working like niggers, too ! Now come along with me for ten minutes and I'll show you where to get a bite of breakfast. Expect you can do with a bit ! " That is Brass-Hat Jekyll — officer and gentleman; and, to the eternal credit of the British Army, be it said that he abounds in this well-conducted campaign. As an in- stance of his efficiency, let the case of our own regiment be quoted. The main body travelled here by one route, the transport, horses, and other details by another. The main body duly landed, and were conveyed to the rendezvous — a distant railway junction in THE BACK OF THE FEONT 193 Nortlierii France. There they sat down to await the arrival of the train containing the other party; which had left England many hours before them, had landed at a different port, and had not been seen or heard of since. They had to wait exactly ten minutes ! **Some Staff — whatr' as the Adjutant ob- served, as the train lumbered into view. n Most of us, in our travels abroad, have observed the closed trucks which are employed upon French railways, and which bear the legend — Eommes . • . .40 Chevaux .... 8 Doubtless we have wondered, idly enough, what it must feel like to be one of the forty hommes. Well, now we know. When we landed, we were packed into a train composed of fifty such trucks, and were drawn by a mighty engine for a day and a night across the pleasant land of France. Every six hours or so we were indulged with a Ealte Repas, That is to say, the train drew up in a siding, where an officer with E.T.O. upon his arm made us welcome, and informed us that hot water was available for making tea. Everybody had two days' ra- tions in his haversack, so a large-scale picnic 194 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND followed. From the horse-trucks emerged stolid individuals with canvas buckets — you require to be fairly stolid to pass the night in a closed box, moving at twenty miles an hour, in company with eight riotous and insecurely tethered mules — to draw water from the hydrant which supplied the locomotives. The infant population gathered round, and besought us for ** souvenirs, ' ' the most popu- lar taking the form of ^^biskeet'^ or ^^bully- boeuf . ' ' Both were given freely : with but little persuasion our open-handed warriors would have fain squandered their sacred *^ emer- gency ration'' upon these rapacious infants. After refreshment we proceeded to inspect the station. The centre of attraction was the French soldier on guard over the water- tank. Behold this same sentry confronted by Private Mucklewame, anxious to comply with Divisional Orders and ^4ose no oppor- tunity of cultivating the friendliest relations with those of our Allies whom you may chance to encounter." So Mucklewame and the sentry (who is evidently burdened with similar instructions) regard one another with shy smiles, after the fashion of two children who have been introduced by their nurses at a party. Presently the sentry^ by a happy inspira- tion, proffers his bayonet for inspection, as it were a new doll. Mucklewame bows solemnly, and fingers the blade. Then he produces his own bayonet, and the two THE BACK OF THE FEONT 195 weapons are compared — still in constrained silence. Then Mncklewame nods approvingly. **Verra goody!" lie remarks, profoundly convinced that he is speaking the French language. *^01righ! Tipperaree!" replies the sentry, not to be outdone in international courtesy. Unfortunately, the further cementing of the Entente Cordiale is frustrated by the blast of a whistle. We hurl ourselves into our trucks; the R.T.O. waves his hand in benediction ; and the regiment proceeds upon its way, packed like herrings, but ^*all jubi- lant with song. ' ' III We have been **oot here" for a week now, and although we have had no personal encounter with the foe, our time has not been wasted. We are filling up gaps in our education, and we are tolerably busy. Some things, of course, we have not had to learn. We are fairly well inured, for instance, to hard work and irregular meals. What we have chiefly to acquire at present is the art of adaptability. When we are able to settle down into strange billets in half an hour, and pack up, ready for departure, within the same period, we shall have made a great stride in efficiency, and added enor- mously to our own personal comfort. Even now we are making progress. 196 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND Observe the platoon who are marching into this farmyard. They are dead tired, and the sight of the straw-filled barn is too much for some of them. They throw them- selves down anywhere, and are asleep in a moment. When they wake up — or more likely, are wakened up — in an hour or two, they will be sorry. They will be stiff and sore, and their feet will be a tor- ment. Others, more sensible, crowd round the pump, or dabble their abraded extremi- ties in one of the countless ditches with which this country is intersected. Others again, of the more enterprising kind, repair to the house-door, and inquire politely for *Hhe wife." (They have long given up in- quiring for * ' the master. ' ' There is no master on this farm, or indeed on any farm through- out the length and breadth of this great- hearted land. Father and sons are all away, restoring the Bosche to his proper place in the animal kingdom. We have seen no young or middle-aged man out of uniform since we entered this district, save an occa- sional imbecile or cripple.) Presently **the wife'' comes to the door, with a smile. She can afford to smile now, for not so long ago her guests were Uhlans. Then begins an elaborate pantomime. Private Tosh says **Bonjourr!" in husky tones — last week he would have said *^Hey, Bella!" — and proceeds to wash his hands in invisible soap and water. As a reward for his in- THE BACK 0¥ THE FRONT 197 genuity lie receives a basin of water: some- times the water is even warm. Meanwhile Private Cosh, the linguist of the platoon, proffers twopence, and says: **Doolay — ye unnerstandr' He gets a drink of milk, which is a far, far better thing than the appalling green scum-covered water with which his less adaptable brethren are wont to refresh themselves from wayside ditches. Thomas Atkins, however mature, is quite in- corrigible in this respect. Yes, we are getting on. And when every man in the platoon, instead of merely some, can find a place to sleep, draw his blanket from the waggon, clean his rifle and himself, and get to his dinner within the half-hour already specified, we shall be able justly to call ourselves seasoned. We have covered some distance this week, 'and we have learned one thing at least, and that is, not to be uppish about our sleep- ing quarters. We have slept in chateaux, convents, farm-houses, and under the open sky. The chateaux are usually empty. An aged retainer, the sole inhabitant, explains that M. le Comte is at Paris; M. Armand at Arras ; and M. Guy in Alsace, — all doing their bit. M. Victor is in hospital, with Madame and Mademoiselle in constant attendance. So we settle down in the chateaux, and unroll our sleeping-bags upon its dusty par- quet. Occasionally we find a bed available. Then two officers take the mattress, upon 198 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND the floor, and two more take what is left of the bed. French chateaux do not appear to differ much as a class. They are distin- guished by great elegance of design, infinite variety in furniture, and entire absence of drains. The same rule applies to convents, except that there is no furniture. Given fine weather, by far the most luxuri- ous form of lodging is in the open air. Here one may slumber at ease, fanned by the wings of cockchafers and soothed by an un- seen choir of frogs. Thete are drawbacks, of course. Mr. Waddell one evening spread his ground-sheet and bedding in the grassy meadow, beside a murmuring stream. It was an idyllic resting-place for a person of romantic or contemplative disposition. Un- fortunately it is almost impossible nowadays to keep one^s favourite haunts select. This was evidently the opinion of the large water- rat which Waddell found sitting upon his air-pillow when he returned from supper. Although French, the animal exhibited no disposition to fraternise, but withdrew in the most pointed fashion, taking an Aber- nethy biscuit with him. Accommodation in farms is best described by the word ** promiscuous.'' There are twelve officers and two hundred men billeted here. The farm is exactly the same as any other French farm. It consists of a hollow square of buildings — dwelling-house, barns, pigstyes, and stables — with a commodious THE BACK OF THE FEONT 199 manure-heap, occupying the whole yard ex- cept a narrow strip round the edge, in the middle, the happy hunting-ground of innumer- able cocks and hens and an occasional pig. The men sleep in the barns. The senior offi- cers sleep in a stone-floored boudoir of their own. The juniors sleep where they can, and experience little difficulty in accomplishing the feat. A hard day's marching and a truss of straw — these two combined form an irre- sistible inducement to slumber. Only a few miles away big guns thunder until the building shakes. To-morrow a select party of officers is to pay a visit to the trenches. Thereafter our whole flock is to go, in its official capacity. The War is with us at last. Early this morning a Zeppelin rose into view on the skyline. Shell fire pursued it, and it sank again — rumour says in the British lines. Eumour is our only war correspondent at present. It is far easier to follow the course of events from home, where newspapers are more plentiful than here. But the grim realities of war are coming home to us. Outside this farm stands a tall tree. Not many months ago a party of Uhlans arrived here, bringing with them a wounded British prisoner. They crucified him to that self-same tree, and stood round him till he died. He was a long time dying. Some of us had not heard of Uhlans before. These have now noted the name, for future reference — and action. XV IN" THE TEENCHES — AN" OFF-DAY This town is under constant shell fire. It goes on day after day: it has been going on for months. Sometimes a single shell comes : sometimes half a dozen. Sometimes whole batteries get to work. The effect is terrible. You who live at home in ease have no con- ception of what it is like to live in a town which is under intermittent shell fire. I say this advisedly. You have no concep- tion whatsoever. We get no rest. There is a distant boom, followed by a crash overhead. Cries are heard — the cries of women and children. They are running frantically — running to ob- serve the explosion, and if possible pick up a piece of the shell as a souvenir. Sometimes there are not enough souvenirs to go round, and then the clamour increases. We get no rest, I say — only f rightfulness. British officers, walking peaceably along the pavement, are frequently hustled and knocked aside by these persons. Only the other day, IN THE TEEN"CHES — AN OFF-DAY 201 a full colonel was compelled to turn up a side- street, to avoid disturbing a ring of excited children who were dancing round a beautiful new hole in the ground in the middle of a narrow lane. If you enter into a cafe or estaminet, a total stranger sidles to your table, and, having sat down beside you, produces from the recesses of his person a fragment of shrapnel. This he lays before you, and explains that if he had been standing at the spot where the shell burst, it would have killed him. You express polite regret, and pass on elsewhere, seeking peace and finding none. The whole thing is a public scandal. Seriously, though, it is astonishing what contempt familiarity can breed, even in the case of high-explosive shells. This little town lies close behind the trenches. All day long the big guns boom. By night the rifles and machine-guns take up the tale. One is fre- quently aroused from slumber, especially to- wards dawn, by a perfect tornado of firing. The machine-guns make a noise like a giant tearing calico. Periodically, too, as already stated, we are subjected to an hour's intimi- dation in the shape of bombardment. Shrap- nel bursts over our heads ; shells explode in the streets, especially in open spaces, or where two important streets cross. (With modern artillery you can shell a town quite methodi- cally by map and compass.) Brother Bosche's motto appears to be: **It 202 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND is a fine morning. There is nothing in the trenches doing. We abundant ammunition have. Let us a little frightfulness into the town pump ! ' ' So he pumps. But nobody seems to mind. Of course there is a casualty now and then. Occasion- ally a hole is blown in a road, or the side of a house is knocked in. Yet the general atti- tude of the population is one of rather in- terested expectancy. There is always the cellar to retire to if things get really serious. The gratings are sandbagged to that end. At other times — well, there is always the pleas- ing possibility of witnessing the sudden re- moval of your neighbour's landmark. Officers breakfasting in their billets look up from their porridge, and say, — * ' That 's a dud ! That 's a better one ! Stick to it. Bill!'' It really is most discouraging, to a sensitive and conscientious Hun. The same unconcern reigns in the trenches. Let us imagine that we are members of a dis- tinguished party from Headquarters, about to make a tour of inspection. We leave the town, and after a short walk along the inevitable poplar-lined road turn into a field. The country all round us is flat — flat as Cheshire; and, like Cheshire, has a pond in every field. But in the hazy distance stands a low ridge. ** Better keep close to the hedge," suggests m THE TEBNCflES — AN OFF-DAY 203 the officer in charge. ** There are eighty guns on that ridge. It's a misty morning; but they've got all the ranges about here to a yard; so thej might " We keep close to the hedge. Presently we find ourselves entering upon a wide but sticky path cut in the clay. At the entrance stands a neat notice-board, which announces, somewhat unexpectedly: — Old Kent Road The field is flat, but the path runs down- hill. Consequently we soon find ourselves tramping along below the ground-level, with a stout parapet of clay on either side of us. Overhead there is nothing — nothing but the blue sky, with the larks singing, quite regard- less of the War. ' ' Communication trench," explains the guide. We tramp along this sunken lane for the best part of a mile. It winds a good deal. Every hundred yards or so comes a great promontory of sandbags, necessitating four right-angle turns. Once we pass under the shadow of trees, and apple-blossom flutters down upon our upturned faces. We are walking through an orchard. Despite the efforts of ten million armed men, brown old Mother Earth has made it plain that seed- time and harvest shall still prevail. Now we are crossing a stream, which cuts the trench at right angles. The stream is 204 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND spanned by a structure of planks — labelled, it is hardly necessary to say, Lon^don Bkidge. The side-street, so to speak, by which the stream rnns away, is called Jock's Joy. We ask why? *^It's the place where the Highlanders wash their knees, ' ' is the explanation. Presently we arrive at Piccadilly Circus, a mnddy excavation in the earth, from which several passages branch. These thorough- fares are not all labelled with strict regard for London geography. We note The Hay- market, also Piccadilly; but Artillery Lake seems out of place, somehow. On the site, too, of the Criterion, we observe a subterranean cavern containing three recum- bent figures, snoring lustily. This bears the sign Cyclists' Rest. We, however, take the turning marked Shaftesbury Avenue, and after passing (quite wrongly, don't you think?) through Trafalgar Square — six feet by eight — find ourselves in the actual firing trench. It is an unexpectedly spacious place. We, who have spent the winter constructing slits in the ground two feet wide, feel quite lost in this roomy thoroughfare. For a thoroughfare it is, with little toy houses on either side. They are hewn out of the solid earth, lined with planks, painted, furnished, and deco- rated. These are, so to speak, permanent trenches, which have been occupied for more than six months. IN THE TEENCHES — AN OFF-DAY 203 Observe this eligible residence on your left. It has a little door, nearly six feet high, and a real glass window, with a little curtain. Inside, there is a bunk, six feet long, together with an ingenious folding washhand-stand, of the nautical variety, and a flap-table. The walls, which are painted pale green, are decorated with elegant extracts from the * * Sketch ' ' and ' ' La Vie Parisienne. ' ' Outside, the name of the villa is painted up. It is in Welsh — that notorious railway station in Anglesey which runs to thirty-three syllables or so — and extends from one end of the fagade to the other. A small placard an- nounces that Hawkers, Organs, and Street- . cries are prohibited. **This is my shanty," explains a machine- gun officer standing by. **It was built by a Welsh Fusilier, who has since moved on. He was here all winter, and made everything himself, including the washhand-stand. Some carpenter — what? of course I am not here continuously. We have six days in the trenches and six out; so I take turns with a man in the Midland Mudcrushers, who take turns with us. Come in and have some tea." It is only ten o^clock in the morning, but tea — strong and sweet, with condensed milk — is instantly forthcoming. Eefreshed by this, and a slice of cake, we proceed upon our excursion. The trench is full of men, mostly asleep; for the night cometh, when no man may sleep. 206 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND They lie in low-roofed rectangular caves, like the interior of great cucumber-frames, lined with planks and supported by props. The cave is really a homogeneous afPair, for it is constructed in the R.E. workshops and then brought bodily to the trenches and fitted into its appointed excavation. Each cave holds three men. They lie side by side, like three dogs in a triple kennel, with their heads out- ward and easily accessible to the individual who performs the functions of '* knocker-up. '* Others are cooking, others are cleaning their rifles. The proceedings are superin- tended by a contemplative tabby cat, coiled up in a niche, like a feline flower in a crannied wall. **She used ter sit on top of the parapet," explains a friendly lance-corporal; **but be- came a casualty, owin' to a sniper mistakin' 'er for a Guardsman's bearskin. Show the officer your back, Christabel ! ' ' "We inspect the healed scar, and pass on. Next moment we round a traverse — and walk straight into the arms of Privates Ogg and Hogg! No need now to remain with the distin- guished party from Headquarters. For the next half-mile of trench you will find your- selves among friends. *^K(1)" and Brother Bosche are face to face at last, and here you behold our own particular band of warriors taking their first spell in the trenches. Let us open the door of this spacious dug- m THE TEENCHES — AN OFF-DAY 207 out — the image of an up-river bungalow, decorated with window-boxes and labelled Potsdam View — and join the party of four which sits round the table. ^^How did your fellows get on last night, Wagstaffef inquires Major Kemp. **Very well, on the whole. It was a really happy thought on the part of the authorities — : almost human, in fact — to put us in along- side the old regiment." ^ ^ Or what 's left of them. ' ' Wagstaffe nods gravely. **Yes. There are some changes in the Mess since I last dined there,'' he says. ** Anyhow, the old hands took our boys to their bosoms at once, and showed them the ropes. ' ' **The men did not altogether fancy look- out work in the dark, sir," says Bobby Little to Major Kemp. ** Neither should I, very much," said Kemp. **To take one's stand on a ledge fixed at a height which brings one's head and shoulders well above the parapet, and stand there for an hour on end, knowing that a machine-gun may start a spell of rapid traversing fire at any moment — well, it takes a bit of doing, you know, until you are used to it. How did you persuade 'em, Bobby T' *^0h, I just climbed up on the top of the parapet and sat there for a bit," says Bobby Little modestly. ^^They were all right after that." **Had you any excitement, Ayling?" asks 208 THE PIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND Kemp. ^*I hear rumours tliat you had two casualties. ' ' ^^Yes,'' says Ayling. ^^Four of us went out patrolling in front of the trench '^ ^^Who?" . '^Myself, two men, and old Sergeant Car- f rae. ' ' ^^Carfrae?" WagstafPe laughs. ''That old fire-eater? I remember him at Paarde- berg. You were lucky to get back alive. Proceed, my son!" *'We went out," continues Ayling, ''and patrolled." "How?" "Well, there you rather have me. I have always been a bit foggy as to what a patrol really does — what risks it takes, and so on. However, Carfrae had no doubts on the subject whatever. His idea was to trot over to the German trenches and look inside. ' ' "Quite sol" agreed Wagstaffe, and Kemp chuckled. '^Well, we were standing by the barbed wire entanglement, arguing the point, when suddenly some infernal imbecile in our own trenches " '^Cockerell, for a dollar!" murmurs Wag- staff e. ' ^ Don 't say he fired at you ! ' ' "No, he did worse. He let off a fire- ball." '*Whew! And there you stood in the limelight ! ' ' "Exactly." m THE TRENCHES — AN OFF-DAY 209 ^^Whatdidyoudor' ^*I had sufficient presence of mind to do what Carfrae did. I threw myself on my face, and shouted to the two men to do the same. ' ' ^^Didtheyr' *^No. They started to run back towards the trenches. Half a dozen German rifles opened on them at once." *^ Were they badly hit?" '* Nothing to speak of, considering. The shots mostly went high. Preston got his elbow smashed, and Burke had a bullet through his cap and another in the region of the waistband. Then they tumbled into the trench like rabbits. Carfrae and I crawled after them." At this moment the doorway of the dug- out is darkened by a massive figure, and Major Kemp's colour-sergeant announces — *^ There's a parrty of Gairmans gotten oot o' their trenches, sirr. Will we open fire?" **Go and have a look at 'em, like a good chap, Wagger," says the Major. "I want to finish this letter." Wagstaffe and Bobby Little make their way along the trench until they come to a low opening marked Maxim Villa. They crawl inside, and find themselves in a semi- circular recess, chiefly occupied by an earthen platform, upon which a machine-gunis mounted. The recess is roofed over, heavily protected with sandbags, and lined with iron plates; 210 THE PIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND for a macMne-gnn emplacement is the object of frequent and pressing attention from high- explosive shells. There are loopholes to right and left, but not in front. These deadly weapons prefer diagonal or enfilade fire. It is not worth while to fire them f rontally. Wagstaffe draws back a strip of sacking which covers one loophole, and peers out. There, a hundred and fifty yards away, across a sunlit field, he beholds some twenty grey figures, engaged in the most pastoral of pur- suits, in front of the German trenches. **They are cutting the grass," he says. **Let 'em, by all means! If they don't, we must. We don't want their bomb-throwers crawling over here through a hay-field. Let us encourage them by every means in our power. It might almost be worth our while to send them a message. Walk along the trench, Bobby, and see that no excitable person looses ofip at them." Bobby obeys; and peace still broods over the sleepy trench. The only sound which breaks the summer stillness is the everlasting crack, crack! of the snipers' rifles. On an off-day like this the sniper is a very necessary person. He serves to remind us that we are at war. Concealed in his own particular eyrie, with his eyes for ever laid along his telescopic sight, he keeps ceaseless vigil over the ragged outline of the enemy's trenches. Wherever a head, or anything resembling a head, shows itself, he fires. Were it not for his enthusiasm, m THE TEENCHES — AN OFF-DAY 211 both sides would be sitting in their shirt- sleeves upon their respective parapets, regard- ing one another with frank curiosity; and that would never do. So the day wears on. Suddenly, from far in our rear, comes a boom, then another. Wagstaffe sighs re- signedly. **Why can't they let well alone?" he com- plains. ** What's the trouble now?" ^*I expect it's our Divisional Artillery having a little target practice," says Captain Blaikie. He peers into a neighbouring trench- periscope. ^*Yes, they are shelling that farm behind the German second-line trench. Mak- ing good shooting too, for beginners," as a column of dust and smoke rises from behind the enemy's lines. ^^But brother Bosche will be very peevish about it. We don't usually fire at this time of the afternoon. Yes, there is the haymaking party going home. There will be a beastly noise for the next half -hour. Pass the word along for every man to get into his dug-out." The warning comes none too soon. In five minutes the incensed Hun is retaliating for the disturbance of his afternoon siesta. A hail of bullets passes over our trench. Shrapnel bursts overhead. High-explosive shells rain upon and around the parapet. One drops into the trench, and explodes, with surprisingly little effect. (Bobby Little found the head afterwards, and sent it home as a memento of his first encounter with reality.) 212 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND Our trench makes no reply. There is no need. This outburst heralds no grand assault. It is a mere display of *^frightfulness," calcu- lated to cow the impressionable Briton. We sit close, and make tea. Only the look-out men, crouching behind their periscopes and loopholes, keep their posts. The wind is the wrong way for gas, and in any case we all have respirators. Private M'Leary, the humorist of **A" Company, puts his on, and pretends to drink his tea through it. Altogether, the British soldier appears sadly unappreciative either of **f rightful- ness'' or practical chemistry. He is a hope- less case. The firing ceases as suddenly as it began. Silence reigns again, broken only by a solitary shot from a trench-mortar — a sort of explo- sive postscript to a half hour's Hymn of Hate. *^And that's that!" observes Captain Blaikie cheerfully, emerging from Potsdam View. ^^The Hun is a harmless little creature, but noisy when roused. Now, what about getting home? It will be dark in half an hour or so. Platoon commanders, warn your men!" It should be noted that upon this occasion we are not doing our full spell of duty — that is, six days. We have merely come in for a spell of instruction, of twenty-four hours' duration, under the chaperonage of our elder and more seasoned brethren. Bobby Little, having given the necessary IN THE TRENCHES — AN OFF-DAY 213 orders to his sergeant, proceeded to Trafalgar Square, there to await the mustering of his platoon. But the first arrival took the form of a slow-moving procession — a corporal, followed by two men carrying a stretcher. On the stretcher lay something covered with a ground-sheet. At one end projected a pair of regulation boots, very still and rigid. Bobby caught his breath. He was just nineteen, and this was his first encounter with sudden death. ^^Who is itr' he asked unsteadily. The corporal saluted. '* Private M'Leary, sirr. That last shot from the trench-mortar got him. It came in kin' o' sideways. He was sittin' at the end of his dug-oot, gettin' his tea. Stretcher party, advance!" The procession moved off again, and dis- appeared round the curve of Shaftesbury Avenue. The off-day was over. XVI ^'diety woek at the ceoss-eoads TO-NIGHT ' ' Last week we abandoned the rural billets in which we had been remodelling some of our methods (on the experiences gained by our first visit to the trenches), and paraded at full strength for a march which we knew would bring us right into the heart of things. No more trial trips; no more chaperoning! This time, we decided, we were *^for it." During our three weeks of active service we have learned two things — the art of shaking down quickly into our habitation of the moment, as already noted; and the art of reducing our personal effects to a portable minimum. To the private soldier the latter problem presents no difficulties. Everything is ar- ranged for him. His outfit is provided by the Government, and he carries it himself. It consists of a rifle, bayonet, and a hundred and twenty rounds of ammunition. On one side of him hangs his water-bottle, containing a DIETY WOEK AT THE CEOSS-EOADS 215 quart of water, on the other, a haversack, occupied by his * 4ron ration' ^ — an emergency meal of the tinned variety, which must never on any account be opened except by order of the CO. — and such private efiFects as his smoking outfit and an entirely mythical item of refreshment officially known as *Hhe un- expended portion of the day's ration." On his back he carries a *^pack," containing his greatcoat, waterproof sheet, and such changes of raiment as a paternal Government allows him. He also has to find room therein for a towel, housewife, and a modest allowance of cutlery. (He frequently wears the spoon in his stocking, as a skean-dhu.) Eound his neck he wears his identity disc. In his breast-pocket he carries a respirator, to be donned in the event of his encountering the twin misfortunes of an east wind and a gaseous Hun. He also carries a bottle of liquid for damping the respirator. In the flap of his jacket is sewn a field dressing. Slung behind him is an entrenching tool. Any other space upon his person is at his own disposal, and he may carry what he likes, except ^ ' unsoldierly trinkets ' ' — whatever these may be. However, if the passion for self-adornment proves too strong, he may wear *^the French National Colours" — a compli- ment to our gallant ally which is slightly discounted by the fact that her national colours are the same as our own. However, once he has attached this outfit 216 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND to Ms suffering person, and has said what lie thinks abont its weight, the private has no more baggage worries. Except for his blan- ket, which is carried on a waggon, he is his own arsenal, wardrobe, and pantry. Not so the officer. He suffers from em- harras de cJioix. He is the victim of his female relatives, who are themselves the victims of those enterprising tradesmen who have adopted the most obvious method of getting rid of otherwise unsaleable goods by labelling everything For Active Service — sl really happy thought when you are trying to sell a pipe of port or a manicure set. Have you seen Our Active Service Trouser-Press? By the end of April Bobby Little had accumulated, with a view to facilitating the destruction of the foe — An automatic Mauser pistol, with two thousand rounds of ammunition. A regulation Service revolver. A camp bed. A camp table. A camp chair. A pneumatic mattress. [This ingenious contrivance was meant to be blown up, like an air-cushion, and Bobby's servant expended most of the day and much valuable breath in performing the feat. Ulti- mately, in a misguided attempt to save his lungs from rupture, he employed a bicycle pump, and burst the bed.] DIETY WOEK AT THE CEOSS-EOADS 217 A sleeping (or **flea") bag. A portable bath. A portable washband-stand. A dressing-case, heavily ballasted with cut- glass bottles. A primus stove. A despatch case. The ^^ Service" Kipling (about forty vol- umes.) Innumerable socks and shirts. A box of soap. Fifty boxes of matches. A small medicine chest. About a dozen first-aid outfits. A case of pipes, and cigarettes innumerable. [Bobby's aunts regarded cigars as not quite ascetic enough for active service. Besides, they might make him sick.] About a cubic foot of chocolate (various). Numerous compressed foods and concen- trated drinks. An ^^ active service" cooking outfit. An electric lamp, with several refills. A pair of binoculars. A telescope. A prismatic compass. A sparklet siphon. A luminous watch. A pair of insulated wire-cutters. ^'There's only one thing youVe forgotten," remarked Captain Wagstaffe, when intro- duced to this unique colection of curios. 218 THE FIRST HUNDEED THOUSAND ''What is thatf inquired Bobby, always eager to learn. ''A pantechnicon! Do yon known how mnch personal baggage an officer is allowed, in addition to what he carries himself T' ''Thirty-five pounds." "Correct." "It sounds a lot," said Bobby. "It looks precious little!" was Wagstaffe's reply. "I suppose they won't be particular to a pound or so," said Bobby optimistically. "Listen," commanded Wagstaffe. "When we go abroad, your Wolseley valise, contain- ing this" — he swept his hand round the crowded hut — "this military museum, will be handed to the Quartermaster. He is a man of singularly rigid mind, with an exas- perating habit of interpreting rules and regu- lations quite literally. If you persist in this scheme of asking him to pass half a ton of assorted lumber as a package weighing thirty- five pounds, he will cast you forth and remain your enemy for life. And personally," con- cluded Wagstaife, "I would rather keep on the right side of my Eegimental Quarter- master than of the Commander-in-Chief him- self. Now, send all this stuff home — you can use it on manoeuvres in peace-time — and I will give you a little list which will not break the baggage-waggon 's back. ' ' The methodical Bobby produced a note- book. DIETY WOEK AT THE CEOSS-EOADS 319 *^You will require to wash occasionally. Take a canvas bucket, some carbolic soap, and a good big towel. Also your tooth- brush, and — excuse the question, but do you shave f ^* Twice a week," admitted the blushing Bobby. ^^ Happy man! Well, take a safety-razor. That will do for cleanliness. Now for cloth- ing. Lots of socks, but only one change of other things, unless you care to take a third shirt in your greatcoat pocket. Two good pairs of boots, and a pair of slacks. Then, as regards sleeping. Your flea-bag and your three Government blankets, with your valise underneath, will keep you (and your little bedfellows) as warm as toast. You may get separated from your valise, though, so take a ground-sheet in your pack. Then you will be ready to dine and sleep simply anywhere, at a moment's notice. As regards comforts generally, take a * Tommy's cooker,' if you can find room for it, and scrap all the rest of your cuisine except your canteen. Take a few meat lozenges and some choco- late in one of your ammunition-pouches, in case you ever have to go without your break- fast. Eotten work, marching or fighting on a hollow tummy ! ' ' *^What about revolvers?" inquired Bobby, displaying his arsenal, a little nervously. **If the Germans catch you with that Mauser, they will hang you. Take the 220 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND Webley. Then you can always draw Ser- vice ammunition.'' Wagstaffe ran his eye over the rest of Bobby's outfit. ** Smokes? Take your pipe and a tinder-box: you will get baccy and cigarettes to burn out there. Keep that electric torch ; and your binoculars, of course. Also that small map-case: it's a good one. Also wire-cutters. You can write letters in your field-message-book. Your com- pass is all right. Add a pair of canvas shoes — they're a godsend after a long day, — an air-pillow, some candle-ends, a tin of vaseline, and a ball of string, and I think you will do. If you find you still have a pound or so in hand, add a few books — something to fall back on, in case supplies fail. Personally, I'm taking * Vanity Fair' and * Pickwick.' But then, I 'm old-fashioned. ' ' Bobby took Wagstaffe's advice, with the result that that genial obstructionist, the Quartermaster, smiled quite benignly upon him when he presented his valise; while his brother officers, sternly bidden to revise their equipment, were compelled at the last moment to discriminate frantically between the claims of necessity and luxury — often disastrously. However, we had all found our feet, and developed into seasoned vagabonds when we set out for the trenches last week. A few days previously we had been inspected by Sir John French himself. And that," explained Major Kemp to his a DIETY WOEK AT THE CEOSS-EOADS 221 subalterns, ** usually means dirty work at the cross-roads at no very distant period!" « Major Kemp was right- — quite literally right. Our march took us back to Armentieres, whose sufferings under intermittent shell fire have already been described. We marched by night, and arrived at breakfast-time. The same evening two companies and a section of machine-gunners were bidden to equip them- selves with picks and shovels and parade at dusk. An hour later we found ourselves pro- ceeding cautiously along a murky road close behind the trenches. The big guns were silent, but the snipers were busy on both sides. A German search- light was combing out the heavens above: a constant succession of star-shells illumined the earth beneath. **What are we going to do to-night, sir?" inquired Bobby Little, heroically resisting an inclination to duck, as a Mauser bullet spat viciously over his head. ^^I believe we are going to dig a redoubt behind the trenches, ' ' replied Captain Blaikie. **I expect to meet an E.E. officer somewhere about here, and he will tell us the worst. That was a fairly close one, Bobby ! Pass the word down quietly that the men are to keep in to each side of the road, and walk as low as they can. Ah, there is our sportsman, I fancy. Good evening ! " 222 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND A subaltern of that wonderful corps, the Eoyal Engineers, loomed out of the darkness, removed a cigarette from his mouth, and saluted politely. *^Good evening, sir," he said to Blaikie. **Will you follow me, please! I have marked out each man's digging position with white tape, so they ought to find no difficulty in getting to work. Brought your machine-gun officer?" The machine-gun officer, Ayling, was called up. **We are digging a sort of square fort," ex- plained the Engineer, **to hold a battalion. That will mean four guns to mount. I don't know much about machine-guns myself; so perhaps you " — to Ayling — * ^ will walk round with me outside the position, and you can select your own emplacements. ' ' *^I shall be charmed," replied Ayling, and Blaikie chuckled. **I'll just get your infantry to work first," continued the phlegmatic youth. *^This way, sir ! " The road at this point ran through a hollow square of trees, and it was explained to the working-party that the trees, roughly, fol- lowed the outlines of the redoubt. '^The trenches are about half -finished, " added the Engineer. '*We had a party from the Seaforths working here last night. Your men have only to carry on where they left off. It's chiefly a matter of filling sandbags DIRTY WORK AT THE CROSS-ROADS 233 and placing them on the parapet." He pointed to a blurred heap in a corner of the wood. *^ There are fifty thousand there. Leave what you don't want!'' *^ Where do we get the earth to fill the sand- bags I" asked Blailde. ^'The trenches, or the middle of the redoubt?" *'0h, pretty well anywhere," replied the Engineer. **Only, warn your men to be care- ful not to dig too deep ! ' ' And with this dark saying he lounged ofl to take Ayling for his promised walk. **I'll take you along the road a bit, first," he said, **and then we will turn off into the field where the corner of the redoubt is, and you can look at things from the outside. ' ' Ayling thanked him, and stepped somewhat higher than usual, as a bullet struck the ground at his feet. *^ Extraordinary how few casualties one gets," continued the Sapper chattily. *^ Their snipers go potting away all night, but they don't often get anybody. By the way, they have a machine-gun trained on this road, but they only loose it olf every second night. Methodical beggars ! ' ' *^Did they loose it off last night?" '*No. To-night's the night. Have you finished here ? ' ' ^^Yes, thanks!" **Right-o! We'll go to the next corner. You'll get a first-class field of fire there, I should say." 224 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND The second position was duly inspected, tlie only incident of interest being the bursting of a star-shell directly overhead. ^^ Better lie down for a minute," suggested the Engineer. Ayling, who had been struggling with a strong inclination to do so for some time, promptly complied. '^Just like the Crystal Palace on a benefit night!" observed his guide admiringly, as the landscape was lit up with a white glare. **Now you can see your position beautifully. You can fire obliquely in this direction, and then do a first-class enfilade if the trenches get rushed." **I see," said Ayling, surveying the position with real interest. He was beginning to en- joy selecting gun-emplacements which really mattered. It was a change from nine months of ^^ eye-wash." When the German star-shell had spent itself they crossed the road, to the rear of the redoubt, and marked the other two emplacements — in comparative safety now. *^The only trouble about this place," said Ayling, as he surveyed the last position, *4s that my fire will be masked by that house with the clump of trees beside it." The Engineer produced a small note-book, and wrote in it by the light of a convenient star-shell. **Eight-o!" he said. **I'll have the whole DIRTY WOEK AT THE CROSS-ROADS 225 caboodle pushed over for you by to-morrow night. Anything else ? ' ' Ay ling began to enjoy himself. After you have spent nine months in an unprofitable attempt to combine practical machine-gun tactics with a scrupulous respect for private property, the realisation that you may now gratify your destructive instincts to the full comes as a welcome and luxurious shock. ^* Thanks/' he said. *^You might flatten out that haystack, too." They found the others hard at work when they returned. Captain Blaikie was directing operations from the centre of the redoubt. *^I say,'' he said, as the Engineer sat down beside him, **I'm afraid we're doing a good deal of body-snatching. This place is ab- solutely full of little wooden crosses." '^Germans," replied the Engineer laconic- ally. *^How long have they been — here*?" *^ Since October." **So I should imagine," said Blaikie, with feeling. **The crosses aren't much guide, either," continued the Engineer. ^^The deceased are simply all over the place. The best plan is to dig until you come to a blanket. (There are usually two or three to a blanket.) Then tell off a man to flatten down clay over the place at once, and try somewhere else. It is a rotten job, though, however you look at it." 226 THE PIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND **Have yon been here loiigV^ inqnired Bobby Little, who bad come across the road for a change of air. ^'Long enongh! Bnt I'm not on duty con- tinnonsly. I am Box. Cox takes over to- morrow.'' He rose to his feet and looked at his watch. *^You ought to move off by half -past one, sir," he said to Blaikie. *^It begins to get light after that, and the Bosches have three shells for that cross-road over there down in their time-table at two-fifteen. They're a hide-bound lot, but punctual!" '* Thanks," said Blaikie. *'I shall not neglect your advice. It is half-past eleven now. Come along, Bobby, and we'll see how old Ayling is getting on." Steadily, hour by hour, in absolute silence, the work went on. There was no talking, but (under extenuating circumstances) smok- ing was permitted. Periodically, as the star- shells burst into brilliance overhead, the workers sank down behind a parapet, or, if there was no time, stood rigid — the one thing to avoid upon these occasions is movement of any kind — and gave the snipers a chance. It was not pleasant, but it was duty; and the word duty has become a mighty force in *^K(1)" these days. No one was hit, which was remarkable, when you consider what an artist a German sniper is. Possibly the light of the star-shells was deceptive, or possibly DIRTY WOEK AT THE CEOSS-ROADS 227 there is some truth in the general rnmour that the Saxons, who hold this part of the line, are well-disposed towards us, and con- duct their offensive operations with a tactful blend of constant firing and bad shooting, which, while it satisfies the Prussians, causes no serious inconvenience to Thomas Atkins. At a quarter-past one a subdued order ran round the trenches; the men fell in on the sheltered side of the plantation; picks and shovels were checked; rifles and equipment were resumed; and the party stole silently away to the cross-road, where the three shells were timed to arrive at two-fifteen. When they did so, with true Teutonic punctuality, an hour later, our friends were well on their way home to billets and bed — with the dawn breaking behind them, the larks getting to work overhead, and all the infected air of the German graveyard swept out of their lungs by the dew of the morning. As for that imperturbable philosopher. Box, he sat down with a cigarette, and waited for Cox. XVII THE NEW WAKFAEE The trench system has one thing to recom- mend it. It tidies things up a bit. For the first few months after the war broke out confusion reigned supreme. Bel- gium and the north of France were one huge jumbled battlefield, rather like a public park on a Saturday afternoon — one of those parks where promiscuous football is permitted. Friend and foe were inextricably mingled, and the direction of the goal was uncertain. If you rode into a village, you might find it occupied by a Highland regiment or a squadron of Uhlans. If you dimly discerned troops marching side by side with you in the dawning, it was by no means certain that they would prove to be your friends. On the other hand, it was never safe to assume that a battalion which you saw hastily entrenching itself against your approach was German. It might belong to your own brigade. There was no front and no rear, so direction counted for nothing. The country swarmed with troops THE NEW WAEFARE 229 wMch. had been left *4ii the air," owing to their own too rapid advance, or the equally rapid retirement of their supporters; with scattered details trying to rejoin their units ; or with despatch riders hunting for a peripa- tetic Divisional Headquarters. Snipers shot both sides impartially. It was all most upsetting. Well, as already indicated, the trench system has put all that right. The trenches now run continuously — a long, irregular, but perfectly definite line of cleavage — from the North Sea to the Vosges. Everybody has been carefully sorted out — human beings on one side, Germans on the other. (**Like the Zoo," observes Captain WagstafPe.) Nothing could be more suitable. You're there , and I'm here, so what do we care? in fact. The result is an agreeable blend of war and peace. This week, for instance, our battalion has been undergoing a sort of rest-cure a few miles from the hottest part of the firing line. (We had a fairly heavy spell of work last week.) In the morning we wash bur clothes, and perform a few mild martial exercises. In the afternoon we sleep, in all degrees of deshabille, under the trees in an orchard. In the evening we play football, or bathe in the canal, or lie on our backs on the grass, watch- ing our aeroplanes buzzing home to roost, attended by German shrapnel. We could not have done this in the autumn. Now, thanks to our trenches, a few miles away, we 230 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND are as safe here as in the wilds of Argyllshire or West Kensington. But there are drawbacks to everything. The fact is, a trench is that most uninterest- ing of human devices, a compromise. It is neither satisfactory as a domicile nor efficient as a weapon of offence. The most luxuriant dug-out; the most artistic window-box — these, in spite of all biassed assertions to the contrary, compare unfavourably with a flat in Knightsbridge. On the other hand, the Imow- ledge that you are keeping yourself tolerably immune from the assaults of your enemy is heavily discounted by the fact that the enemy is equally immune from yours. In other words, you ^^get no forrarder'' with a trench; and the one thing which we are all anxious to do out here is to bring this war to a speedy and gory conclusion, and get home to hot baths and regular meals. So a few days ago we were not at all sur- prised to be informed, officially, that trench life is to be definitely abandoned, and Hun- hustling to begin in earnest. (To be just, this decision was made months ago: the difficulty was to put it into execu- tion. The winter weather was dreadful. The enemy were many and we were few. In Ger- many, the deviPs forge at Essen was roaring night and day: in Great Britain Trades Union bosses were carefully adjusting the respective claims of patriotism and personal dignity before taking their coats off. So we THE :N^EW WAEFAEE 231 cannot lay our want of progress to the charge of that dogged band of Greathearts which has been holding on, and holding on, and holding on — while the people at home were making up for lost time — ever since the barbarian was hurled back from the Marne to the Aisne and confined behind his earthen barrier. We shall win this war one day, and most of the credit will go, as usual, to those who are in at the finish. But — when we assign the glory and the praise, let us not forget those who stood up to the first rush. The new armies which are pouring across the Channel this month will bring us victory in the end. Let us bare our heads, then, in all reverence, to the memory of those battered, decimated, in- domitable legions which saved us from utter extinction at the beginning.) The situation appears to be that if we get through — and no one seems to doubt that we shall : the difficulty lies in staying there when you have got through — we shall be committed at once to an endless campaign of village- fighting. This country is as flat as Cambridge- shire. Every yard of it is under cultivation. The landscape is dotted with farm-steadings. There is a group of cottages or an estaminet at every cross-roads. When our great invad- ing line sweeps forward, each one of these buildings will be held by the enemy, and must be captured, house by house, room by room, and used as a base for another rush. And how is this to be done ! 232 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND Well, it will be no military -secret by the time tbese lines appear. It is no secret now. The answer to the conundrnm is — Bombs ! To-day, ont here, bombs are absolutely dernier cri. We talk of nothing else. We speak about rifles and bayonets as if they were so many bows and arrows. It is true that the modern Lee-Enfield and Mauser claim to be the most precise and deadly weapons of de- struction ever devised. But they were in- tended for proper, gentlemanly warfare, with the opposing sides set out in straight lines, a convenient distance apart. In the hand-to- hand butchery which calls itself war to-day, the rifle is rapidly becoming demode. For long ranges you require machine-guns; for short, bombs and hand-grenades. Can you empty a cottage by firing a single rifle-shot in at the door? Can you exterminate twenty Germans in a fortified back-parlour by a single thrust with a bayonet? Never! But you can do both these things with a jam-tin stuffed with dynamite and scrap-iron. So the bomb has come to its own, and has brought with it certain changes — tactical, or- ganic, and domestic. To take the last first, the bomb-officer, hitherto a despised underling, popularly (but maliciously) reputed to have been appointed to his present post through inability to handle a platoon, has suddenly at- tained a position of dazzling eminence. From being a mere super, he has become a star. In fact, he threatens to dispute the pre-eminence THE NEW WAEEAEE 233 of that other regimental parvenu, the Ma- chine-Gun Officer. He is now the confidant of Colonels, and consorts npon terms of easy familiarity with Brigade Majors. He holds himself coldly aloof from the rest of ns, brood- ing over the greatness of his responsibilities ; and when he speaks, it is to refer darkly to ^^ detonators," and *^ primers," and ^time- fuses." And we, who once addressed him de- risively as ** Anarchist," crowd round him and hang upon his lips. The reason is that in future it is to be a case of — ^ ^ For every man, a bomb or two ' ' ; and it is incumbent upon us, if we desire to prevent these infernal machines from exploding while yet in our custody, to attain the necessary details as to their construction and tender spots by the humiliating process of conciliat- ing the Bomb Officer. So far as we have mastered the mysteries of the craft, there appear to be four types of bomb in store for us — or rather, for Brother Bosche. They are : — (1) The hair-brush. (2) The cricket-ball. (3) The policeman's truncheon. (4) The jam-tin. The hair-brush is very like the ordinary hair-brush, except that the bristles are re- placed by a solid block of high-explosive. The policeman's truncheon has gay streamers of tape tied to its tail, to ensure that it falls to the ground nose downwards. Both these 234: THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND bombs explode on impact, and it is nnadvisable to knock them against anything — say the back of the trench — when throwing them. The cricket-ball works by a time-fnse. Its manipulation is simplicity itself. The re- moval of a certain pin releases a spring which lights an internal fuse, timed to ex- plode the bomb in five seconds. You take the bomb in your right hand, remove the pin, and cast the thing madly from you. The jam-tin variety appeals more particularly to the sportsman, as the element of chance enters largely into its successful use. It is timed to explode about ten seconds after the lighting of the fuse. It is therefore unwise to throw it too soon, as there will be ample time for your opponent to pick it up and throw it back. On the other hand, it is unwise to hold on too long, as the fuse is uncertain in its action, and is given to short cuts. Such is the tactical revolution promised by the advent of the bomb and other new engines of war. As for its effect upon regimental and company organisation, listen to the plaintive voice of Major Kemp : — *^I was once — only a few months ago — commander of a company of two hundred and fifty disciplined soldiers. I still nomin- ally command that company, but they have developed into a heterogeneous mob of specialists. If I detail one of my subalterns to do a job of work, he reminds me that he is a bomb-expert, or a professor of sandbagging, THE NEW WAEFAEE 235 or director of the knuckle-duster section, or Lord High Thrower of Stink-pots, and as such has no time to play about with such a common thing as a platoon. As for the men, they simply laugh in the sergeant-ma j or *s face. They are ^experts,' if you please, and are struck off all fatigues and company duty ! It was bad enough when Ayling pinched fourteen of my best men for his filthy machine-guns; now, the company has prac- tically degenerated into an academy of variety artists. The only occasion upon which I ever see them all together is pay- day!" Meanwhile, the word has just gone forth, quietly and without fuss, that we are to uproot ourselves from our present billets, and be ready to move at 5 a.m. to-morrow morning. Is this the Big Push at last? n "We have been waiting for the best part of two days and nights listening to the thunder of the big g)ins, but as yet we have received no invitation to ^^butt in.'' ^'Plenty of time yet," explains Captain Blaikie to his subalterns, in reply to Bobby Little's expressions of impatience. *^It's this way. We start by * isolating' a section of 236 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAN"D the enemy's line, and ponnd it with artillery for about forty-eight hours. Then the guns knock off, and the people in front rush the German first-line trenches. After that they push on to their second and third lines ; and if they can capture and hold them — well, that's where the fun comes in. We go for all we are worth through the gaps the others have made, and carry on the big push, and keep the Bosches on the run until they drop in their tracks! That's the situation. If we are called up to-night or to-morrow, it will mean that things are going well. If not, it means that the attack has failed — or, very likely, has succeeded, but it has been found impossible to secure the position — and a lot of good chaps have been scuppered, all for nothing. ' ' in / Next morning has arrived, and with it the news that our services will not be required. The attack, it appears, was duly launched, and succeeded beyond all expectations. The German line was broken, and report says that four Divisions poured through the gap. They captured the second-line trenches, then the third, and penetrated far into the enemy's rear. Then — from their front and flanks, artil- lery and machine-guns opened fire upon them. They were terribly exposed; possibly they THE NEW WAEFARE 237 had been liired into a trap. At any rate, the process of 'isolation'' had not been carried far enough. One thing, and only one thing, could have saved them from destruction and their enterprise from disaster — the support of big guns, and big guns, and more big guns. These could have silenced the hostile tornado of shrapnel and bullets, and the position could have been made good. But — apparently the supply of big-gun ammunition is not quite so copious as it might be. We have only been at war ten months, and people at home are still a little dazed with the novelty of their situation. Out here, we are reasonable men, and we realise that it requires some time to devise a system for supplying munitions which shall hurt the feelings of no pacifist, which shall interfere with no man's holiday or glass of beer, which shall insult no honest toiler by compelling him to work side by side with those who are not of his industrial taber- nacle, and which shall imperil no states- man's seat in Parliament. Things will be all right presently. Meanwhile, the attacking party fell back whence they came — but no longer four full Divisions. XVIII THE FEONT OF THE FEGNT We took over these trenches a few days ago ; and as the Germans are barely two hundred yards away, this chapter seems to justify its title. For reasons foreshadowed last month, we find that we are committed to an indefinite period of trench life, like every one else. Certainly we are starting at the bottom of the ladder. These trenches are badly sited, badly constructed, difficult of access from the rear, and swarming with large, fat, unpleasant flies, of the bluebottle variety. They go to sleep, chiefly upon the ceiling of one 's dug-out, during the short hours of dark- ness, but for twenty hours out of twenty- four they are very busy indeed. They divide their attentions between stray carrion — there is a good deal hereabout — ^and our rations. If you sit still for five minutes they also settle upon yoUy like pins in a pin-cushion. Then, when face, hands, and knees can en- dure no more, and the inevitable convulsive THE FEONT OF THE FRONT 239 wriggle occurs, they rise in a vociferous swarm, only to settle again when the victim becomes quiescent. To these, high-explosives are a welcome relief. The trenches themselves are no garden city, like those at Armentieres. They were sited and dug in the dark, not many weeks ago, to secure two hundred yards of French territory recovered from the Bosche by bomb and bayonet. (The captured trench lies be- hind us now, and serves as our second line.) They are muddy — you come to water at three feet — and at one end, owing to their con- cave formation, are open to enfilade. The parapet in many places is too low. If you make it higher with sandbags you offer the enemy a comfortable target: if you deepen the trench you turn it into a running stream. Therefore long-legged subalterns crawl pain- fully past these danger-spots on all-fours, envying Little Tich. Then there is Zacchaeus. We call him by this name because he lives up a tree. There is a row of pollarded willows standing parallel to our front, a hundred and fifty yards away. Up, or in, one of these lives Zacchseus. We have never seen him, but we know he is there; because if you look over the top of the parapet he shoots you through the head. We do not even know which of the trees he lives in. There are nine of them, and every morning we comb them out, one by one, with a machine-gun. But all in vain. Zacchaeus 240 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND merely crawls away into the standing corn behind his trees, and waits till we have fin- ished. Then he comes back and tries to shoot the machine-gun officer. He has not succeeded yet, but he sticks to his task with gentle persistence. He is evidently of a per- severing rather than vindictive disposition. Then there is Unter den Linden. This celebrated thoroughfare is an old communi- cation-trench. It runs, half -ruined, from the old German trench in our rear, right through our own front line, to the present German trenches. It constitutes such a bogey as the Channel Tunnel scheme once was: each side sits jealously at its own end, anticipat- ing hostile enterprises from the other. It is also the residence of ** Minnie." But we will return to Minnie later. The artillery of both sides, too, contributes its mite. There is a dull roar far in the rear of the German trenches, followed by a whir- ring squeak overhead. Then comes an earth- shaking crash a mile behind us. We whip round, and there, in the failing evening light, against the sunset, there springs up the sil- houette of a mighty tree in full foliage. Pres- ently the silhouette disperses, drifts away, and — **The coals is hame, right enough !'' com- ments Private Tosh. Instantly our guns reply, and we become the humble spectators of an artillery duel. Of course, if the enemy gets tired of THE FEONT OF THE FEONT 241 * ^ searching ^ * the countryside for onr guns and takes to *^ searching'' our trenches in- stead, we lose all interest in the proceedings, and retire to our dug-outs, hoping that no direct hits will come our way. But guns are notoriously erratic in their time-tables, and fickle in their attentions. It is upon ZacchaBus and Unter den Linden — including Minnie — that we mainly rely for excitement. As already recorded, we took over these trenches a few days ago, in the small hours of the morning. In the ordinary course of events, relieving parties are usually able to march up under cover of darkness to the reserve trench, half a mile in rear of the firing line, and so proceed to their appointed place. But on this occasion the German artillery happened to be ** distributing coal" among the billets behind. This made it necessary to approach our new home by tortuous ways, and to take to subterranean courses at a very early stage of the journey. For more than two hours we toiled along a trench just wide enough to permit a man to wear his equipment, sometimes bent double to avoid the bullets of snipers, sometimes knee-deep in glutinous mud. Ayling, leading a machine-gun section who were burdened with their weapons and seven thousand rounds of ammunition, mopped his steaming brow and inquired of his guide how much farther there was to go. 243 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND ^^Abart two miles, sir/^ replied the youth with gloomy satisfaction. He was a private of the Cockney regiment whom we were re- lieving; and after the manner of his kind, would infinitely have preferred to conduct us down half a mile of a shell-swept road, leading straight to the heart of things, than waste time upon an uninteresting but safe detour. At this Ayling's Number One, who was carrying a machine-gun tripod weighing forty- eight pounds, said something — something distressingly audible — and groaned deeply. ^*If we'd come the way I wanted, '^ con- tinued the guide, much pleased with the effect of his words upon his audience, ^*we'd a' been there be now. But the Adjutant, 'e says to me '' **If we had come the way you wanted,'' interrupted Ay ling brutally, ^*we should prob- ably have been in Kingdom Come by now. Hurry up ! " Ay ling, in common with the rest of those present, was not in the best of tem- pers, and the loquacity of the guide had been jarring upon him for some time. The Cockney private, with the air of a deeply-wronged man, sulkily led on, followed by the dolorous procession. Another ten minutes' laboured progress brought them to a place where several ways met. ^^This is the beginning of the reserve trenches, sir," announced the guide. *^If we'd come the way I " THE FEONT OF THE FEONT 243 ''Lead on!'' said Ayling, and his perspir- ing followers murmured threatening applause. The guide, now in his own territory, selected the muddiest opening and plunged down it. For two hundred yards or so he continued serenely upon his way, with the air of one exhibiting the metropolis to a party of country cousins. He passed numer- ous turnings. Then, once or twice, he paused irresolutely; then moved on. Finally he halted, and proceeded to climb out of the trench. ''What are you doing!" demanded Ayling suspiciously. ''We got to cut across the open 'ere, sir," said the youth glibly. "Trench don't go no farther. Keep as low as you can. ' ' With resigned grunts the weary pilgrims hoisted themselves and their numerous bur- dens out of their slimy thoroughfare, and followed their conductor through the long grass in single file, feeling painfully con- spicuous against the whitening sky. Pres- ently they discovered, and descended into, another trench — all but the man with the tripod, who descended into it before he dis- covered it — and proceeded upon their dolor- ous way. Once more the guide, who had been refreshingly but ominously silent for some time, paused irresolutely. "Look here, my man," said Ayling, "do you, or do you not, know where you are 1 ' ' The paragon replied hesitatingly ; — 244 THE FIEST HUNDRED THOUSAND '* Well, sir, if we'd come by the way I — > J Ayling took a deep breath, and though conscious of the presence of formidable com- petitors, was about to make the best of an officer's vocabulary, when a kilted figure loomed out of the darkness. ^^ Hallo! Who are you I" inquired Ayling. *^This iss the Camerons' trenches, sirr," replied a polite West Highland voice. **What trenches wass you seeking?" Ayling told him. *^They are behind you, sirr." *^I was just goin' to say, sir," chanted the guide, making one last effort to redeem his prestige, *^as 'ow " * ' Party, ' ' commanded Ayling, * ^ about turn ! ' ' Having received details of the route from the friendly Cameron, he scrambled out of the trench and crawled along to what was now the head of the procession. A plaintive voice followed him. ^^Beg pardon, sir, where shall / go now?" Ayling answered the question explicitly, and moved off, feeling much better. The late conductor of the party trailed discon- solately in the rear. ^^I should like to know wot I'm 'ere for," he murmured indignantly. He got his answer, like a lightning-flash. **For tae carry this/' said the man with the tripod, turning round. **Here, caatch! >> THE FEONT OF THE FEONT 245 n The day's work in trenches begins about nine o'clock the night before. Darkness having fallen, various parties steal out into the no-man's-land beyond the parapet. There are numerous things to be done. The barbed wire has been broken up by shrapnel, and must be repaired. The whole position in front of the wire must be patrolled, to prevent the enemy from creep- ing forward in the dark. The corn has grown to an uncomfortable height in places, so a fatigue party is told oif to cut it — surely the strangest species of harvesting that the annals of agriculture can record. On the left front the muiHed clinking of picks and shovels announces that a **sap" is in course of construction: those incor- rigible night-birds, the Royal Engineers, are making it for the machine-gunners, who in the fulness of time will convey their voluble weapon to its forward extremity, and ** loose off a belt or two" in the direction of a rather dangerous hollow midway between the trenches, from which of late mysterious sounds of digging and guttural talMng have been detected by the officer who lies in the listening-post, in front of our barbed-wire entanglement, drawing secrets from the bowels of the earth by means of a micro- phone. 246 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND BeMnd the firing trench -even greater activity prevails. Damage done to the para- pet by shell fire is being repaired. Posi- tions and emplacements are being constantly improved, communication trenches widened or made more secure. Down these trenches fatigue parties are filing, to draw rations and water and ammunition from the lim- bered waggons which are waiting in the shadow of a wood, perhaps a mile back. It is at this hour, too, that the wounded, who have been lying pathetically cheerful and patient in the dressing-station in the reserve trench, are smuggled to the Field Ambulance — probably to find themselves safe in a Lon- don hospital within twenty-four hours. Lastly, under the kindly cloak of night, we bury our dead. Meanwhile, within various stifling dug- outs, in the firing trench or support-trench, overheated company commanders are dictat- ing reports or filling in returns. (Even now the Bound Grame Department is not entirely shaken oif.) There is the casualty return, and a report on the doings of the enemy, and another report of one's own doings, and a report on the direction of the wind, and so on. Then there are various indents to fill up — scrawled on a wobbly writing-block with a blunt indelible pencil by the light of a gutter- ing candle — for ammunition, and sandbags, and revetting material. All this literature has to be sent to Bat- THE FEONT OF THE FRONT 247. talion Headquarters by one a.m., eitlier by orderly or telephone. There it is collated and condensed, and forwarded to the Brigade, which submits it to the same process and sends it on, to be served up piping hot and easily digestible at the breakfast-table of the Division, five miles away, at eight o'clock. You must not imagine, however, that all this night-work is performed in gross dark- ness. On the contrary. There is abundance of illumination; and by a pretty thought, each side illuminates the other. We per- form our nocturnal tasks, in front of and behind the firing trench, amid a perfect hail of star-shells and magnesium lights, topped up at times by a searchlight — all supplied by our obliging friend the Hun. We, on our part, do our best to return these graceful compliments. The curious and uncanny part of it all is that there is no firing. During these brief hours there exists an informal truce, founded on the principle of live and let live. It would be an easy business to wipe out that working- party, over there by the barbed wire, with a machine-gun. It would be child's play to shell the road behind the enemy's trenches, crowded as it must be with ration-waggons and water-carts, into a blood-stained wilder- ness. But so long as each side confines itself to purely defensive and recuperative work, there is! little or no interference. That slave of duty, ZacchaBus, keeps on pegging 248 THE EIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND away; and occasionally, if a hostile patrol shows itself too boldly, there is a little ex- uberance from a machine-gun; but on the whole there is silence. After all, if you pre- vent your enemy from drawing his rations, his remedy is simple: he will prevent you from drawing yours. Then both parties will have to fight on empty stomachs, and neither of them, tactically, will be a penny the better. So, unless some elaborate scheme of attack is brewing, the early hours of the night are comparatively peaceful. But what is that sudden disturbance in the front-line trench? A British rifle rings out, then another, and another, until there is an agitated fusilade from end to end of the section. Instantly the sleepless host across the way replies, and for three minutes or so a hurricane rages. The working parties out in front lie flat on their faces, cursing patiently. Suddenly the storm dies away, and perfect silence reigns once more. It was a false alarm. Some watchman, deceived by the whispers of the night breeze, or merely a prey to nerves, has discerned a phantom army approaching through the gloom, and has opened fire thereon. This often occurs when troops are new to trench-work. It is during these hours, too, that regi- ments relieve one another in the trenches. The outgoing regiment cannot leave its post until the incoming regiment has *^ taken over." Consequently you have, for a brief THE FEONT OF THE FEOISTT 249 space, two thousand troops packed into a trench calculated to hold one thousand. Then it is that strong men swear themselves faint, and the Eugby football player has reason to be thankful for his previous train- ing in the art of * ^ getting through the scrum. ' ' However perfect your organisation may be, congestion is bound to occur here and there; and it is no little consolation to us to feel, as we surge and sway in the darkness, that over there in the German lines a Saxon and a Prussian private, irretrievably jammed together in a narrow communication trench, are consigning one another to perdition in just the same husky whisper as that em- ployed by Private Mucklewame and his ^* op- posite number'' in the regiment which has come to relieve him. These *^ reliefs" take place every four or five nights. There was a time, not so long ago, when a regiment was relieved, not when it was weary, but when another regiment could be found to replace it. Our own first battalion once remained in the trenches, un- relieved and only securing its supplies with difficulty, for five weeks and three days. During all that time they were subject to most pressing attentions on the part of the Bosches, but they never lost a yard of trench. They received word from Headquarters that to detach another regiment for their relief would seriously weaken other and most im- portant dispositions. The Commander-in- 250 THE riEST HUNDEED THOUSAND Chief would therefore be greatly obliged if they could hold on. So they held on. At last they came out, and staggered back to billets. Their old quarters, naturally, had long been appropriated by other troops, and the officers had some difficulty in recovering their kits. **I don't mind being kept in trenches for several weeks,'' remarked their commander to the staff officer who received him when he reported, ^*and I can put up with losing my sleeping-bag; but I do object to having my last box of cigars looted by the black- guards who took over our billets!" The staff officer expressed sympathy, and the subject dropped. But not many days later, while the battalion were still resting, their commander was roused in the middle of the night from the profound slumber which only the experience of many nights of anxious vigil can induce, by the ominous message : — *^An orderly to see you, from General Head- quarters, sir!" The colonel rolled stoically out of bed, and commanded that the orderly should be brought before him. The man entered, carrying, not a despatch, but a package, which he proffered with a salute. ''With the Commander-in-Chief's compli- ments, sir ! " he announced. The package was a box of cigars ! But that was before the days of ''K(l)." THE FEONT OF THE FKONT 251 But the night is wearing on. It is half- past one — time to knock off work. Tired men, returning from ration-drawing or sap- digging, throw themselves down and fall dead asleep in a moment. Only the sentries, with their elbows on the parapet, maintain their sleepless watch. From behind the enemy's lines comes a deep boom — then another. The big guns are waking up again, and have decided to commence their day's work by speeding our empty ration-waggons upon their homeward way. Let them! So long as they refrain from practising direct hits on our front-line parapet, and disturbing our brief and hardly-earned repose, they may fire where they please. The ration train is well able to look after itself. **A whiff o' shrapnel will dae nae harrm to thae strawberry- jam pinchers!'' observes Private Tosh bitterly, rolling into his dug- out. By this opprobrious term he designates that distinguished body of men, the Army Service Corps. A prolonged diet of plum- and-apple jam has implanted in the breasts of the men in the trenches certain dark and unworthy suspicions concerning the entire altruism of those responsible for the distribu- tion of the Army's rations. It is close on daybreak, and the customary whispered order runs down the stertorous trench : — ' ' Stand to arms ! ' ' 252 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND Straightway the parapets are lined with armed men; the waterproof sheets which have been protecting the machine-guns from the dews of night are cast off; and we stand straining our eyes into the whitening darkness. This is the favourite hour for attack. At any moment the guns may open fire upon our parapet, or a solid wall of grey-clad figures rise from that strip of corn-land less than a hundred yards away, and descend upon us. Well, we are ready for them. Just by way of signalising the fact, there goes out a ragged volley of rifle fire, and a machine-gun rips off half a dozen bursts into the standing corn. But apparently there is nothing doing this morning. The day grows brighter, but there is no movement upon the part of Brother Bosche. But — what is that light haze hanging over the enemy's trenches? It is slight, almost impalpable, but it appears to be drifting to- wards us. Can it be — — ~1 Next moment every man is hurriedly pull- ing his gas helmet over his head, while Lieu- tenant Waddell beats a frenzied tocsin upon the instrument provided for the purpose — to wit, an empty eighteen-pounder shell, which, suspended from a bayonet stuck into the parados (or back wall) of the trench, makes a most efficient alarm-gong. The sound is repeated all along the trench, and in two min- utes every man is in his place, cowled like a member of the Holy Inquisition, glaring THE FEONT OF THE FRONT 253 throngli an eye-piece of mica, and firing madly into the approaching wall of vapour. But the wall approaches very slowly — in fact, it almost stands still — and finally, as the rising snn disentangles itself from a pink horizon and climbs into the sky, it begins to disappear. In half an hour nothing is left, and we take off our helmets, sniffing the morn- ing air dubiously. But all we smell is the old mixture — corpses and chloride of lime. The incident, however, was duly recorded by Major Kemp in his report of the day's events, as follows : — 4.7 A.M. — Gas alarm J false. Due either to morning mist, or the fact that enemy found breeze insufficient, and discontinued their attempt, ** Still, I'm not sure," he continued, slapping his bald head with a bandana handkerchief, * ^ that a whiff of chlorine or bromine wouldn 't do these trenches a considerable amount of good. It would tone down some of the de- ceased a bit, and wipe out these infernal flies. Waddell, if I give you a shilling, will you take it over to the German trenches and ask them to drop it into the meter?" **I do not think, sir," replied the literal Waddell, ^Hhat an English shilling would fit a German meter. Probably a mark would be required, and 'I have only a franc. Besides, sir, do you think that " * ^ Surgical operation at seven- thirty, sharp ! ' ' intimated the major to the medical officer, 254 THE riEST HUNDEED THOUSAND •who entered the dug-out at that moment. '*For our friend here" — indicating the be- wildered Waddell. ^* Sydney Smith's pre- scription! Now, what about breakfast T' About nine o 'clock the enemy indulges in what is usually described, most disrespect- fully, as *^a little morning hate" — in other words, a bombardment. Beginning with a hors d'oeuvre of shrapnel along the reserve trench — much to the discomfort of Head- quarters, who are shaving — he proceeds to ** search" a tract of woodland in our im- mediate rear, his quarry being a battery of motor machine-guns, which has wisely de- camped some hours previously. Then, after scientifically *^ traversing" our second line, which has rashly advertised its position and range by cooking its breakfast over a smoky fire, he brings the display to a superfluous conclusion by dropping six *^ Black Marias" into the deserted ruins of a village not far behind us. After that comes silence ; and we are able, in our hot, baking trenches, assisted by clouds of bluebottles, to get on with the day's work. This consists almost entirely in digging. As already stated, these are bad trenches. The parapet is none too strong — at one point it has been knocked down for three days run- ning — the communication trenches are few and narrow, and there are not nearly enough dug-outs. Yesterday three men were wounded ; THE FKONT OF THE FEONT 255 and owing to the impossibility of carrying a stretcher along certain parts of the trench, they had to be conveyed to the rear in their ground-sheets — bumped against projections, bent round sharp corners, and sometimes lifted, perforce, bodily into view of the enemy. So every man toils with a will, knowing full well that in a few hours ' time he may prove to have been his own benefactor. Only the sen- tries remain at the parapets. They no longer expose themselves, as at night, but take ad- vantage of the laws of optical reflection, as exemplified by the trench periscope. (This, in spite of its grand title, is nothing but a tiny mirror clipped on to a bayonet.) At half -past twelve comes dinner — bully- beef, with biscuit and jam — after which each tired man, coiling himself up in the trench, or crawling underground, according to the accommodation at his disposal, drops off into instant and heavy slumber. The hours from two till five in the afternoon are usually the most uneventful of the twenty-four, and are therefore devoted to hardly-earned repose. But there is to be little peace this after- noon. About half-past three, Bobby Little, immersed in pleasant dreams — dreams of cool shades and dainty companionship — is brought suddenly to the surface of thingis by — ' ^ Whoo-oo-oo-oo-UMP ! " — followed by a heavy thud upon the roof of his dug-out. Earth and small stones de- scend in a shower upon him. 256 THE FIEST HUNDEED THOUSAND *^ Dirty dogs!'^ he comments, looking at his watch. Then he puts his head out of the dug-out. ^^Lie close, you men!" he cries. '^There's more of this coming. Any casualties'?'* The answer to the question is obscured by another burst of shrapnel, which explodes a few yards short of the parapet, and showers bullets and fragments of shell into the trench. A third and a fourth follow. Then comes a pause. A message is passed down for the stretcher-bearers. Things are growing seri- ous. Five minutes later Bobby, having des- patched his wounded to the dressing-station, proceeds with all haste to Captain Blaikie's dug-out. *^How many, Bobbyf " *^Six wounded. Two of them won't last as far as the rear, I'm afraid, sir." Captain Blaikie looks grave. '^Better ring up the Gunners, I think. Where are the shells coming from?" '^That wood on our left front, I think." *^ That's P 27. Telephone orderly, there?" A figure appears in the doorway. '^Yes, sirr." *^Eing up Major Cavanagh, and say that H 21 is being shelled from P 27. Eetali- ate!" <