Kitchener's mob ; the adventures of an American in the British Army

HE
N

D EN fU E : _l 
E, N I.-
B IT SH R
B

.AMES NO AN HAL

I' lit iti

Kitchener's Mob

JAIIES NORMAN HALL

Kitchener's Mob

The Adventures of an American
in the British Army
By
James Norman Hall

Boston and New York
Houghton Mifflin Company
96

COPYRIGHT 1916  BY THE ATLAITIC MONTI|LY COMPAti"
COPYRIGHT 1916  B," JAMES NORMAN HALL

ALL RIGHTS RSKRVKD

aOublished ,dlay

'FO
TOMMY
OF THE GREAT WAR
WHO I$ ADDING IMMORTAL LUSTER
TO THE NAME OF
ATKINS

Note

Tins brief narrative is by no means a com-
plete record of life in a battalion of one of Lord
Kitchener's first armies. It is, rather, a story
in outline, a mere suggestion of that life as it is
lived in the British lines along the western
front. If those who read gain thereby a more
intimate view of trench warfare, and of the
men who are so gallantly and cheerfully laying
down their lives for England, the purpose of
the writer will have been accomplished.
The diagram which appears on the front and
rear covers of the book is a partially conven-
tionalized design illustrating some features of
trench construction mentioned in Chapter VI.
For obvious reasons it is not drawn to scale,
and although it is a truthful representation of
a typical segment of the British line, it is not
an exact sketch of any existing sector.
April, 96.

Contents

I. JOINING UP
II. ROOKIES ........ 9
III. TuE Mos IN TRAINING
IV. ORDERED ABROAD .... 39
V. TItE PARAPET-ETIC ScItOOI. o • ° 55
VI. PKIVATE HOLLOWAY, PKOFESSOK OF HYGIENE
Vil. MIDSUMMEK CALM ...... 92
VIII. UNDER COVER ..... XO8
IX. BILLETS
X. NEW LODGXNGS ...... 44
XI. "SITTING TIGUT" ...... I77

Kitchener's

Mob

CHAPTER I
JOINING UP
"Kwc..l'S MOB" they were called in
the early days of August, 1914, when London
hoardings were clamorous with the first calls
for volunteers. The seasoned regulars of the
first British expeditionary force said it patron-
izingly, the great British public hopefully, the
world at large doubtfully. "Kitchener's Mob,"
when there was but a scant sixty thousand
under arms with millions yet to corne. "Kîtch-
ener's Mob" it remains to-day, fighting in
hundreds of thousands in France, Belgium,
Africa, the Balkans. And to-morrow, when the
war is ended, who will corne marching home
again, old campaigners, war-worn remnants of
once mighty armies ? "Kitchener's Mob."
It is not a pleasing name for the greatest vol-
unteer army in the history of the world; for
more than three millions of toughened, disci-
I

Kitchener's Mob

plined fighting men, united under one flag, all
parts of one magnificent military organization.
And yet Kitchener's own Tornrnies are respon-
sible for it, the rank and file, with their inherent
love of ridicule even at their own expense, and
their intense dislike of "swank." They fastened
the narne upon thernselves, lest the world at
large should think they regarded thernselves too
highly. There it hangs. There it will hang for
all time.
It was on the Sth of August, 1914, that the
rnob spirit gained its rnastery over me. After
three weeks of solitary tramping in the rnoun-
tains of North Wales, I walked suddenly into
news of the great war, and went at once to Lon-
don, with a longing for home which seemed
strong enough to carry me through the week of
idleness until rny boat should sail. But, in a
spirit of adventure, I suppose, I ternpted rnyself
with the possibility of assuming the increasingly
popular alias, Atkins. On two successive rnorn-
ings I joined the long line of prospective recruits
before the offices at Great Scotland Yard, with-
drawing each rime, after moving a convenient
distance toward the desk of the recruiting ser-

Joining Up
geant. Disregarding the proven fatality of
third rimes, I joined it on another morning,
dangerously near to the head of the procession.
,_ "Now, then, you! Step along!"
There is something compelling about a mili-
tary command, given by a military otïïcer ac-
customed to being obeyed. While the doctors
were thumping me, measuring me, and making
an inventory of "physical peculiarities, if any,"
I tried to analyze my unhesitating, almost in-
stinctive reaction to that stern, confident "Step
along!" Was it an act of weakness, a want of
character, evidenced by my inability to say no?
Or was it the blood of military forebears assert-
ing itself after many years of inanition? The
latter conclusion being the more pleasing, I de-
cided that I was the grandson of my Civil War
grandfather, and the worthy descendant of
stalwart warriors of a yet earlier period.
I was frank with the recruiting otïïcers. I
admitted, rather boasted, of my American citi-
zenship, but expressed my entire willingness to
serve in the British army in case this should not
expatriate me. I had, in fact, delayed, hoping
that an American legion would be formed in
3

Kitchener's Mob

London as had been done in Paris. The an-
nouncement was received with some surprise.
_& brief conference was held, during which there
was much vigorous shaking of heads. While I
awaited the decision I thought of the steamship
ticket in my pocket. I remembered that my
boat was to sail on Friday. I thought of my
plans for the future and anticipated the joy of
an early home-coming. Set against this was the
prospect of an indefinite period of soldiering
among strangers. "Three years or the duration
of the war" were the terms of the enlistment
contract. I had visîons of bloody engagements,
of feverish nights in hospital, of endless years
in a home for disabled soldiers. The conference
was over, and the recruiting officer returned to
his desk, smiling broadly.
"We'll take you, my lad, if you want to join.
You'll just say you are an Englishman, won't
you, as a matter of formality?" Here was an
avenue of escape, beckoning me like an alluring
country road winding over the hills of home. I
refused it with the same instinctive sviftness of
decision that had brought me to the medical
inspection room. And a few moments later, I
4

Joining Up
took "the King's shilling," and promised, upon
my oath as a loyal British subject, to bear true
allegiance to the Union Jack.
During the completion of other, less impor-
tant formalities, I was taken in charge by a ser-
geant who might have stepped out of any of the
"Barrack-Room Balla&." He was true to type
to the last twist in the s of Atkins. He told me
of service in India, Egypt, South Africa. He
showed me both scars and medals with that air
of "Now-I-would-n't-do-this-for-any-one-but-
you" which is so flattering to the novice. He
gave me advice as to my best method of pro-
cedure when I should go to Hounslow Barracks
to join my unit.
"'An 'ere[ Wotever you do an' wotever you
s'y, don't forget to myke the lads think you're
an out-an'-outer, if you understand my mean-
ing,- a Britisher, you know. They'll tyke to
you. Strike me blind[ Be free an' easy with
'em,  no swank, mind you! m an' they'll be
downright pals with you. You're different, you
know. But don't put on no airs. Wot I mean is,
don't let 'em think that you think you're differ-
ent. See wot I mean ?"

Kitchener's Mob

I said that I did.
"An' another thing; talk like 'em."
I confessed that this might prove to be rather
a large contract.
"'Ard? S'y! 'Ere! If I'ad you fer a d:y, I'd
'ave you talkin' like a born Lunnoner! Ail you
got to dois forget ail them aitches. An'
you don't want to s'y 'can't,' like that. S'¥
' cawrn't.'"
I said it.
"Now s'y, 'Gor blimy, 'Arry, 'ow's the
missus ?'"
I did.
"That's right! Oh, you'll soon get the swing
of it."
There was much more instruction of the saine
nature. By the rime I was ready to leave the
recruiting offices I felt that I had ruade great
progress in the vernacular. I said good-bye to
the sergeant warmly. As I was about to leave
he ruade the most peculiar and amusing gesture
of a man drinking.
"A pint o' mild an' bitter," he said confi-
dentially. "The boys always gives me the price
of a pint."
6

Joining Up
"Right you are, sergeant!" I used the ex-
pression like a born Englishman. And with the
liberality of a true soldier, I gave him my shil-
ling, my first day's wage as a British fighting
man.
The remainder of the week I spent mingling
with the crowds of enlisted men at the Horse
Guards Parade, watching the bulletin boards
for the appearance of my naine which would
mean that I was to report at the regimental
depot at Hounslow. My first impression of the
men with whom I was to lire for three years, or
the duration of the war, was anything but fa-
vorable. The newspapers had been asserting
that the new army was being recruited from the
flower of England's young manhood. The
throng at the Horse Guards Parade resembled
an army of the unemployed, and I thought it
likely that most of them were misfits, out-of-
works, the kind of men who join the army be-
cause they can do nothing else. There were, in
fact, a good many of these. I soon learned,
however, that the general, out-at-elbows ap-
pearance was due to another cause. A genial
Cockney gave me the hint.
7

Kitchener's Mob

"'Ave you joined up, matey?" he asked.
I told him that I had.
"}Vell, 'ere's a friendly tip for you. Don't
wear them good clo'es w'en you goes to the
depot. You won't see 'em again likely, an' if
you gets through the war you might be a-want-
in' of 'em. Wear the worst rags you got."
I profited by the advice, and when I fell in,
with the other recruits for the Royal Fusiliers,
I felt much more at my ease.

CHAPTER II

ROOKIES
"A OB" is genuinely descriptive of the array
of would-be soldiers which crowded the long
parade-ground at Hounslow Barracks during
that memorable last week in August. We
herded together like so many sheep. "Ve had
lost out individuality, and it was to be months
belote we regained it in a new aspect, a collec-
tive individuality of which we became increas-
ingly prou& We squeak-squawked across the
barrack square in boots which felt large enough
for an entire family of feet. Our khaki service
dress uniforms were strange and uncomfortable.
Our hands hung limply along the seams of out
pocketless trousers. Having no place in which
to conceal them, and nothing for them to do, we
tried to ignore them. Many a Tommy, in a
moment of forgetfulness, would make a dire for
the friendly pockets which were no longer there.
The look of sheepish disappointment, as his
hands slid limply down his trouser-legs, was
most comical to see. Before many days we
9

Kitchener's Mob

learned the uses to which soldiers' hands are
put.-But for the moment, they seemed ab-
surdly unnecessary'.
We must have been unpromising materlal
from the military point of view. That was evi-
dently the opinion of my own platoon sergeant.
I remember, word for word, his address of wel-
corne, one of soldier-like brevity and pointed-
ness, delivered while we stood awkwardly at
attention on the barrack square.
"Lissen 'ere, you men! I've never saw such a
raw, roun'-shouldered batch o' rookies in fifteen
years' service. Yer pasW-faced an' yer thin-
chested. Gawd 'elp 'Is Majesty if it ever lays
with you to save 'im! 'Owever, we're 'ere to do
wot we can with wot we got. Now, then, upon
the command, 'Form Fours,' I wanna see the
even numbers Wke a pace to the rear with the
left foot, an' one to the right with the right
foot. Like so: 'One-one-two !' Platoon ! Form
Fours! Oh! Orful! Orful! As y' were! As y'
were !"
If there was doubt in the minds of any of us
as to out rawness, it was quickly dispelled by
out platoon sergeants, regulars of long standing,
I0

Rookies

who had been left in England to assist in whip-
ping the new armies into shape. Naturally,
they were disgruntled at this, and we offered
them such splendid opportunities for working
off overcharges of spleen. We had corne to
Hounslow, believing that, within a few weeks'
time, we should be fighting in France, side by
side with the men of the first British expedi-
tionary force. Lord Kitchener had said that
six months of training, at the least, was essen-
tial. This statement we regarded as intention-
ally misleading. Lord Kitchener was too shrewd
a soldier to announce his plans; but England
needed men badly, immediately. After a week
of training, we should be proficient in the use
of our rifles. In addition to thîs, all that was
needed was the ability to form fours and march,
in column of route, to the station where we
should entrain for Folkestone or Southampton,
and France.
As soon as the battalion was up to strength,
we were given a day of preliminary drill before
proceeding to our future training area in Essex.
It was a disillusioning experience. Equally dis-
appointing was the undignified display of our
Il

Kitchener's Mob

little skill, at Charing Cross Station, where we
performed belote a large and amused London
audience. For my own part, I could scarcely
wait until we were safely hidden within the
train. During the journey to Colchester, a re-
enlisted toer War veteran, from the inaccessi-
ble heights of South African experience, en-
filaded us with a tire of sarcastic comment.
"I'm a-go'n' to transfer out o' this 'ere mob,
that's wot I'm a go'n' to do! Soldiers! S'y!
l'Il bet a quîd they ain't a one of you ever saw
a rifle before! Soldiers? Strike me pink! Wot's
Lord Kitchener a-doin' of, that's wot I want
to know ["
The rest of us smoked in wrathful silence,
until one of the boys demonstrated to the toer
War veteran that he knew, at least, how to use
his fists. There was some bloodshed, followed
by reluctant apologies on the part of the toer
warrior. It was one of innumerable differences
of opinion which I witnessed during the months
that followed. And most of them were settled
in the saine decisive way.
Although mine was a London reg[ment, we
had men in the ranks from all parts of the

Rookies

United Kingdom. There »vere North-Country-
men, a few Welsh, Scotch, and Irish, men from
the Midlands and from the south of England.
But for the most part we were Cockneys, born
within the sound of Bow Bells. I had planned
to follow the friendly advice of the recruiting
sergeant. "Talk like 'em," he had said. There-
fore, I struggled bravely with the peculiarities
of the Cockney twang, recklessly dropped
aitches when I should have kept them, and
prefixed them indiscriminately before every
convenient aspirate. But all my efforts were
useless. The imposition »vas apparent to my
fellow Tommies immediately. I had only to
begin speaking, within the hearing of a genuine
Cockney, when he would say, "'Ello! w'ere do
you corne from ? The Stites ?" or, "l'll bet a
tanner you're a Yank!" I decided to make a
confession, and I have been glad, ever since,
that I did. The boys gave me a warm and
hearty welcome when they learned that I was
a sure-enough American. They called me
"Jamie the Yank." I was a piece of tangible
evidence of the bond of sympathy existing be-
tween the two great Englîsh-speaking nations.

Kitchener's Mob

I told them of the many Americans of German
extraction, whose sympathies were honestly
and sincerely on the other side. But they would
not have it so. I was the personal representa-
tive of the American people. My presence in
the British army was proof positive of this.
Being an American, it was very hard, at
first, to understand the class distinctions of
British army lire. And having understood
them, it was more diflïcult yet to endure them.
I learned that a ranker, or private soldier, is
a socially inferior being from the officer's point
of view. The officer class and the ranker class
are east and west, and never the twain shall
meet, except in their respective places upon the
parade-ground. This does not hold good, to
the same extent, upon active service. Hard-
ships and dangers, shared in common, tend to
break down artificial bariers. But even then,
although there was good-will and friendliness
between officers and men, I saw nothing of
genuine comradeshlp. Thls seemed to me a
great pity. It was a loss for the officers fully
as much as it was for the men.
I had to accept, for convenience sake, the

Rookies

fact of my social inferiority. Centuries of
army tradition demanded it; and I discovered
that it is absolutely futile for one inconsequen-
tial American to rebel against the unshakable
fortress of English tradition. Nearly all of my
comrades were used to clear-cut class distinc-
tions in civilian lire. It ruade little difference
to them that some of our officers were recruits
as raw as were we ourselves. They had money
enough and education enough and influence
enough to secure the king's commission; and
that fact was proof enough for Tommy that
they were gentlemen, and, therefore, too good
for the likes of him to be associating with.
"Look 'ere! Ain't a gentleman a gentleman?
I'm arskin' you, ain't 'e?"
I saw the futility of discussing this question
with Tommy. And later, I realized how import-
ant for British army discipline such distinctions
are.
So great is the force of prevailing opinion
that I sometimes round myself accepting
Tommy's point of view. I wondered if I was,
for some eugenic reason, the inferior of these
men whom I had to "Sir" and salute whenever

x5

Kitchener's Mob

I dared speak. Such lapses were only occà-
sional. But I understood, for the first time,
how important a part circumstance and en-
vironment play in shaping one's mental atti-
tude. How I longed, at times, to chat with
colonels and to joke with captains on terres of
equality! Whenever I confided these aspira-
tions to Tommy he gazed at me in awe.
"Don't be a bloomin' ijut! They could jolly
well 'ang you fer thatl"

CHAPTER III

THE MOB IN TKAINING
TttE Nth Service Battalion, Royal Fusiliers,
on the match was a sight not easily to be
forgotten. To the inhabitants of Colchester,
Folkestone, Shorncliffe, Aldershot, and other
towns and villages throughout the south of
England, we were well known. We displayed
ourselves with what must have seemed to them
a shameless disregard for appearances. Out
approach was announced by a discordant tu-
mult of files and drttms, for out band, of which
later, we became justly proud, was a newly
fledged and still imperfect organization. Win-
dows were flung up and doors thrown open
along out line of match; but alas, we were
greeted with no welcome glances of kindlr al>
proval, no waving of handkerchiefs, no clap-
ping of hands. Nursemaids, who are said to
have a nlce and discrlminating eye for soldiery,
gazed in amused and contemptuous silence as
we passed. Children looked at us in wide-eyed
wonder. Only the dumb beasts were demon-

Kitchener's Mob

strative, and they in a manner whlch was not
at all to our liking. Dogs barked, and sedate
old family horses, which would stand placidly
at the curbing while tire engines thundered
past wîth bells clanging and sirens shrieking,
pricked up their ears at our approach, and,
after one startled glance, galloped madly away
and disappeared in clouds of dust far in the
distance.
We knew why the nursemaids were cool, and
why family horses developed hysteria with
such startling suddenness. But in our pride
we did not see that which we did not wish to
see. Therefore we marched, or, to be more
truthful, shambled on, shouting lusty choruses
with an air of boisterous gayety which was
anything but genuine.

"You do as I do and you'll do rlght,,"
Fall in and follow me!"

was a favorite with number I z platoon. Their
enthusiasm might have carrîed conviction had
it hot been for their personal appearance, which
certainly did hot. Number I5 platoon would
strive manfully for a hearing with
18

The Mob in Training

"Steadily, shoulder to shoulder,
Steadily, blade by blade;
Marching along,
Sturdy and strong,
Like the boys of the old brigade."

As a strlctly accurate historian I must confess
that none of these assertions were quite true.
We marched neither steadily, nor shoulder to
shoulder, nor blade by blade. We straggled all
over the road, and kept step only when the
sergeant major doubled forward, warning us,
with threats of extra drills, to keep in our fours
or to "pick it up!" In fact, "the boys of the
old brigade," whoever they may have been,
would have scornfully repudiated the sugges-
tion that ve resembled them in any respect. :-
They would have been justified in doing so
had any of them seen us at the end of six weeks
of training. For, however reluctantly, we were
forced to adroit that Sergeant Harris was right
when he called us "a raw batch o' rookies."
Unpromising we were not. There was good
stuff in the ranks, the material from which
real soldiers are ruade, and were ruade; but it
had not yet been rounded into shape. We were
I9

Kitchener's Mob

still nothing more than a homogeneous assem-
bly of individuals.
We declined to accept the responsibîllty for
the seeming slowness of our progress. We
threw it unhesitatingly upon the War Office,
which had not equipped us in a manner befit-
ring our new station in lire. Although we were
recruited îmmediately after the outbreak of
war, less than hall of our number had been pro-
vided with uniforms. Many still wore their old
civilian clothing. Others were dressed in can-
vas fatigue suits, or the worn-out uniforms of
policemen and tramcar conductors. Every old-
clothes shop on Petticoat Lane must have con-
tributed its allotment of cast-off apparel.
Our arms and equipment were of an equally
nondescript character. We might easily have
been mistaken for a mob of vagrants which
had pillaged a seventeenth-century arsenal.
With a few slight changes in costuming for the
sake of historical fidelity, we would have served
as a citizen army for a realistic motion-picture
drama depicting an episode in the French
Revolution.
We derived what comfort we could from the

0

The Mob in Training

knowledge that we were but one of many bat-
talions of Kitchener's first hundred thousand
equipped in this same makeshift fashion. We
did not need the repeated assurances of cabinet
ministers that England was not prepared for
war. We were in a position to know that she
was hot. Otherwise, there had been an unpar-
donable lack of foresight in high places. Sup-
plies came in driblets. Each night, when pa-
rades for the day were over, there was a rush
for the orderly room bulletin board, which was
scanned eagerly for news of an early issue of
clothing. As likely as hot we were disappointed,
but occasionally jaded hopes revived.
"Number I5 platoon will parade at 4 v.u.
on Thursday, the 24th, for boots, puttees,
braces, and service dress caps."
Number I5 is our platoon. Promptly at the
hour set we halt and rlght-turn in front of the
Quartermaster Stores marquee. The quarter-
toaster is there with pencil and notebook,
and immediately takes charge of the proceed-
ings.
"Ail men needing boots, one pace step for-
ward, March !"

Kitchener's Mob

The platoon, sixty-five strong, steps forward
as ode maD.
"Ail men needing braces, one pace step back,
March!"
Again we more as a unit. The quartermaster
hesitates for a moment; but he is a resourceful
man and has been through this many rimes
before. We ail need boots, quite right! But the
question is, Who need them most? Undoubt-
edly those whose feet are most in evidence
through worn soles and tattered uppers. Adopt-
ing this sight test, he eliminates more than hall
the platoon, whereupon, by a further process
of elimination, due to the fact that he has only
sizes 7 and 8, he selects the fortunate twelve
who are to walk dry shod.
The same method of procedure is carried out
in selecting the braces. Private Reynolds,
whose trousers are held in place by a wonderful
mechanism composed of shoe-laces and bits of
string, receives a pair; likewise, Private Stene-
bras, who, with the aid of safeW pins, bas
fashioned coat and trousers into an ingenious
one-piece garment. Caps and puttees are dis-
tributed with like impartiality, and we dismiss,

The M ob in Training
the unfortunate ones growling nd grumbling
in discreet undertones until the platoon com-
mander is out of hearing, whereupon the
murmurs of dis¢ontent be¢om« loudly articu-
late.
"Kitchener's Rag-Time Army I calls it!"
growls the veteran of $outh African lame.
"Ain't we a 'andsome lot o' pozzie wallopers?
Service? We ain't never a-go'n' to sec service!
You blokes won't, but watch me! I'm a-go'n'
to grease off out o' this mob!"
No one remonstrated with this deservedly
unpopular reservist when he grumbled about
the shortage of supplies. He voiced the general
sentiment. We all felt that we would like to
"grease off" out of it. Our deficiencies in
clothing and equipment were met by the Gov-
ernment with what seemed to us amazing slow-
ness. However, Tommy is a sensible man.
He realized that England had a big contract to
fulfill, and that the first duty was to provide
for the armies in the field. France, Russia,
Belgium, all were looking to England for sup-
plies. Kitchener's Mob must wait, trusting to
the genius for organization, the faculty for get-

Kitchener's Mob

ting things done, of its great and worthy chier,
K. of K.

Our houslng accommodations, throughout
the autumn and winter of 94-I5, when Eng-
land was in such urgent need of shelter for
her rapidly increasing armies, were also of the
makeshift order. We slept in leaky tents or in
hastily constructed wooden shelters, many of
which were afterward condemned by the medi-
cal inspectors. St. Martin's Plain, Shorncliffe,
was an ideal camping-site for pleasant summer
weather. But when the autumnal rains set in,
the green pasture land became a quagmire.
Mud was the great reallty of our lires, the
malignant deity which we fell down (in) and
propîtiated with profane rites. It was a thin,
,vatery mud or a thick, viscous mud, as the
steady downpour increased or diminished. Late
in November we were moved to a city of
wooden huts at Sandling Junctlon, to make
room for newly recrulted units. The dwellings
were but half-finished, the drans were open
ditches, and the rains descended and the floods
came as usual. We lived an amphibious and

The Mob in Training
wretched existence until January, when, to our
great joy, we were transferred to billets in the
Metropole, one of Folkestone's most fashion-
able hotels. To be sure, we slept on bare floors,
but the roof was rainproof, which was the es-
sential thing. The oesthetically inclined could
lie in their blankets at night, gazing at richly
gilded mirrors over the mantelpieces and beau-
tifully frescoed ceilings refurnishing our apart-
ments in all their former splendor. Private
Henry Morgan was notof this type. Henry
came inone evening rather the worse for liquor
and with clubbed musket assaulted his un-
lovely reflection in an expensive mirror. I be-
lieve he is still paying for his lack of restraint
at the rate of a sixpence per day, and will bave
canceled his obligation by January, 1921, if
the war continues until that time.

Although we were poorly equipped and some-
rimes wretchedly housed, the commissariat was
excellent and on the most generous scale from
the very beginning. Indeed, there was nearly
as much food wasted as eaten. Naturally, the
men made no complaint, although they re-
25

Kitchener's Mob

gretted seeing such quantities of food thrown
daily into the refuse barrels. I often felt that
something should be done about it. Many
exposés were, in fact, written from all parts of
England. It was irritating to read of German
efficiency in the presence of England's extrava-
gant and unbusinesslike methods. Tommy
would say, "Lor, lummy! Ain't we got no
pigs in England? That there food won't be
wasted. We '11 be eatin' it in sausages w'en we
goes acrost the Channel"; whereupon he dis-
missed the whole question from his mînd. This
seemed to me then the typical Anglo-Saxon
attitude. Everywhere there was waste, mud-
dle-headedness, and apparently it was nobody's
business, nobody's concern. Camps were sited
in the wrong places and buildings erected only
to be condemned. Tons of food were pur-
chased overseas, transported across thousands
of toiles of ocean, only to be thrown into refuse
barrels. The Government was robbed by avari-
cious hotel-keepers who ruade and were granted
absurd claims for damages done to their prop-
erty by billeted troops. But ivith vast new
armies, recruited ovemight, it is not strange
z6

The Mob in Training

that there should be mismanagement and fric-
tion at first. As the months passed,'there was
a marked change for the better. British ei-
ciency asserted itself. This was ruade evident
to us in scores of ways--the distribution of
supplies, the housîng and equipping of troops,
their movements from one training area to
another. At the last, we could only marvel that
a great and complicated military machine had
been so admirably and quickly perfected.

Meanwhile our rigorous training continued
from week to week in ail weathers, even the most
inclement. Reveille sounded at daybreak. For
an hour before breakfast we did Swedish drill,
a system of gymnastics which brought every
lazy and disused muscle into play. Two hours
daily were given to musketry practice. We
were instructed in the description and recogni-
tion of targets, the use of cover, but chiefly in
the use of out rifles. Through constant hand-
ling they became a part of us, a third arm
which we grew to use quite instinctively. We
fired the recruit's, and later, the trained sol-
dier's course in musketry on the rifle ranges at
27

Kitchener's Mob

Hythe and Aldershot, gradually improvlng our
technique, until we were able to tire with some
accuracy, fifteen rounds per minute. When we
had achieved this difficult feat, we ceased to be
recruits. We were skilled soldiers of the proud
and illustrious order known as "England's
Mad-Minute Men." After musketry practice,
the remainder of the day was given to extended
order, company, and battalion drill. Twice
weekly we route-marched from ten to fifteen
mlles; and at night, after the parades for the
day were finlshed, boxing and wrestling con-
tests, arranged and encouraged by our officers,
kept the red blood pounding through our bodies
until "lights out" sounded at nine o'clock.
The character of our training changed as we
progressed. We were done with squad, platoon,
and company drill. Then came field maneuvers,
attacks in open formation upon intrenched po-
sitions, finishing always with terrific bayonet
charges. There were mimic battles, lasting all
day, with from ten to twenty thousand men
on each side. Artillery, infantry, cavalry, air
craft-- every branch of army service, in fact --
had a share in these exciting field days when we
28

The M ob in Training

gained bloodless victories or died painless and
easy deaths at the command of red-capped field
judges. We rushed boldly to the charge, shout-
ing lustily, each man striving to be first at the
enemy's position, only to be intercepted by a
staff oflîcer on horseback, staying the ride of
battle with uplifted hand.
"March your men back, oflîcer! You're out
of action! My word ! You've made a beastly
mess of it! You're not on church parade, you
know! You advanced across the open for three
quarters of a mlle in close column of platoons!
Three batteries of field artillery and four ma-
chine guns have blown you to blazes! You
bave n't a man left!"
Sometimes we reached our objective with
less fearful slaughter, but at the moment when
there should have been the sharp clash and
clang of steel on steel, the cries and groans of
men fighting for their lives, ve heard the bugles
from far and near, sounding the "stand by,"
and friend and enemy dropped wearily to the
ground for a rest while our officers assembled in
conference around the motor of the divisional
general.
9

Kitchener's Mob

.Ail this was playing at war, and Tommy was
"fed up" with play. As we marched back to
barracks after a long day of monotonous field
maneuvers, he eased his mind by making sar-
castic comments upon this inconclusive kind
of warfare. He began to doubt the good faith
of the War Office in calling ours a "service"
battalion. As likely as not we were for home
defense and would never be sent abroad.
"Left! Right! Left! Right!
Why did I joln the army?
Oh! Why did I ever join Kitchener's Mob?
Lot lummy! I must 'ave been balmy!"--
became the favorite, homeward-bound march-
ing song. And so he "groused" and grumbled
after the manner of Tommies the world over.
And in the mean time he was daily approaching
more nearly the standard of efciency set by
England's inexorable War Lord.

It was interestlng to note the physical im-
provement in the men wrought by a lire of
healthy, well-ordered routine. My battalion
was recruited largely from what is known in
England as "the lower middle classes." There

3o

The Mob in Training
were shop assistants, clerks, railway and clty
employees, tradesmen, and a generous sprink-
ling of common laborers. Many of them had
been used to indoor lire, practically all of them
to city lire, and needed months of the hardest
kind of training before they could be made
physlcally fit, before they could be seasoned
and toughened to withstand the hard8hips of
active service.
Plenty of hard work in the open air brought
great and welcome changes. The men talked of
their food, anticipated it with a zest which
came from realizing, for the first time, the joy
of being genuinely hungry. They watched
their muscles harden with the satisfaction
known to every normal man when he is be-
coming physically eflîcient. Food, exercise, and
rest, taken in wholesome quantities and at
regular intervals, were having the usual excel-
lent results. For my own part, I had never
before been in such splendid health. I wished
that it might at all times be possible for de-
mocracies to exercise a beneficent paternalism
over the lires of their citizenry, at least in
matters of health. It seems a great pity that
3

Kitchener's Mob

the principle of personal freedom should be
responsible for so many ill-shaped and ill-sorted
physical incompetents. My fellow Tommles
were living, really living, for the first time.
They had never before known what it means
to be radiantly, buoyantly healthy.
There were, as well, more profound and
subtle changes in thoughts and habits. The
restraints of discipline and the veut exacting
character of militaut lire and training gave
them self-control, mental alertness. At the
beginning, they were individuals, no more co-
hesive than so many grains of wet sand. After
nine months of training they acted as a unit,
obeying orders with that instinctive prompt-
ness of action which is so essential on the field
of battle when men think scarceIy at ail. But
it is true that what was their gain as soldiers
was, to a certain extent, their loss as individuals.
When we went on active service I noted that
men who were excellent followers were hOt in-
frequently lost when called upon for inde-
pendent action. They had not been trained to
take the initiative, and had become so accus-
tomed to having their thinking done for them
32

The Mob in Training
that they often became confused and excited
whn they had to do it for themselves.
Discipline was an ail-important factor in the
daily grind. At the beginning of their training,
the men of the new armies were gently dealt
with. Allowances were ruade for civilian frail-
ries and shortcomings. But as they adapted
themselves to changed conditions, restricfions
became increasingly severe. Old privileges dis-
appeared one by one. Individual liberty be-
came a thing of the past. The men resented
this bitterly for a rime. Fierce hatreds of oflïcers
and N.C.O.s were engendered and there was
much talk of revenge when we should get to
the front. I used to look forward with misgiv-
ing to that day. It seemed probable that one
night in the trenches would suffice for a whole-
sale slaughtering of oftïcers. Old scores were
to be paid off, old grudges wiped out with out
first issue of ball ammunition. Many a fist-
banged board at the wet canteen gave proof of
Tommy's earnestness.
"Shoot 'ira ?" he would say, rattling the beer
glasses the whole length of the table with a
mighty blow of his fist. "Blimy! Wite! That's
33

Kitchener's Mob
all you got to do! Just wite till we get on the
other side!"
But all these threats were forgotten months
before the rime came for carrying them out.
Once Tommy understood the reasonableness of
severe discipline, he took his punishment for
his offenses without complaint. He realized,
too, the futility of kicking against the pricks.
In the army he belonged to the Government
body and soul. I-le might resent its treatment
of him. I-le might behave like a sulky school-
boy, disobey order after order, and break rule
after rule. In that case he round himself check-
mated at every turn. Punishment became more
and more severe. No one was at all concerned
about his grievances. He might become an
habitual offender from sheer stupidity, but in
doing so, he injured no one but himself.
A few of these incorrigibles were discharged
in disgrace. A few followed the lead of the
]oer warrior. After man- threats which we
despaired of his ever carrying out, he finally
"greased off." He was immediately posted as
a deserter, but to our great joy was never
captured. With the dîsappearance of the mal-
34

The Mob in Training
contents and incorrlgibles the battalion soon
reached a high grade of efficiency. The phys-
ical incompetents were likewise ruthlessly
weeded out. All of us had passed a fairly
thorough examination at the recruiting offices;
but many had physical defects which were dis-
covered only by the test of actual training. In
the early days of the war, requirements were
much more severe than later, when England
learned how great would be the need for men.
Many, who later reënlisted in other regiments,
were discharged as "physically unfit for further
military service."
If the standard of conduct in my battalion
îs any criterion, then I can say truthfully that
there is very little crime in Lord Kitchener's
armies either in England or abroad. The
"jankers" or defaulters' squad was always
rather large; but the "jankers men" were
offenders against minor points in discipline.
Their crimes were untidy appearance on pa-
rade, inattention in the ranks, tardiness at roll-
call, and others of the sort, all within the juris-
diction of a company officer. The punishment
meted out varied according to the seriousness

Kitchener's Mob

of the offense, and the past-conduct record of
the offender. It usually consisted of from one to
ten days, "C.B." -- confined to barracks. Dur-
ing the period of his sentence the offender was
forbidden to leave camp after the parades for
the day were ended. And in order that he
might have no opportunity to do so, he was
compelled to answer his name at the guard-
room whenever it should be sounded.
Only twice in England did we have a general
court-martial, the offense in each case being
assault by a private upon an N.C.O., and the
penalty awarded, three months in the military
prison at Aldershot. Tommy was quiet and
law-abiding in England, his chier lapses being
due to an exaggerated estimate of his capacity
for beer. In France, his conduct, in so far as my
observation goes, has been splendid throughout.
During six months in the trenches I saw but two
instances of drunkenness. Although I witnessed
nearly everything which took place in my
own battalion, and heard the general gossip of
many others, never did I see or hear of a voman
treated otherwise than courteously. Neither did
I see or hear of any instances of looting or
3 6

The Mob in Training
petty pilfering from the civilian inhabitants.
It is true that the men had fewer opportunities
for misconduct, and they were fighting in a
friendly country. F.ven so, active service as we
round it was by no means free from tempta-
tions. The admirable restraint of most of the
men in the face of them was a fine thing to see.
Frequent changes were made in methods of
training in F.ngland, to correspond with chang-
ing conditions of modern warfare as exemplified
in the trenches. Textbooks on military tactics
and strategy, which were the inspired gospel of
the last generation of soldiers, became obso-
lete overnight. Experience gained in Indian
Muliny wars or on the veldt in South Africa
was of little value in the trenches in Flanders.
The emphasis shifted from open fighting to
trench warfare, and the textbook which our
officers studied was a typewritten serial issued
semiweekly by the War Office, and which was
based on the dearly bought experience of officers
at the front.
We spent many a starry night on the hills
above Folkestone digging trenches and building
dug-outs according to General Staff instruc-
37

Kitchener's Mob

tions, and many a rainy one we came home,
covered wlth mud, but happy in the thought
that we were approximating, as nearIy as could
be, the experience of the boys at the front.
Bomb-throwing squads were formed, and the
best shots in the battalion, the men who had
ruade marksmen's scores on the rifle ranges,
were given daily instruction in the important
business of sniping. More generous provision
for the training of machine-gun teams was
made, but so great was the lack in England of
these important weapons, that for many weeks
we drilled with wooden substitutes, gaining
such knowledge of machine gunnery as we
could from the study of our M.G. manuals.
These new duties, coming as an addition to
our other work, meant an increased period of
training. We were impatient to be at the
front, but we realized by this rime that Lord
Kitchener was serious in his demand that the
men of the new armies be efficiently trained.
Therefore we worked with a will, and at last,
after nine months of monotonous toil, the order
came. We were to proceed on active service.

CHAPTER IV

OIDEtoED ABROAD
ON- Sunday morning in May we assembled
on the barrack square at Aldershot for the last
rime. Every man was in full marching order.
His rifle was the "Short Lee Enfield, Mark IV,"
his bayonet, the long single-edged blade in gen-
eral use throughout the British Army. In addi-
tion to his arms he carried I2O rounds of ".3o 3"
caliber ammunition, an intrenchlng-tool, water-
bottle, haversack, containing both emergency
and the day's rations, and his pack, strapped
to shoulders and waist in such a way that the
weight of it was equally distributed. His pack
contained the following articles: A greatcoat,
a woolen shirt, two or three pairs of socks, a
change of underclothing, a "housewife," -- the
soldiers' sewing-kit, -- a towel, a cake of soap,
and a "hold-all," in which were a knife, fork,
spoon, razor, shaving-brush, toothbrush, and
comb. AI1 of these were useful and sometimes
essential articles, partieularly the toothbrush,
39

Kitchener's Mob

which Tommy regarded as the best little instru-
ment for cleaning the mechanism of a rifle ever
invented. Strapped on top of the pack was the
blanket roll wrapped in a waterproof ground
sheet; and hanging beneath it, the canteen in
its khaki-cloth cover. Each man wore an iden-
tification disk on a cord about his neck. It was
stamped with his naine, regimental number,
regiment, and religion. A first-aid field dressing,
consisting of an antiseptic gauze pad and band-
age and a small vial of iodine, sewn in the lining
of his tunic, completed the equipment.
Physically, the men were "in the pink," as
Tommy says. They were clear-eyed, vigorous,
alert, and as hard as nails. With their caps on,
they looked the well-trained soldiers which they
were; but with caps removed, they resembled so
many uniformed convicts less the prison pallor.
"Oversea haircuts" Were the last tonsorial cry,
and for several days previous to our departure,
the army hairdressers had been busily wielding
the close-cutting clippers.
Each of us had received a copy of Lord
Kitchener's letter to the troops ordered abroad,
a brief, soldierlike statement of the standard

Ordered Abroad
of conduct which England expected of
fighting men: --

lier

You are ordered abroad as a soldier of the
King to help our French comrades against the
invasion of a common enemy. You have to per-
form a task which will need your courage, your
energy, your patience. Remember that the
honor of the British Army depends upon your
individual conduct. It will be your duty not
only to set an example of discipline and perfect
steadiness under tire, but also to maintain the
most friendly relations with those whom you
are helping in this struggle. The operations in
which you are engaged will, for the most part,
take place in a friendly country, and you can do
your own country no better service than in
showing yourself, in France and Belgium, in
the true character of a British soldier.
Be invariably courteous, considerate, and
kind. Never do anything likely to injure or
destroy property, and always look upon looting
as a disgraceful act. You are sure to meet with
a welcome and to be trusted; and your conduct
must justify that welcome and that trust. Your
41

Kitchener's Mob

duty cannot be done unless your health is sound.
So keep constantly on your guard against any
excesses. In this new experience you may find
temptafions both in wine and women. You
must enfirely resist both temptations, and
while treating all women with perfect courtesy,
you should avoid any intimacy.
Do your duty bravely.
Fear God.
Honor the King.
KITCHENER,
Field-Marshal.

It was an effective appeal and a constant re-
minder to the men of the glorious traditions of
the British Army. In the months that followed,
I had opportunity to learn how deep and last-
ing was the impression ruade upon them by
Lord Kitchener's first, and I believe h]s only,
letter to his soldiers.
The machinery for mov]ng troops in England
works without the slightest friction. The men,
transport, horses, commissariat, medical stores,
and supplies of a battalion are entrained in less
than half an hour. Everything is timed to the
4z

Ordered Abroad

minute. Battalion after battalion and train
after train, we moved out of Aldershot at half-
hour intervals. Each train arrived at the port
of embarkation on schedule rime and pulled up
on the docks by the side of a troop transport,
great slate-colored liners taken out of the mer-
chant service. Not a moment was lost. The
last man was aboard and the last wagon on the
crane swinging up over the ship's side as the
next train came in.
Ship by ship we moved down the harbor in
the twilight, the boys crowding the rail on both
sides, taking their farewell look at England-
home. It was the last farewell for many of them,
but there was no martial music, no waving of
flags, no tearful good-byes. Our farewell was as
prosaic as our long period of training had been.
We were each one a very small part of a tre-
mendous business organization which works
without any of the display considered so essen-
tial in the old days.
We left England without a cheer. There was
hot so much as a wave of the hand from the
wharf; for there was no one on the wharf to
wave, with the exception of a few dock laborers,
43

Kitchener's Mob

and they had seen too many soldiers off to
the front to be sentimental about it. It was a
tense moment for the men, but trust Tommy
to relieve a tense situation. As we steamed
away from the landing slip, we passed a barge,
loaded to the water's edge with coal. Tommy
bas a song pat to every occasion. He enjoys,
above all things, giving a ludicrous twist to a
"weepy" ballad. When we were within hailing
distance of the coal barge, he began singing one
of this variety, "Keep the Home Fires Burn-
ing," to those smutty-faced barge hands. Every
one joined in heartily, forgetting all about the
solemnity of the leave-taking.
Tommy is a prosaic chap. This was never
more apparent to me than upon that pleasant
evening in May when we said good-bye to Eng-
land. The lights of home were twinkling their
farewells far in the distance. Every moment
brought us nearer to the great adventure. We
were "off to the wars," to take our places in the
far-flung battle line. Here was Romance lav-
ishly offering gifts dearest to the hearts of
Youth, offering them to clerks, barbers, trades-
rnen, drapers' assistants, men who had never
44

Ordered Abroad

known an adventure more thrilling than a holl-
day excursion to the Isle of Man or a week of
cycling in Kent. And they accepted them with
all the stolidity native to Englishmen. The
eyes of the world were upon them. They had
become the knights-errant of every schoolgirl.
They were figures of heroic proportions to every
one but themselves.
French soldiers are conscious of the roman-
tic possibilities offered them by the so-called
"divine accident of war." They go forth to
fight for Glorious France, France the Uncon-
querable! Tommy shoulders his rifle and de-
parts for the four corners of the world on a
"bloomin' fine little 'oliday!" A railway jour-
ney and a sea voyage in one! "Blimy! Not
'arf bad, wot?" Perhaps he is stirred at the
thought of fighting for "England, Home, and
Beauty." Perhaps he does thrill inwardly, re-
membering a sweetheart left behind. But he
keeps it jolly well to himself. He has read me
many of his letters home, some of them written
during an engagement which will figure promi-
nently in the history of the great World War.
"Well, I can't think of anything more now,"
45

Kitchener's Mob

threads its way through a meager page of com-
monplaces about the weather, his food, and his
personal health. A frugal line of cross-marks for
kisses, at the bottom of the page, îs his only
concession to sentiment.
There was, however, one burst of enthusiasm,
as we started on our journey, which struck me
as being spontaneous, and splendid, and thor-
oughly English. Outside the harbor we were
met by our guardians, a fleet of destroyers
which was to give us sale convoy across the
Channel. The moment they saw them the men
broke forth into prolonged cheering, and there
were glad shouts of--
"There they are, me lads! There's some o'

the little old watch
bottled up !"
"Good old navy!
by the throat I"

dogs wot's keepin' 'em

That's w'ere we got 'em

"Let's give 'em 'Sons of the SeaI'"
And they did. They sang with a splrit of
exaltation which Englishmen rarely betray,
and which convinced me how nearly the sea
and England's position as Mistress of the Seas
touch the Englishman's heart of hearts.
46

Ordered Abroad

"Sons of the sea,
Ail British born,
Sailing the ocean,
Laughing foes to scorn.
They may build their ships, my lads,
_And thlnk they know the gaine;
But they can't beat the boys of the bulldog
breed
Who ruade old England's naine!"

It was a confession of faith. On the sea
England can't be beaten. Tommy believes that
with his whole soul, and on this occasion he
sang with all the warmth of religious convictiom
Our Channel voyage was uneventful. Each
transport was guarded by two destroyers, one
on elther side, the three vessels keeping abreast
and about fifty yards apart during the entire
journey. The submarine menace was then at
its height, and we were prepared for an emer-
gency. The boats were swung ready for imme-
diate launching, and all of the men were pro-
vided with life-preservers. But England had
been transporting troops and supplies to the
firing-line for so many months without accident
that none of us were at all concerned about the
possibility of danger. Furthermore, the men
47

Kitchener's Mob
were too busy studying "Tommy Atkins's
French Manual" to think about submarines.
They were putting the final polish on their
accent in preparation for to-morrow's landing.
"Alf, 'ow's this: 'Madamaselly, avay vu dee
pang ?'"
"Wot do you s'y for 'Gimme a tuppenny
packet o' Nosegay' ?"
"'Bon]oor, Monseer!' That ain't so dusty,
Freddie, wot ?"
"Let's try that Marcelase again. You start
it, 'Arry."
"Let Nobby. 'E knows the sounds better'n
wot I do."
"'It 'er up, Nobby! We gotta learn that so
we can sing it on the march."
"Wite till I find it in me book. All right
now --
Allons infants dee la Pat-ree,"
La joor de glory is arrivay."
Such bits of conversation may be of little
interest, but they have the merit of being gen-
uine. All of them were jotted down in my note-
book at the rimes when I heard them.
The following day we crowded into the typi-
48

Ordered Abroad

cal .French army troop train, elght chevaux or
forty hommes to a car, and started on a leisurely
joumey to the firing-line. We traveled all day,
at eight or ten toiles an hour, through Nor-
mandy. We passed through pleasant towns
and villages lying silent in the afternoon sun-
shine, and seemingly almost deserted, and
through the open country fragrant with the
scent of apple blossoms. Now and then chil-
dren waved to us from a cottage window, and
în the fields old men and women and girls
leaned silently on their hoes or their rakes and
watched us pass. Occasionally an old reservist,
guarding the railway line, would lift his cap and
shout, "Vive l'Angleterre!" But more often he
would lean on his rifle and stalle, nodding his
head courteously but silently to our saluta-
tions. Tommy, for all his stolid, dogged cheeri-
ness, sensed the tragedy of France. It was a
land swept bare of all its fine young manhood.
There was no pleasant stir and bustle of civilian
lire. Those who were left went about their work
silently and joylessly. When we asked of the
men, we received, always, the same quiet, cour-
teous reply: "À la guerre, monsieur."
49

Kitchener's Mob

The boys soon learned the meaning of the
phrase, "à la guerre." It became a war-cry, a
slogan. It was shouted back and forth from car
to car and from train to train. You can imag-
ine how eager we all were; how we strained out
ears, whenever the train stopped, for the sound
of the guns. But not until the following morn-
ing, when we reached the little village at the
end of out railway journey, did we hear them,
a low muttering like the sound of thunder be-
yond the horizon. How we cheered at the first
faint sound which was to become so deafening,
so terrible to us later! It was music to us then;
for we were like the others who had gone that
way. We knew nothing of war. We thought
it must be something adventurous and fine.
Something to make the blood leap and the
heart sing. We marched through the village
and down the poplar-lined road, surprised,
almost disappointed, to see the neat, well-kept
bouses, and the pleasant, level fields, green with
spring crops. Ve had expected that everything
would be in ruins. At this stage of the journey,
however, we were still some twenty-five toiles
from the firing-line.

Ordered Abroad

During all the journey from the coast, we
had seen, on every side, evidences of that won-
derfully organized branch of the British mili-
tary system, the Army Service Corps. From
the village at which we detrained, everything
was English. Long lines of motor transport
lorries were parked along the sides of the roads.
There were great ammunition bases, commis-
sariat supply depots, motor repair shops, wheel-
wright and blacksmith shops, where one saw
none but khaki-clad soldiers engaged in all the
noncombatant business essential to the main-
tenance of large armies. There were long lines
of transport wagons loaded with supplies, trav-
eling field-kitchens, with chimneys smoking
and kettles steaming as they bumped over the
cobbled roads, water carts, Red Cross carts,
motor ambulances, batteries of arfillery, Lon-
don omnibuses, painted slate gray, filled with
troops, seemingly endless columns of infantry
on foot, all moving with us, along parallel roads,
toward the firing-line. And most of these
troops and supply columns belonged to my own
division, one small cog in the British fighting
machine.

51

Kitchener's Mob

We advanced toward the war zone in easy
stages. It was întensely hot, and the rough,
cobbled roads greatly încreased the diflïculty of
marchîng. In England we had frequently
tramped from fifteen to twenty-five mlles in a
day without fatigue. But the roads there were
excellent, and the cllmate moist and cool.
Upon our first day's march in France, a journey
of only nine mlles, scores of men were overcome
by the heat, and several died. The suffering of
the men was so great, in fact, that a halt was
ruade earlier than had been planned, and we
bivouacked for the night in the fields.
Life with a battalion on the march proceeds
with the same orderly routine as when in bar-
racks. Every man has hîs own particular em-
ployment. Within a few moments, the level
pasture land was converted into a busy com-
munity of a thousand inhabitants. We ruade
serviceable little dwellings by lacing together
two or three waterproof ground-sheets and
erecting them on sticks or tying them to the
wires of the fences. Latrines and refuse pits
were dug under the supervision of the battalion
medical ofiïcer. The sick were cared for and

Ordered Abroad

justice dispensed with the same thoroughness
as in England. The day's offenders against
discipline »vere punished with what seemed to
us unusual severity. But we were now on
active service, and offenses which were trivial
in England were looked upon, for this reason,
in the light of serious crimes.
Daily we approached a little nearer to out
goal, sleeping, at night, in the open fields or in
the lofts of great rambling farm-buildings. Most
of these places had been used for soldiers' bil-
lets scores of rimes before. The walls were
covered with the names of men and regiments,
and there were many penciled suggestions as
to the best place to go for a basin of "coffay oh
lay," as Tommy called it. Every roadside cot-
tage was, in fact, Tommy's tavern. The thrifty
French peasant women kept open house for
soldiers. They served us with delicious coffee
and thick slices of French bread, for the very
reasonable sure of twopence. They were always
friendly and hospitable, and the men, in turn,
treated them with courteous and kindly respect.
Tommy was a great favorite with the French
children. They climbed on his lap and rifled his
53

Kitchener's Mob

pockets; and they delighted him by talking in
his own vernacular, for they were quick to pick
up English words and phrases. They sang
"Tipperary" and "Rule Britannia," and "God
Save the King," so quaintly and prettily that
the men kept them at it for hours at a time.
And so, during a week of stifling heat, we
moved slowly forward. The sound of the guns
grew in intensity, from a faint rumbling to a
subdued roar, until one evening, sitting in the
open windows of a stable loft, we saw the far-
off lightenings of bursting shells, and the trench
rockets soaring skyward; and we heard bursts
of rifle and machine-gun tire, very faintly, like
the sound of chestnuts popping in an oven.

CHAPTER V
THtg PARAPET-ETIC SCHOOL
"WE'RE going in to-night."
The word was given out by the orderly ser-
geants at four in the afternoon. At 4.03 every
one in camp had heard the news. Scores of
miniature hand laundries, which were doing a
thriving business down by the duck pond, im-
mediately shut up shop. Damp and doubtfully
clean ration bags, towels, and shirts which were
draped along the fences, were hastily gathered
together and thrust into the capacious depths
of pack-sacks. Members of the battalion's sport-
ing contingent broke up their games of tup-
penny brag without waiting for "just one more
hand," an unprecedented thing. The makers of
war ballads, who were shouting choruses to the
merry music of the mouth-organ band, stopped
in the midst of their latest composition, and
rushed off to get their marching order together.
At 4.Io every one, with the exception of the
officers' servants, was ready to more off. This,
too, was unprecedented. Never before had we
55

Kitchener's Mob

made haste more gladly or less needfully, but
never before had there been such an incentive
to haste. We were going into the trenches for
the first rime.
The oftîcers' servants, commonly called "bat-
men," were unfortunate rankers who, in mo-
ments of weakness, had sold themselves into
slavery for hall a crown per week. The bat-
man's duty is to make tea for hls officer, clean
his boots, wash his clothes, tuck him into bed
at night, and make himself useful generally.
The real test of a good batman, however, is his
carrying capacity. In addition to his own heavy
burden he must carry various articles belonging
to his oftîcer: enameled wash-basins, rubber
boots, bottles of )kpollinaris water, service edi-
tions of the modern English poets and novelists,
spirit lamps, packages of food, boxes of cigars
and cigarettes,- in fact, all of his personal
luggage which is in excess of the allotted thirty-
rive pounds which is carried on the battalion
transport wagons.
On this epoch-marklng day, even the oflîcers'
servants vere punctual. When the order,
"Packs on! Fall in!" was given, not a man was
56

The Parapet-etic 8chool
missing. Every one was in harness, standing
silently, expectantly, in his place.
"Charge magazines !"
The bolts clicked open with the sound of one
as we loaded our rifles with ball ammunition.
Five long shiny cartridges were slipped down
the charger guide into the magazine, and the
cut-off closed.
"More off in column of route, 'A' company
leading!"
We swung into the country road in the gather-
îng twilight, and turned sharply to our left at
the crossroad where the signboard read, "To
the Firing-Line. For the Use of the Military
Only."
Coming into the trenches for the first rime
when the deadlock along the western front had
become seemingly unbreakable, we reaped the
benefit of the experience of the gallant little
remnant of the first British Expeditionary
Force. After the retreat from Mons, they had
dug themselves in and were holding tenaciously
on, awaiting the long-heralded arrival of
Kitchener's Mob. As the units of the new
armies arrived in France, they were sent into
57

Kitchener's Mob

the trenches for twenty-four hours' instruction
in trench warfare, with a battalion of regulars.
This one-day course in trench fighting is pre-
liminary to fitting new troops into their own
particular sectors along the front. The face-
tious subalterns called it "The Parapet-etic
School." Months later, we ourselves became
members of the faculty, but on this first occa-
sion we were marching up as the meekest of
undergraduates.
It was quite dark when we entered the deso-
late belt of country known as the "tire zone."
Pipes and cigarettes were put out and talking
ceased. We extended to groups of platoons in
fours, at one hundred paces interval, each
platoon keeping in touch with the one in front
by means of connecting files. We passed rows
of ruined cottages where only the scent of the
roses in neglected little front gardens reminded
one of the home-loving people who had lived
there in happier days. Dim lights streamed
through chinks and crannies in the walls. Now
and then blanket coverings would be lifted from
apertures that had been windows or doors, and
we would see bright rires blazing in the middle
58

The Parapet-etic 8chool

of brick kitchen floors, and groups of men sit-
ting about them luxuriously sipping tea from
steaming canteens. They were laughing and
talking and singing songs in loud, boisterous
voices which contrasted strangely with our
timid noiselessness. I was marching with one
of the trench guides who had been sent back
to pilot us to our position. I asked him if the
Tommies in the houses were not in danger of
being heard by the enemy. He laughed up-
roariously at this, whereupon one of our officers,
a little second lieutenant, turned and hissed in
melodramatic undertones, "Silence in the ranks
there ! Where do you think you are !" Officers
and men, we were new to the game then, and
we held rather exaggerated notions as to the
amount of care to be observed in moving up to
the trenches.
"Blimy, son!" whispered the trench guide,
"you might think we was only a couple o'
'unnerd yards away from Fritzie's trenches!
We're a good two an' a 'arf mlles back 'ere.
All right to be careful arter you gets closer up;
but they's no use w'isperin' w'en you ain't even
in rifle range."
59

Kitchener's Mob

Wîth lights, of course, it was a different mat-
ter altogether. Can't be too careful about giv-
îng the enemy artillery an aîming mark. This
was the reason ail the doors and windows of the
ruined cottages were so carefully blanketed.
"Let old Fritzie see a light,--' 'Ello!' 'e says,
'blokes in billets!' an' over cornes a 'arf-dozen
shells knockin' you all to blazes."
As we came within the range of rifle tire, we
again changed our formation, and marched in
single file along the edge of the road. The sharp
crack! crack! of small arms now sounded with
vicious and ominous distinctness. We heard
the melancholy song of the ricochets and spent
bullets as they whirled in a wide arc, high over
our heads, and occasionally the less pleasîng
phtt! phtt! of those speeding straight from the
muzzle of a German rifle. We breathed more
freely when we entered the communication
trench in the center of a little thicket, a mlle or
more back of the first-line trenches.
We wound in and out of what appeared in the
darkness to be a hopeless labyrinth of earth-
works. Cross-streets and alleys led off in every
direction. Ail along the way we had glimpses
60

The Parapet-etic School
of dugouts llghted by candles, the doorways
carefully concealed with blankets or pieces of
old sacking. Groups of Tommies, in comfort-
able nooks and corners, were boiling tea or fry-
ing bacon over little stores ruade of old iron
buckets or biscuit tins.
I marveled at the skill of our trench guide
who went confidently on in the darkness, with
scarcely a pause. At length, after a wlnding,
zigzag journey, we arrlved at our trench where
we met the Gloucesters.
There is n't one of.us who has n't a warm
spot in his heart for the Gloucesters: they wel-
comed us so heartily and initiated us into all
the mysteries of trench etiquette and trench
tradition. We were, at best, but amateur Tom-
mies. In them I recognized the lineal descend-
ants of the line Atkins; men whose grandfathers
had fought in the Crimea, and whose fathers in
Indian mutinies. They were the fighting sons
of fighting sires, and they taught us more of
lire in the trenches, in twenty-four hours, than
we had learned during nine months of training
in England. An infantryman of my company
has a very kindly feeling toward one of them
6

Kitchener's Mob

who probably saved his lire before we had been
in the trenches rive minutes. Our first question
was, of course, "How far is it to the German
lines ?" and in his eagerness to see, my fellow
Tommy jumped up on the firlng-bench for a
look, with a lighted cigarette in his mouth. He
was pulled down into the trench just as a rifle
cracked and a bullet went zing-g-g from the
parapet precisely where he had been stand-
ing. Then the Gloucester gave him a friendly
little lecture which none of us afterward for-
got.
"Now, look 'ere, son! Never get up for a
squint at Fritz with a fag on! 'E's got every
sandbag along this parapet numbered, same as
we've got 'is. 'Is snipers is a-layin' fer us saine
as ours is a-layin' fer 'ira." Then, turning to
the rest of us, "Now, we ain't arskin' to 'are
no burial parties. But if any of you blokes
wants to be the stiff, stand up w'ere this guy
lit the gas."
There were n't any takers, and a moment
later another bullet struck a sandbag in the
same spot.
"See? 'E spotted you. 'E'll keep a-pottin'
6z

The Parapet-etic 8chool

away at that place for an hour, 'opin' to catch
you lookin' over again. Less see if we can find
'ira. Give us that biscuit tin, 'Enery."
Then we learned the biscuit-tin-finder trick
for locating snipers. It's only approximate,
of course, but it gives a pretty good hint at the
direction from which the shots corne. It does n't
work in the daytime, for a sniper is too clever
to tire at it. But a biscuit tin, set on the parapet
at night in a badly sniped posïtion, is almost
certain to be hit. The angle from which the
shots corne is shown by the j agged edges of tin
around the bullet holes. Then, as the Gloucester
said, "Give 'ira a nice little April shower out o'
yer machine gun in that direction. You may
fetch 'ira. But if you don't, 'e won't bother you
no more fer an hour or two."
We learned how orders are passed down the
line, from sentry to sentry, quietly, and with
the speed of a man running. We learned how
the sentries are posted and their duties. Ve
saw the intricate mazes of telephone wires, and
the men of the signaling corps at their posts in
the trenches, in communication with brigade,
divisional, and army corps headquarters. We
63

Kitchener's Mob

learned how to "sleep" rive men in a four-by-
sLx dugout; and, when there are no dugouts,
how to hunch up on the firing-benches with our
waterproof sheets over our heads, and doze,
with our knees for a pillow. We learned the
order of precedence for troops in the communi-
cation trenches.
"Never forget that! Outgoin' troops 'as the
right o' way. They ain't 'ad no rest, an' they're
ail slathered in mud, likely, an' dead beat fer
sleep. Incomin' troops is fresh, an' they stands
to one side to let the others pass."
We saw the listening patrols go out at nlght,
through the underground passage which leads
to the far side of the barbed-wire entangle-
ments. From there they creep far out between
the opposing lines of trenches, to keep watch
upon the movements of the enemy, and to
report the presence of his working parties or
patrols. This is dangerous, nerve-trying work,
for the men sent out upon it are exposed hot
only to the shots of the enemy, but to the wild
shots of their own comrades as well. I saw one
patrol corne in just before dawn. One of the
men brought with him a piece of barbed wire,
64

The Parapet-etic 8chool
clipped from the German entanglements two
hundred and fifty yards away.
"Taffy, 'ave a look at this 'ere. Three-ply
stuff wot you can 'ardly get yer nippers through.
'Ad to saw an' saw, an' w'en I all but 'ad it,
lummy! if they did n't senti up a rocker wot
bleedin' near 'it me in the 'ead!"
"Tyke it to Captain Stevens. I 'eard 'im s'y
'e's wantin' a bit to show to one of the artill'ry
blokes. 'E's got a ber on with 'im that it's
three-ply wire. Now, don't forget, t3obby!
Touch 'ira fer a couple o' packets o' fags!"
I was tremendously interested. At that time
it seemed incredible to me that men crawled
over to the German lines in this manner and
clipped pieces of German wire for souvenirs.
"Did you hear anything?" I asked him.
"'Eard a flute some Fritzie was a-playin' of.
An' you ought to 'ave 'eard 'em a-singin'!
Doleful as 'ell !"
Several men vere killed and wounded durlng
the night. One of them was a sentry with whom
I had been talking only a few moments before.
He was standing on the firing-bench looking out
into the darkness, when he fell back into the
65

Kitchener's Mob

trench without a cry. It was a terrible wound.
I would not have believed that a bullet could
so horribly disfigure one. He was given first
aid by the light of a candle; but it was useless.
Silently his comrades removed his identifica-
tion disk and wrapped him in a blanket. "Poor
old Walt!" they said. An hour later he was
buried in a shell hole at the back of the trench.
One thing we learned during our first night
in the trenches was of the very first importance.
And that was, respect for our enemies. We
came from England fui1 of absurd newspaper
tales about the German soldier's inferiority as
a fighting man. We had read that he was a
wretched marksman: he would hot stand up to
the bayonet: whenever opportunity offered he
crept over and gave himself up: he was poorly
fed and clothed and was so weary of the war
that his officers had to drive him to fight, at the
muzzles of their revolvers. We thought him
almost beneath contempt. We were convinced
in a nîght that we had greatly underestimated
his abilities as a marksman. As for his ail-round
inferiority as a fightîng man, one of the
Gloucesters put it rather well:--

The Parapet-etic 8chool

"'Ere[ If the Germans is so bloomin' rotten,
'ow is it we ain't a-fighrin' 'em sommers along
the Rhine, or in Austry-Hungry? No, they
ain't a-firin' wild, I give you my word! Not
around this part o' France they ain't! Wot do
you s'y, Jerry?"
Jerry made a most illuminating contribution
to the discussion of Fritz as a fighring man:--
"I'll tell you wot! If ever I gets through this
'ere war; if I'as the luck to go 'ome again, with
me eyesight, l'll never feel syfe w'en I sees a
Fritzie, unless I'm a-lookin' at 'im through me
periscope from be'ind a bit o' cover."

How am I to give a really vivid picture of
trench lire as I saw it for the first rime, how
make it live for others, when I remember that
the many descriptive accounts I had read of it
in England did not in the least visualize it for
me? I watched the rockets rising from the
German lines, watched them burst into points
of light, over the devastated strip of country
called "No-Man's-Land" and drift slowly
down. And I watched the charitable shadows
rush back like the very wind of darkness. The
67

Kitchener's Mob

desolate landscape emerged from the gloom
and receded again, like a series of pictures
thrown upon a screen. Ail of this was so new,
so terrible, I doubted its reality. Indeed, I
doubted my own identity, as one does at rimes
when brought face to face with some experiences
which cannot becomparedwith past experiences
or even measured by them. I groped darkly,
for some new truth which was flîckering just
beyond the border of consciousness. But I was
so blinded by the glamour of the adventure that
it did not corne to me then. Later I understood.
It was my first glimmering realization of the
tremendous sadness, the awful futilit¥ of war.

CHAPTER VI

PRIVATE HOLLOWAY, PROFESSOR OF HYGIENE
THE follo»ving morning we wandered through
the trenches listening to the learned discourse
of the genial professors of the Parapet-etic
School, storing up much useful information
for future reference. I ruade a serious blunder
when I asked one of them a question about
Ypres, for I pronounced the naine French
fashion, which put me under suspicion as a
"swanker."
"Don't try to corne it, son," he said. "S'y
'Wipers.' That's wot we calls it."
Henceforth it was "Wipers" for me, although
I learned that "Eeps" and "Yipps" are sanc-
tioned by some trench authorities. I ruade no
further mistakes of this nature, and by keep-
ing silent about the names of the towns and
villages along out front, I soon learned the ac-
cepted pronunciation of all of them. Armen-
tières is caIIed "Armenteers"; Balleul, "BaIly-
all"; Hazebrouck, "Hazy-Brook"; and what
69

Kitchener's Mob

more natural than «Plug-Street," Atkinsese
for Ploegsteert ?
As was the case wherever I went, my accent
betrayed my American birth; and again, as an
American Expeditionary Force of one, I was
shown many favors. Private Shorty Holloway,
upon learning that I was a "Yank," offered to
tell me "every bloomin' thing about the
trenches that a bloke needs to know." I was
only too glad to place myself under his in-
struction.
"Right you are!" aaid Shorty; "now, sit
down 'ere w'ile I'm goin' over me shirt, an'
arsk me anything yer a mind to." I began im-
mediately by asking him what he meant by
"going over" his shirt.
"Blimy! You are new to this game, mate!
You mean to s'y you ain't got any graybacks !"
I confessed shamefacedly that I had not. He
stripped to the waist, turned his shirt wrong
side out, and laid it upon his knee.
"'Ave
 a look," he said proudly.
The less said about my discoveries the better
for the fastidiously minded. Suffice it to say
that I ruade my first acquaintance with mem-
70

Private Holloway

bers of a British Expeditionary Force which is
not mentioned in official communiqués.
"Trench pets," said Shorty. Then he told
me that they were not all graybacks. There is
a great variety of species, but they all belong to
the same parasitical family, and wage a non-dis-
criminating warfare upon the soldiery on both
sides of No-man's-Land. Germans, British,
French, Belgians alike were their victims.
"You'll soon 'ave plenty," he said reassur-
ingly; "I give you about a week to get covered
with 'em. Now, wot you want to do is this:
always 'are an extra shirt in yer pack. Don't
be a bloomin' ass an' sell it fer a packet o' fags
like I did! An' the next time you writes to Eng-
land, get some one to send you out some Keat-
ings"m he displayed a box of grayish-colored
powder. "It won't kill 'em, mind you! They
ain't nothin' but tire that'II kill 'em. But
Keatings tykes ail the ginger out o' 'em. They
ain't near so lively arter you strafe 'em with
this 'ere powder."
I remembered Shorty's advice later when I
became a reluctant host to a proIific colony of
graybacks. For nearly six months I was never
71

Kitchener's Mob

without a box of Keatings, and I was never
without the need for it.
Barbed wire had a new and terrible signifi-
cance for me from the first day which we spent
in the trenches. I could more readily under-
stand why there had been so long a deadlock on
the western front. The entanglements in front
of the first line of trenches were from fifteen to
twenty yards wide,, the wires being twisted
from post to post in such a hopeless jumble that
no man could possibly get through them under
tire. The posts were set firmly in the ground,
but there were movable segments, every fifty
or sixty yards, which could be put to one side
in c.ase an attack was to be launched against
the German lines.
At certain positions there were what ap-
peared to be openings through the wire, but
these were nothing less than man-traps which
have been round serviceable in case of an enemy
attack. In an assault men follow the line of
least resistance when they reach the barbed
wire. These apparent openings are V-shaped,
with the open end toward the enemy. The
attacking troops think they see a clear passage-
7z

Private Holloway
way. They rush into the trap, and when it is
filled with struggling men, machine guns are
turned upon them, and, as Shorty said, "You
got 'em cold."
That, at least, was the presumption. Prac-
tically, man-traps were hot always a success.
The intensive bombardments which precede in-
fantry attacks play havoc with entanglements,
but there is always a chance of the destruc-
tion being incomplete, as upon one occasion
farther north, where, Shorty told me, a man-
trap caught a whole platoon of Germans "dead
to rights."
"But this is wot gives you the pip," he said.
"'Ere we got three lines of trenches, all of 'em
wired up so that a rat could n't get through
without scratchin' hisself to death. Fritzie's
got better wire than wot we 'are, an' more of it.
An' 'e's got more machine guns, more artill'ry,
more shells. They ain't any little old man-
killer ever invented wot they 'are n't got more
of than we 'are. An' at 'orne they're a-s'yin',
'W'y don't they get on with it? W'y don't
they smash through?' Let some of 'em corne
out 'ere an' 'are a try! That's all I got to s'y."
73

Kitchener's Mob

I did n't tell Shorty that I had been, not ex-
actly an armchair critic, but at least a barrack-
room critic in England. I had wondered why
British and French troops had failed to smash
through. A few weeks in the trenches gave me
a new viewpoint. I could only wonder at the
magnificent fighting qualifies of soldiers who
had held their own so effectively against armies
equipped and armed and munitioned as the
Germans were.
After he had finished drugging his trench
pers, Shorty and I ruade a tour of the trenches.
I was much surprised at seeing how clean and
comfortable they can be kept in pleasant sure-
mer weather. Men were busily at work sweep-
ing up the walks, collecting the rubbish, which
was put into sandbags hung on pegs at intervals
along the tire trench. At night the refuse was
taken back of the trenches and buried. Most
of this work devolved upon the pioneers whose
business it was to keep the trenches sanitary.
The tire trench was built in much the saine
way as those which we had ruade during our
training in England. In pattern it was some-
thing like a tesselated border. For the space of
74

Private Holloway

rive yards it ran straight, then it tumed at right
angles around a traverse of solid earth six feet
square, then straight again for another rive
yards, then around another traverse, and so
throughout the length of the line. Each rive-
yard segment, which is called a "bay," offered
firing room for rive men. The traverses, of
course, were for the purpose of preventing en-
filade tire. They also limited the execution which
might be done by one shell. Even so they were
not an unmixed blessing, for they were always
in the way when you wanted to get anywhare
in a hurry.
"An' you are in a 'urry w'en you sees a Min-
nie [Minnenwerfer] comin' your w'y. But you
gets trench legs arter a w'ile. It'll be a funny
sight to see blokes walkin' along the street in
Lunnon w'en the war's over. They'll be so
used to dodgin' in an' out o' traverses they
won't be able to go in a straight line."
As we walked through the firing-line trenches,
I could quite understand the possibility of
one's acquiring trench legs. Five paces for-
ward, two to the right, two to the left, two to
the left again, then rive to the right, and so on
75

Kitchener's Mob

to Switzerland. Shorty was of the opinion that
one could enter the trenches on the Channel
coast and walk through to the Alps without
once coming out on top of the ground. I am
not in a position either to affirm or to question
this statement. My own experience was con-
fined to that part of the British front which lies
between Messines in Belgium and Loos in
France. There, certainly, one could walk for
mlles, through an intricate maze of continuous
underground passages.
But the firing-line trench was neither a traf-
tic route nor a promenade. The great bulk of
inter-trench business passed through the travel-
ing trench, about fifteen yards in rear of the
tire trench and running parallel to it. The two
were connected by many passageways, the chier
difference between them being that the tire
trench was the business district, while the trav-
eling trench was primarily residential. Along
the latter were built most of the dugouts,
lavatories, and trench kitchens. The sleeping
quarters for the men were not very elaborate.
Recesses were made in the wall of the trench
about two feet above the floor. They were not
76

Private Holloway
more than three feet high, so that one had to
crawl in head first when going to bed. They
were partitioned in the middle, and were sup-
posed to offer accommodation for four men,
two on each side. But, as Shorty said, every-
thing depended on the ration allowance. Two
men who had eaten to repletion could not
hope to occupy the saine apartment. One had
a choice of going to bed hungry or of eating
heartily and sleeping outside on the firing-
bench.
"'Ere's a funny thing," he said. "W'y do
you suppose they makes the dugouts open at
one end?"
I had no explanation to offer.
"Crawl inside an' I'll show you."
I stood my rifle against the side of the trench
and crept in. [
"Now, yer supposed to be asleep," said
Shorty, and with that he gave me a whack on
the soles of my boots with his entrenching tool
handle. I can still feel the pain of the blow.
"Stand to! Wyke up 'ere! Stand to!" he
shouted, and gave me another resounding wal-
lop.

Kitchener's Mob

I backed out in all haste.
"Get the idea? That's 'ow they wykes you
up at stand-to, or w'en your turn cornes fer
sentry. Not bad, wot?"
I said that it all depended on whether one
was doing the waking or the sleeping, and that,
for my part, when sleeping, I would lie with my
head out.
"You would n't if you belonged to our lot.
They'd give it to you on the napper just as
quick as 'it you on the feet. You ain't on to the
gaine, that's all. Let me show you suthin'."
He crept inside and drew his knees up to his
chest so that his feet were well out of reach.
At his suggestion I tried to use the active
service alarm dock on him, but there was hOt
room enough in which to wield it. My feet
were tingling from the effect of his blows, and I
felt that the reputation for resourcefulness of
Kitchener's Mob was at stake. In a moment
of inspiration I seized my rifle, gave him a dig
in the shins with the butt, and shouted, "Stand
to, Shorty!" He came out rubbing his leg rue-
fully.
"You got the idea, mate," he said. "That's
78

Private Holloway

just wot they does w'en you trles to double-
cross 'em by pullin' yer feet in. I ain't sure
w'ere I likes it best, on the shins or on the feet."
Thîs explanatlon of the reason for building
three-sided dugouts, while not, of course, the
true one, was none the less interesting. _And
certainly, the task of arousing sleeping men
for sentry duty was greatly facilitated with
rows of protruding boot soles "simply arskin'
to be 'it," as Shorty put it.
All of the dugouts for privates and N.C.O.s
were of equal size and built on the same model,
the reason being that the walls and floors,
which were made of wood, and the roofs, which
were of corrugated iron, were put together in
sections at the headquarters of the Royal En-
gineers, who superintended all the work of
trench construction. The material was brought
up at night ready to be fitted into excavatlons.
Furthermore, with thousands of men to bouse
within a very limîted area, space was a most
important consideration. There was no room
for indulging individual tastes in dugout archi-
tecture. The roofs were covered with from
three to four feet of earth, which made them
79

Kitchener's Mob

proof against shrapnel or shell splinters. In
case of a heavy bombardment with high ex-
plosives, the men took shelter in deep and nar-
row "slip trenches." These were blind alley-
ways leading off from the traveling trench, with
room for from ten to fifteen men in each. At
this part of the line there were none of the ver),
deep shell-proof shelters, from fifteen to twenty
feet below the surface of the ground, of which
I had read. Most of the men seemed to be glad
of this. They preferred taking their chances in
an open trench during heavy shell tire.
Realists and Romanticists lived side by side
in the traveling trench. "My Little Gray
Home in the West" was the modest legend over
one apartment. The "Ritz Carlton" was next
door to "The Rats' Retreat," with "Vermin
Villa" next door but one. "The Suicide Club"
was the suburban residence of some members of
the bombîng squad. I remarked that the bomb-
ers seemed to take rather a pessimistic view of
their profession, whereupon Shorty told me
that if there were any men slated for the Order
of the Wooden Cross, the bombers were those
unfortunate ones. In an assault they were first
80

Private Holloway
at the enemy's position. They had dangerous
work to do even on the quietest of days. But
theirs vas a post of honor, and no one of them
but was proud of his membership in the Suicide
Club.
The officers' quarters were on a much more
generous and elaborate scale than those of the
men. This I gathered from Shorty's description
of them, for I saw only the exteriors as we
passed along the trench. Those for platoon and
company commanders were built along the
traveling trench. The colonel, major, and adju-
tant lived in a luxurious palace, about fifty
yards down a communication trench. Near it
was the officers' mess, a café de luxe with glass
panels in the door, a cooking store, a long
vooden table, chairs, m everything, in fact,
but hot and cold running water.
"You know," said Shorty, "the officers
thinks they 'as to rough it, but they got it sort,
I'm tellin' you! Wooden bunks to sleep in,
barmen to bring 'em 'or water fer shavin' in the
mornin', all the fags they vants, m Blimy, I
vonder wot they calls livin' 'igh ?"
I agreed that in so far as living quarters are
81

Kitchener's Mob

concerned, they were roughing it under very
pleasant circumstances. However, they were
hot always so fortunate, as later experience
proved.. Here there had been little serious fight-
ing for months and the trenches were at their
best. Elsewhere the oflïcers' dugouts were often
but little better than those of the men.
The first-line trenches were connected with
two lines of support or reserve trenches built in
precisely the same fashion, and each heavily
wired. The communication trenches which
joined them were from seven to eight feet deep
and wide enough to permit the convenient pas-
sage of incoming and outgoing troops, and the
transport of the wounded back to the field
dressing stations. From the last reserve line
they wound on backward through the fields
until troops might leave them well out of range
of rifle tire. Under Shorty's guidance I saw the
field dresslng stations, the dugouts for the re-
serve ammunition supply and the stores of
bombs and hand grenades, battalion and bri-
gade trench headquarters. We wandered from
one part of the line to another through trenches,
ail of which were kept amazingly neat and clean.
8z

Private Holloway
The walls were stayed with fine-mesh wire to
hold the earth in place. The floors were cov-
ered with board walks carefully laid over the
drains, which ran along the center of the trench
and emptied into deep wells, built in recesses in
the walls. I felt very much encouraged when I
saw the careful provisions for sanitation and
drainage. On a fine June morning it seemed
probable that living in ditches was not to be
so unpleasant as I had imagined it. Shorty
listened to my comments with a smile.
"Don't pat yerself on the back yet a w'ile,
mate," he said. "They looks right enough now,
but wite till you've seen 'em arter a 'eavy
rain."
I had this opportunity many times during
the summer and autumn. A more wretched ex-
istence than that of soldiering in wet weather
could hardly be imagined. The Walls of the
trenches caved in in great masses. The drains
filled to overflowing, and the trench walks were
covered deep in mud. After a few hours of
rain, dry and comfortable trenches became a
quagmire, and we were kept busy for days after-
ward repairing the damage.
83

Kitchener's Mob

As a machine gunner I was partîcularly in-
terested in the construction of the machine-
gun emplacements. The covered battle posi-
tions were very solidly built. The roofs were
supported with immense logs or steel girders
covered over with many layers of sandbags.
There were two carefully concealed loopholes
looking out to a flank, but none for frontal tire,
as this dangerous little weapon best enjoys
catching troops in enfilade owing to the rapid-
ity and the narrow cone of its tire. Its own
front is protected by the guns on its right and
left. At each emplacement there was a range
chart giving the ranges to all parts of the ene-
my's trenches, and to every prominent object
both in front of and behind them, within its
field of tire. When not in use the gun was kept
mounted and ready for action in the battle
position.
"But remember this," said Shorty, "you
never rires from your battle position except in
case of attack. W'en you goes out at night to
'are a little go at Fritzie, you always tykes yer
gun sommers else. If you don't, you'll 'are
Minnie an' Busy Bertha an' ail the rest o' the
84

Private Holloway
Krupp childern comin' over to see w'ere you
live."
This was a wise precaution, as we were soon
to learn from experience. Machine guns are
objects of special interest to the artillery, and
the locality from which they are fired becomes
very unhealthy for some little time thereafter.
We stopped for a moment at "The Mud
Larks' Hairdressing Parlor," a very important
institution if one might judge by its patronage.
It was housed in a recess in the wall of the trav-
eling trench, and was open to the sky. There I
saw the latest fashion in "oversea" hair cuts.
The victims sat on a ration box while the bar-
ber mowed great swaths through tangled thatch
with a pair of close-cutting clippers. But in-
stead of making a complete job of it, a thick
fringe of hair which resembled a misplaced
scalping tuft was left for decorative purposes,
just above the forehead. The eflect was so
grotesque that I had to invent an excuse for
laughing. It was a lame one, I fear, for Shorty
looked at me warningly. When we had gone on
a little way he said---
"Ain't it a proper beauty parlor? lut you
85

Kitchener's Mob

got to be careful about larfin'. Some o' the
blokes thinks that 'edge-row is a regular orna-
ment."
I had supposed that a daily shave was out of
the question on the firing-line; but the British
Tommy is nothing if not resourceful. Although
water is scarce and fuel even more so, the self-
respecting soldier easily surmounts difficulties,
and the Gloucesters were all nice in matters per-
ta]ning to the toilet. Instead of drainlng their
canteens of tea, they saved a few drops for
shaving purposes.
"It's a bit sticky," said Shorty, "but it's "ot,
an' not 'arf bad w'en you gets used to it. low,
another thing you don't want to ferget is this:
W'en yer movin' up fer yer week in the first
line, always bring a bundle o' firewood with
you. They ain't so much as a match-stick left
in the trenches. Then you wants tobe savin'
of it. Don't go an' use it all the first d'y er
you'll 'are to do without yer tea the rest o' the
week."
I remembered hs emphasis upon th]s point
afterward when I saw men risk]ng the]r lires in
order to procure firewood. Without his tea
86

Private Holloway
Tommy was a wretched being. I do not remem-
ber a day, no matter how serious the fighting,
when he did not find both the rime and the
means for making it.
Shorty was a Ph.D. in every subject in the
curriculum, including domestic science. In
preparing breakfast he gave me a practical
demonstration of the art of conserving a limited
resource of fuel, bringîng our two canteens to a
boil with a very meager handful of sticks; and
while doing so he dellvered an oral thesis on
the best methods of food preparation. For ex-
ample, there was the item of corned beef--
familiarly called "bully." It was the pièce de
résistance at every meal with the possible ex-
ception of breakfast, when there was usually a
strip of bacon. Now, one's appetite for "bully"
becomes jaded in the course of a few weeks or
months. To use the German expression one
does n't eat it gern. But ît îs not a question of
liking it. One must eat it or go hungry. There-
fore, sald Shorty, save carefully all of your ba-
con grease, and instead of eating your "bully"
cold out of the tin, mix it with bread crumbs
and grated cheese and fry it in the grease. He
87

Kitchener's Mob

prepared some in this way, and I thought it a
most delectable dish. Another way of stimulat-
ing the palate was to boil the beef in a solution
of bacon grease and water, and then, while
eating it, "kid yerself that it's Irish stew."
This second method of taking away the curse
did not appeal to me very strongly, and Shorty
admitted that he practiced such self-decep-
tion with very indifferent success; for ai[ter all
"bully" was "bully" in whatever form you
ate it.
In addition to this staple, the daily rations
consisted of bacon, bread, cheese, jam, army
biscuits, tea, and sugar. Sometimes they re-
ceived a tinned meat and vegetable ration, al-
ready cooked, and at welcome intervals fresh
meat and potatoes were substituted for comed
beef. Each man had a very generous allowance
of food, a great deal more, I thought, than he
could possibly eat. Shorty explained this by
saying that allowance was ruade for the amount
xvhich would be consumed by the rats and the
blue-bottle files.
There were, in fact, millions of files. They
settled in great swarms along the walls of the
88

Private Holloway
trenches, which vere filled to the brlm with
warm light as soon as the sun had climbed a
little way up the sky. EmpW tin-lined ammu-
nition boxes were used as cupboards for food.
But of what avail were cupboards to a jam-lov-
ing,and jam-fed British army living in open
ditches in the 8ummer rime? Flytraps ruade
of empty jam tins vere set along the top of the
parapet. As soon as one vas filled, another was
set in its place. But it vas an unequal war
against an expeditionary force of countless
numbers.
"They ain't nothin' you can do," said ShorW.
"They steal the jam right off yer bread."
As for the rats, speaking in the light of later
experience, I can say that an army corps of pied
pipers would not have sufiîced to entice away
the hordes of them that infested the trenches,
living like house pets on our rations. They
were great lazy animais, almost as large as cats,
and 8o gorged with food that they could hardly
more. They ran over us in the dugouts at
night, and filched cheese and crackers right
through the heavy waterproofed covering of our
haversacks. They squealed and fought among
89

Kitchener's Mob

:hemselves at all hours. I think it possible that
they were carrion eaters, but never, to my
knowledge, did they attack living men. While
they were unpleasant bedfellows, we became so
accustomed to them that we were hot greatly
concerned about our very infimate associations.
Our course of instruction at the Parapet-etic
School was brought to a close late in the eve-
ning when we shouldered out packs, bade good-
bye to our friends the Gloucesters, and marched
back in the moonlight to out billets. I had
gained an enfirely new conception of trench lire,
of the diflïculties involved in trench building,
and the immense amount of material and labor
needed for the work.
Americans who are interested in learning of
these things at first hand will do well to make
the grand tour of the trenches when the war
is finished. Perhaps the thrifty confinentals
will seek to commercialize such advantage as
misfortune has brought them, in providing fa-
vorable opportunities. Perhaps the Touring
Club of France will lay out a new route, follow-
ing the windings of the firing line from the
Channel coast across the level fields of Flan-

9 o

Private Holloway

ders, over the Vosges Mountains to the borders
of Switzerland. Pedestrians may wish to make
the journey on foot, cooking their supper over
Tommy's rusty biscuit-tin stoves, sleeping at
night in the dugouts where he lay shivering
with cold during the winter nights of I914 and
1915. If there are enthusiasts who will be
satisfied with only the most intimate personal
view of the trenches, if there are those who
would try to understand the hardships and
discomforts of trench lire by living it during
a summer vacation, I would suggest that they
remember Private Shorty Holloway's parting
injunction to me: 
"Now, don't ferget, Jamie!" he said as we
shook hands, "always 'ave a box o' Keatings
'andy, an' 'ang on toyer extra shirt["

CHAPTER VII
MIDSUMMER CALM
DURING our first summer in the trenches
there were days, sometimes weeks at a rime,
when, in the language of the official bulletins,
there was "nothing to report," or "calm" pre-
vailed "along out entire front." From the War
Office point of view these statements were,
doubtless, true enough. But from Tommy
Atkins's point of view, "calm" was putting it
somewhat mildly. Lire in the trenches, even on
the quietest of days, is full of adventure highly
spiced with danger. Snipers, machine gunners,
artillerymen, airmen, engineers of the opposing
sides, vie with each other in skill and daring, in
order to secure that coveted advantage, the
morale. Tommy calls it the "more-aie," but
he jolly well knows when he has it and when he
has n't.
There were many nights of official calm when
we machine gunners crept out of the trenches
with our guns to positions prepared beforehand,
either in front of the line or to the rear of it.

Midsummer Calm

There we waited for messages from our listen-
ing patrols, who were lying in the tall grass of
"the front yard." They sent word to us imme-
diately when they discovered enemy working
parties building up their parapets or mending
their barbed-wire entanglements. We would
then lay our guns according to instructions re-
ceived and blaze away, each gun firing at the
rate of from three hundred to rive hundred
rounds per minute. After a heavy burst of tire,
we would change our positions at once. It was
then that the most exciting part of out work
began. For as soon as we ceased firing, there
were answering fusillades from hundreds of
German rifles. And within two or three min-
utes, German field artillery began a search for
us with shrapnel. We crawled from one posi-
tion to another over the open ground or along
shallow ditches, dug for the purpose. These
offered protection from rifle tire, but frequently
the shell tire was so heavy and so well directed
that we were given some very unpleasant half-
hours, lying fiat on our faces, listening to the
deafening explosions and the vicious whistling
of flying shrapnel.
93

Kitchener's Mob

We fired from the trenches, as well as in front
and to the rear of them. We were, in fact, busy
during most of the night, for it was our duty to
see to it that our guns lived up to their reputa-
tion as "weapons of opportunity and surprise."
With the aid of large-scale maps, we located all
of the roads, within range, back of the German
lines; roads which we knew were used by enemy
troops moving in and out of the trenches. We
located all of their communication trenches
leading back to the rear; and at uncertain inter-
vals we covered roads and trenches with bursts
of searching tire.
The German gunners were by no means in-
active. They, too, profited by their knowledge
of night lire in the firing-line, their knowledge of
soldier nature. They knew, as did we, that the
roads in the rear of the trenches are filled,
at night, with troops, transport wagons, and
fatigue parties. They knew, as did we, that
men become so utterly weary of living in ditches
-- living in holes, like rats -- that they are will-
ing to take big risks when moving in or out of
the trenches, for the pure joy of getting up on
top of the ground. Many a night when we were
94

Midsummer Calm

moving up for our week in the first line, or back
for our week in reserve, we heard the far-off
rattle of German iVIaxims, and in an instant,
the bullets would be zip-zipping ail around us.
There was no need for the sharp word of com-
mand. If there was a communication trench at
hand, we ail made a dire for it at once. If there
was not, we fell face down, in ditches, shell
holes, in any place which offered a little protec-
tion from that terrible hall of lead. iVIany of
our men were killed and wounded nightly by
machine-gun tire, usually because they were
too tired to be cautious. And, doubtless, we
did as much damage with our own guns. It
seemed to me horrible, something in the nature
of murder, that advantage must be taken of
these opportunities. But it was all a part of the
game of war; and fortunately, we rarely knew,
nor did the Germans, what damage was done
during those summer nights of "calm along the
entire front."
The artillerymen, both British and German,
did much to relieve the boredom of those
"nothing to report" days. There were desul-
tory bombardments of the trenches at da¥-
95

Kitchener's Mob

break, and at dusk, when every infantryman is
at his post, rifle in hand, bayonet fixed, on the
alert for signs of a surprise attack. If it was a
bombardment with shrapnel, Tommy was hot
greatly concerned, for in trenches he îs fairly
sale from shrapnel tire. But if the shells were
large-caliber high explosives, he crouched close
to the front wall of the trench, lamenting the
day he was foolish enough to becme an infan-
tryman, "a bloomin' 'uman ninepin !" Covered
with dirt, sometimes half-buried in fallen
trench, he wagered his next week's tobacco ra-
tions that the London papers would print the
saine old story: "Along the western front there
is nothing to report." And usually he won.
Trench mortaring was more to our liking.
That is an infantryman's gaine, and, while
extremely hazardous, the men in the trenches
have a sporting chance. Every one forgot
breakfast when word was passed down the line
that we were going to "mortarfy" Fritzie. The
last-relief night sentries, who had just tumbled
sleepily into their dugouts, tumbled out of them
again to watch the fun. Fatigue parties, work-
ing in the communication trenches, dropped
96

Midsummer Calm

thelr picks and shovels and came hurrylng up
to the first line. Eagerly, expectantly, every
one waited for the sport to begin. Our projec-
tiles were immense balls of hollow steel, filled
with high explosive of tremendous power. They
were fired from a small gun, placed, usually, in
the first line of reserve trenches. A dull boom
from the rear warned us that the game had
started.
"There she is!" "See 'er? Goin' true as a
die!" "She's go'n' to 'it! She's go'n' to 'it!"
AIl of the boys would be shouting at once. Up
it goes, turning over and over, rising to a height
of several hundred feet. Then, if well aimed, it
reaches the end of its upward journey directly
over the enemy's line, and falls straight into his
trench. There is a moment of silence, followed
by a terrific explosion which throws dirt and
débris high in the air. By this time every
Tommy along the line is standing on the
firing-bench, head and shoulders above the
parapet, quite forgetting his own danger in
his excitement, and shouting at the top of his
voice.
"'Ow's that one, Fritzie boy?"
97

Kitchener's Mob

"Gooten morgen, you Proosian sausage-
wallopers l"
"Tyke a bit o' that there'orne to yer rnissus !"
But Fritzie could be depended upon to keep
up his end of the garne. He gave us just as good
as we sent, and often he added sornething for
full rneasure. His surprises were sausage-shaped
missiles which carne wobbling toward us, slowly»
alrnost'awkwardly; but they dropped with light-
ning speed, and alas, for any poor Tommy who
rnisjudged the place of its fall! However, every
one had a chance. Trench-rnortar projectiles
are so large that one can see thern coming, and
they describe so leisurely an arc before they
fall that men bave time to run.
I bave always adrnired Tornmy Atkins for
his sense of fait play. He enjoyed giving Fritz
"a little bit of all-right," but he never resented
it when Fritz had his own fun at our expense.
In the far-off days of peace, I used to lainent
the fact that we had fallen upon evil times. I
read of old wars with a feeling of regret that
men had lost their old prirnal love for dangerous
sport, their naïve ignorance of fear. All the
brave, heroic things of lire were sald and done.
98

Midsummer Calm

But on those trench-mortaring days, when I
watched boys playing with death with right
good zest, heard them shouting and laughing
as they tumbled over one another in their
eagerness to escape it, I was convinced of my
error. Daily I saw men going through the test
of tire triumphantly, and, at the last, what a
severe test it was! And how splendidly they
met it! During six months contlnuously in the
firing-line, I met less than a dozen natural-born
cowards; and my experience was largely with
plumbers, drapers' assistants, clerks, men who
had no fighting traditions to back them up,
make them heroic in spite of themselves.
The better I knew Tommy, the better I liked
him. He has n't a shred of sentimentality in his
make-up. There is plenty of sentiment, sincere
feeling, but it is admirably concealed. I had
been a soldier of the King for many months
belote I realized that the men with whom I was
living, sharing rations and hardships, were any-
thing other than the healthy animals they
looked. They relished their food and talked
about it. They grumbled at the restraints mil-
itary discipline imposed upon them, and at the
99

Kitchener's Mob

paltry shilling a day which they recelved for
the first really hard work they had ever done.
They appeared to regard England as a miserly
employer, exacting their last ounce of energy
for a wretchedIy inadequate wage. To the cas-
ual observer, theirs was not the ardor of loyal
sons, fighting for a beloved motherland. Rather,
it seemed that of irresponsible schoolboys on a
long hoIiday. They said nothing about patri-
otism or the duty of Englishmen in war-time.
And if I attempted to start a conversation
along that line, they walked right over me with
their boots on.
This was a great dlsappolntment at first. I
should never have known, from anything that
was said, that a man of them was stirred at the
thought of fighting for old England. England
was all right, but "I ain't goin' balmy about
the old flag and all that stuff." Many of them
insisted that they were in the army for personal
and selfish reasons alone. They went out of
their way to ridicule any and every indication
of sentiment.
There was the matter of talk about mothers,
for example. I can't imagine this being the case

Midsummer Calm

in a volunteer army of American boys, but not
once, during fifteen months of British army
lire, did I hear a discussion of mothers. When
the weekly parcels from England arrived and
the boys were sharing their cake and chocolate
and tobacco, one of them would say, "Good old
mure. She ain't a bad sort"; to be answered
with reluctant, mouth-filled grunts, or grudglng
nods of approval. As for fathers, I often thought
to myself, "What a tremendous army of post-
humous sons!" Months before I would have
been astonished at this reticence. But I had
learned to understand Tommy. His silences
were as eloquent as any splendid outbursts or
glowing tributes could have been. Indeed, they
were far more eloquent! Englishmen seem to
have an instinctive understanding of the futil-
ity, the emptiness, of words in the face of un-
speakable experiences. It was a marrer of con-
stant wonder to me that men, living in the daily
and hourly presence of death, could so surely
control and conceal their feelings. Their talk
was of anything but home; and yet, I knew
they thought of but little else.
One of our boys was killed, and there was
IOI

Kitchener's Mob

the letter to be written to his parents. Three
Tommles who knew him best were to attempt
this. They ruade innumerable beglnnings. Each
of them was afraid of blundering, of causing
unnecessary pain by an indelicate revelation of
the facts. There was a feminine fineness about
their concern which was beautiful to see. The
final draft of the letter was a little masterpiece,
hot of English, but of insight; such a letter as
any one of us would have wished his own par-
ents to receive under like circumstances. No-
thing was forgotten which could have ruade the
news in the slightest degree more endurable.
]Every trifling personal belonging was carefully
saved and packed in a little box to follow the
letter. All of this was done amid much boister-
ous jesting. And there was the usual hilarious
singing to the wheezing accompaniment of an
old mouth-organ. But of reference to home, or
mothers, or comradeship, -- nothing.
Rarely a night passed without its burial par-
ties. "Digging in the garden" Tommy calls the
grave-making. The bodies, wrapped in blank-
ets or waterproof ground-sheets, are lifted over
the parados, and carried back a convenient

Midsummer Calm

twenty yards or more. The desolation of that
garden, choked with weeds and a wild growth
of self-sown crops, is indescribable. It was
wreckage-strewn, gaping with shell holes, bil-
lowing with innumerable graves, a waste land
speechlessly pathetic. The poplar trees and
willow hedges have been blasted and splintered
by shell tire. Tommy calls these "Kaiser Bill's
flowers." Coming from England, he feels more
deeply than he would care to admit the crimes
done to trees in the name of war.
Our chaplain was a devout man, but prudent
to a fault. Never, to my knowledge, did he visit
us in the trenches. Therefore our burial parties
proceeded without the rites of the Church. This
arrangement was highly satisfactory to Tommy.
He liked to "get the planting done" with the
least possible delay or fuss. His whispered con-
versations while the graves were being scooped
were, to say the least, quite out of the spirit of
the occasion. Once we were burying two boys
with whom we had been having supper a few
hours before. There was an artillery duel in
progress, the shells whistling high over our
heads, and bursting in great splotches of white
1o3

Kitchener's Mob

tire, far in rear of the opposing lines of trenches.
The grave-making went speedily on, while the
burial party argued in whispers as to the caliber
of the guns. Some said they were six-inch, while
others thought nine-inch. Discussion was mo-
mentarily suspended when a trench rocker shot
in an arc from the enemy's line. We crouched,
motionless, until the welcome darkness spread
again.
And then, in loud whispers:--
"'Ere! If they was nine-inch, they would
'are more screech."
And one from the other school of opinion
would reply:--
"Don't talk so bloomin' silly! Ain't I a-tellin'
you that you can't always size 'em by the
screech?"
Not a prayer; not a word, either of censure
or of praise, for the boys who had gone; not an
expression of opinion as to the meaning of the
great change which had come to them and which
might corne, as suddenly, to any or all of us.
And yet I knew that they were each thinking
of these things.
There were days when the front was really
IO4

Midsummer Calm

quiet. The thin trickle of rifle tire only accentu-
ated the stillness of an early summer morning.
Far down the line Tommy could be heard, sing-
ing to himself as he sat in the door of his dugout,
cleaning his rifle, or making a careful scrutiny
of his shirt for those unwelcome little parasites
which ruade lire so miserable for him at all rimes.
There were pleasant cracklings of burning pine
sticks and the sizzle of frying bacon. Great
swarms of bluebotfle files buzzed lazily in the
warm sunshine. $ometimes, across a pool of
noonday silence, we heard bîrds singing; for the
birds did n't desert us. When we gave them a
hearing, they did their cheery little best to as-
sure us that everything would corne right in the
end. Once we heard a skylark, an English sky-
lark, singing over No-Man's-Land! I scarcely
know which gave me more pleasure, the song,
or the sight of the faces of those English lads
as they listened. I was deeply touched when
one of them said:--
"Ain't 'e a plucky little chap, slngin' right in
front of Fritzie's trenches fer us English blokes ?"
It was a sincere and fitting tribute, as perfect
for a soldier as Shelley's "Ode" for a poet.
lO5

Kitchener's Mob

Along the part of the British front wMch we
held during the summer, the opposing lines of
trenches were from less than a hundred to four
hundred and fifty or rive hundred yards apart.
When we were neighborly as regards distance,
we were also neighborly as regards social inter-
course. In the early mornings when the heavy
night mists still concealed the lines, the boys
stood head and shoulders above the parapet
and shouted :--
"Hi, Fritzie!"
And the greeting was returned:--
"Hi, Tommy !"
Then we conversed. Very few of us knew
German, but it is surprising how many Ger-
mans could speak English. Frequently they
shouted, "Got any 'woodbines,' Tommy?" --
his favorite brand of cigarettes; and Tommy
would reply, "Sure! Shall I bring 'em over
or will you corne an' fetch 'em?" This was
often the ice-breaker, the beginning of a con-
versation which varied considerably in other
details.
"Who are you?" Frltzie would shout.
And Tommy, "We're the King's Own 'Ymn
IO6

Midsummer Calm

of 'Aters"; some such subtle repartee as that.
"Wot's your mob ?"
"We're a battalion of Irish rifles." The Ger-
mans liked to provoke us by pretending that
the Irish were disloyal to England.
Sometimes they shouted:--
"Any of you from London ?"
"Not arf! Wot was you a-doin' of in London ?
Witin' tible at Sam Isaac's fish-shop?"
The rising of the mists put an end to these
conversations. Sometimes they were concluded
earlier with bursts of rifle and machine-gun
tire. "Ail right to be friendly," Tommy would
say, "but we got to let 'em know this ain't no
love-feast."

CHAFFER VIII

UNDER COVEK

I. UNSEEN FORCES
"WE comc acrost thc Channcl
For to wallop German¥;
But they 'ave n't got no soldiers N
Not that any one can see.
They plug us with their rifles
An' they let thelr shrapnel fly,
But they never takes a pot at us
Exceptin' on the sly.

"Fritzie w'en you comin' outi'
This wot you calls a fight?
You won't never get to Calais
Always keepin' out o' sight.
"We're a goin' back to Blightey m
Wot's the use a-witin' 'ere
Like a lot o' bloomin' mud-larks
Fer old Fritzie to appear?
'E never puts 'is napper up
Above the parapet.
We been in France fer seven months
An' 'ave n't seen 'im yet!"
So sang Tommy, the incorrigible parodist,
during the long summer days and nights of
lO8

Under Cover

1915, when he was irnpatiently waiting for
sornething to turn up. For three rnonths and
more we were face to face with an enerny whom
we rarely saw. It was a weird experience.
Rifles cracked, bullets zip-zipped along the top
of the parapet, great shells whistled over our
heads or tore immense holes in the trenches,
trench-rnortar projectiles and hand-grenades
were hurled at us, and yet there was hot a living
soul to be seen across the narrow strip of No-
Man's-Land, whence all this murderous rain of
steel and lead was corning. Daily we kept care-
fui and continuous watch, searching the long,
curving line of Gerrnan trenches and the ground
behind them with our periscopes and rield-
glasses, and nearly always with the saine barren
result. We saw only the rhin wreaths of srnoke
rising, rnorning and evening, frorn trench rires;
the shattered trees, the forlorn and silent ruins,
the long grass waving in the wind.
Although we were often within two hundred
yards of thousands of German soldiers, rarely
farther than four hundred yards away, I did
hot see one of thern until we had been in the
trenches for more than six weeks, and then only
lO9

Kitchener's Mob

for the interval of a second or two. My German
was building up a piece of damaged parapet.
I watched the earth being thrown over the top
of the trench, when suddenly a head appeared,
only to be immediately withdrawn. One of our
snipers had evidently been watching, too. A
rifle cracked and I saw a cloud of dust arlse
where the bullet clipped the top of the parapet.
The German waved his spade defiantly in the
air and contînued digging; but he remained
discreetly under cover thereafter.
This marked an epoch in my experlence in a
war of unseen forces. I had actually beheld a
German, ahhough Tommy inslsted that it was
only the old caretaker, "the bloke wot keeps
the trenches tidy." This mythical personage, a
creature of Tommy's own fancy, assumed a
very real importance during the summer when
the attractions at the Western Theater of War
were only mildly interesting. "Carl the care-
taker" was supposed to be a methodical old
man whom the Emperor had left in charge of
his trenches on the western front during the
absence of the German armies in Russia. Many
were the stories told about him at different

II0

Under Cover

parts oi  the line. Sometimes he was endowed
with a family. His "missus" and his "three
little nippers" were with him, and together
they were blocking the way to/3erlin of the
entire/3ritish Army. Sometimes he was "Hans
the Grenadier," owing to his fondness for
nightly bombing parties. Sometimes he was
"Minnie's husband," Minnie being that re-
doubtable lady known in polite military circles
as a "Minnenwerfer." As already explained,
she was sausage-like in shape, and frightfully
demonstrative. When she went visiting at the
behest of ber husband, Tommy usually con-
trived to be "not at home," whereupon Minnie
wrecked the house and disappeared in a cloud
of dense black smoke.
One imagines ail sorts of monstrous things
about an unseen enemy. The strain of con-
stantly watching and seeîng nothing became
almost unbearable at rimes. We were often too
far apart to have our early mornîng interchange
of courtesies, and then the constant phtt-phtt of
bullets annoyed and exasperated us. I for one
welcomed any evidence that our opponents
were fathers and husbands and brothers just as
III

Kitchener's Mob

we were. I remernber rny delight, one fine sum-
mer morning, at seeing three great kites soaring
above the German line. There is much to be
said for rnen who enjoy flying kites. Once they
rnounted a durnrny figure of a man on their
parapet. Tornrny had great sport shooting at
it, the Gerrnans jiggling its arrns and legs in a
rnost laughable rnanner whenever a hit was
registered. In their eagerness to "get a good
bead" on the figure, the men threw caution to
the winds, and stood on the firing-benches,
shooting over the top of the parapet. Fritz
and Hans were true sportsmen while the fun
was on, and did not once fire at us. Then the
dumrny was taken down, and we returned to the
rnore serious garne of war with the old deadly
earnestness. I recall such incidents with joy as
I remember certain happy events in childhood.
We needed these trivial occurrences to keep us
sane and hurnan. There were not rnany of
them, but such as there were, we talked of for
days and weeks afterward.
As for the rnatter of keeping out of sight,
there was a good deal to be said on both sides.
Although Tommy was irnpatient with his pru-
II

Under Cover

dent enemy and sang songs, twitting him about
always keeping under cover, he did not usually
forger, in the daytime at least, to make his own
observations of the German line with caution.
Telescopic sights have made the business of
sniping an exact science. They magnify the
object aimed at many diameters, and if it re-
mains in view long enough to permit the pulling
of a trigger, the chances of a hit are almost one
hundred per cent.

II. THE BUTT-NOTCHEI '
Snipers have a roving commission. They
more from one part of the line to another,
sometimes firing from carefully concealed loop-
holes in the parapet, sometimes from snipers'
nests in trees or hedges. Often they creep out
into the tall grass of No-Man's-Land. There,
with a plentiful supply of food and ammuni-
tion, they remain for a day or two at a rime,
lying in wait for victims. It was a cold-blooded
business, and hateful to some of the men. With
others, the passion for it grew. They kept
tally of their victims by cutting notches on the
butts of their rifles.

II3

Kitchener's Mob

I well remember the pleasant June day when
I first met a "butt-notcher." I was going for
water, to an old farmhouse about hall a mlle
from our sector of trench. It was a day of
bright sunshine. Poppies and buttercups had
taken root in the banks of earth heaped up on
either side of the communication trench. They
were nodding their heads as gayly in the breeze
as of old did Wordsworth's daffodils in the
quiet countryside at Rydal Mount..It was a joy
to see them there, reminding one that God was
still in his heaven, whatever might be wrong
with the world. It was a joy to be alive, a
joy which one could share unselfishly with
friend and enemy alike. The colossal stupidity
of war was never more apparent to me than
upon t_hat day. I hated my job, and if I
hated any man, it was the one who had
invented the murderous little weapon known
as a machine gun.
I longed to get out on top of the ground.
I wanted to lie at full length in the grass; for
it was June, and Nature bas a way of making
one feel the call of June, even from the bottom
of a communication trench seven feet deep.
I14

Under Cover

Flowers and grass peep down at one, and white
clouds sail placidly across

"The strip of blue we prisoners call the sky."
I felt that I must see all of the sky and see it at
once. Therefore I set down my water cans, one
on top of the other, stepped up on them, and
was soon over the top of the trench, crawling
through the tall grass toward a clump of wil-
lows about fifty yards away. I passed two
loneIy graves with their wooden crosses hidden
in depths of shimmering, waving green, and
round an old rifle, its stock weather-warped and
the barrel eaten away with rust. The ground
was covered with tin cans, fragments of shell-
casing, and rubbish of all sorts; but it was hid-
den from view. Men had been laying waste the
earth during the long winter, and now June was
healing the wounds with flowers and cool green
grasses.
I was sorry that I went to the willows, for it
was there that I round the sniper. He had a
wonderfully concealed position, which was
ruade bullet-proof with steel plates and sand-
bags, all covered so naturally with growing
115

Kitchener's Mob

grass and willow bushes that it would have
been impossible to detect it at a distance of
ten yards. In fact, I would not bave discov-
ered it had it not been for the loud crack of a
rifle sounding so close at hand. I crept on to
investigate and round the sniper looking quite
disappointed.
"Missed the blighter!" he sald. Then he
told me that it was n't a good place for a
sniper's nest at ail. For one thing, it was too
far back, nearly a hall-mlle from the German
trenches. Furthermore, it was a mistake to
plant a nest in a solitary clump of willows such
as thls: a clump of trees offers too good an aim-
ing mark for artillery: much better to make a
position right out in the open. However, so far
he had hot been annoyed by shell tire. A ma-
chine gun had searched for him, but he had
adequate cover from machine-gun tire.
"But, blimy! You ought to 'a' 'eard the row
w'en the bullets was a-smackin' against the
sandbags! Somebody was a-knockin' at the
door, I give you my word!"
However, it was n't such a "dusty lîttle coop,"
and he had a good field of tire. He had regi-
116

Under Cover

tered four hits during the day, and he proudly
displayed four new notches on a badly notched
butt in proof of the fact.
"There's a big 'ole w'ere the artill'ry pushed
in their parapet larst night. That's w'ere I
caught me larst one, 'bout a 'arf-hour ago. A
bloke goes by every little w'ile an' fergets to
duck 'is napper. Tyke yer field-glasses an'
watch me clip the next one. Quarter left
it is, this side the old 'ouse with the"ole in
the wall."
I focused my glasses and vaited. Presently
he said, in a very cool, matter-of-fact voice :--
"There's one comin'. See 'ira? 'E's carryin'
a plank. You can see it stickin' up above the
parapet. 'E's a-go'n' to get a nasty one if 'e
don't duck w'en he cornes to that 'ole."
I round the moving plank and followed it
along the trench as it approached nearer and
nearer to the opening; and I was guilty of the
most unprofessional conduct, for I kept think-
ing, as hard as I could, "Duck, Fritzie! What-
ever you do, duck when you corne to that hole !"
And surely enough, he did. The plank was low-
ered into the trench just belote the opening was

Kitchener's Mob

reached, and the top of it reappeared agaln, a
moment later, on the other side of the opening.
The sniper »vas greatly disappointed.
"Now, would n't that give you the camel's
'ump ?" he said. "I believe you're a Joner to
me, matey."
Presently another man carrying a plank went
along the trench and he ducked, too.
"Grease off, Jerry!" said the butt-notcher.
"Yer bringin' me bad luck. 'Owever, they
prob'ly got that place taped. They lost one
man there an' they won't lose another, not if
they knows it."
I talked with many snipers at different parts
of the line. It »vas interesting to get their points
of view, to learn what their reaction was to
their work. The butt-notchers were very few.
Although snipers invar[ably took pride in their
work, it was the sportsman's pride in good
marksmanship rather than the love of killing
for its own sake. The general attitude was that
of a corporal whom I knew. He never fired has-
tily, but when he did pull the trigger, his bullet
went true to the mark.
"You can't 'elp feelin' sorry for the poor
ii8

Under Cover

blighters," he would say, "but it's us or them,
an' every one you knocks over means one of our
blokes saved."
I have no doubt that the Germans felt the
same way about us. At any rate, they thor-
oughly believed in the policy of attrition, and
in carrying it out they often wasted thousands
of rounds in sniping every yard of our parapet.
The sound was deafening at rimes, particularly
when there were ruined walls of houses or a
row of trees just back of out trenches. The ear-
splitting reports were hurled against them and
seemed to be shattered into thousands of frag-
ments, the sound rattling and tumbling on
until it died away far in the distance.

III. IIIGHT ROUTIhlE
Meanwhile, like furtive inhabitants of an
infamous underworld, we remalned hidden in
our lairs in the daytime, waiting for night when
we could creep out of our holes and go about
our business under cover of darkness. Sleep is
a luxury indulged in but rarely in the first-line
trenches. When not on sentry duty at night,
the men were organi.zed into working parties,
I9

Kitchener's Mob

and sent out in front of the trenches to mend
the barbed-vire entanglements which are being
constantly destroyed by artillery tire; or, in
summer, to cut the tall grass and the weeds
which would otherwise offer concealment to
enemy listening patrols or bombing parties.
Ration fatigues of twenty or thirty men per
company went back to meet the battalion
transport wagons at some point several mlles
in rear of the firing-line. There were trench
supplies and stores to be brought up as well,
and the never-finished business of mending and
improving the trenches kept many off-duty
men employed during the hours of darkness.
The men on duty in front of the trenches
were always in very great danger. They worked
swiftly and silently, but they were often dis-
covered, in which case the only varning they
received was a sudden burst of machine-
gun tire. Then would corne urgent calls for
"Stretcher bearers !" and soon the wreckage was
brought in over the parapet. The stretchers
xvere set down in the bottom of the trench
and hasty examinations ruade by the light of
a flash lamp.

Undcr Cover

"W'ere's 'e caught it?"
"'Ere it is, through the leg. Tyke 'is puttee
off, one of you !"
"Easy, now! It's smashed the bone! Stick
it, matey! We'll soon 'ave you as rght as
rain!"
"Fer Gawd's sake, boys, go easy! It's givin'
me 'ell! Let up! Let up just a minute!"
Many a conversation of this sort did ve hear
at nlght when the field-dressings vere being
put on. But even in his suffering Tommy never
forgot to be unrighteously indignant if he had
been wounded when on a working party. What
could he say to the vomen of England who
would bring him fruit and flowers in hospital,
call him a "poor brave fellow," and ask how he
was wounded ? He had enlisted as a soldier, and
as a reward for his patriotism the Government
had given him a shovel, "an' 'ere I am, workin'
like a bloomln' navvy, fillin' sandbags full o'
France, w'en I up an' gets plugged!" The men
who most bitterly resented the pick-and-shovel
phase of army life were given a great deal of it
to do for that very reason. One of my comrades
was shot in the leg while digging a refuse pit.
121

Kitchener's Mob

The wound was a bad one and he suffercd mucli
pain, but the humiliation was even harder to
bear. What could he tell them at home?
"Do you think I'm a go'n' to s'y I was
a-carryin' a sandbag full of old jam tins back
to the refuse pit w'en Fritzie gave me this 'ere
one in the leg? Not so bloomin' likely! I was
afraid I'd get one like this! Ain't ita rotten
bit o' luck !"
If he had tobe a casualty Tommy wanted to
be an interesting one. He wanted to fall in the
heat of battle, not in the heat of inglorious
fatigue duty.
But there was more heroic work tobe done:
going out on listening patrol, for example. 0ne
patrol, consisting of a sergeant or a corporal
and four or rive privates, was sent out from
each company. It was the duty of these men
to cover the area immediately in front of the
company line of trench, to see and hear without
being discovered, and to report immediately
any activity of the enemy, above or below
ground, of which they might learn. They were
on duty for from three- to rive hours, and might
use a wide discretion in their prowlings, pro-
129.

Under Cover

vided they kept within the limits of frontage
allotted to their own company, and returned to
the meeting-place where the change of reliefs
was ruade. These requirements were hot easily
complied with, unless there were trees or other
prominent landmarks standing out against the
sky by means of which a patrol could keep its
direction.
The work required, above everything else,
cool heads and stout hearts. There was the
ever-present danger of meeting an enemy patrol
or bombing party, in which case, if they could
hot be avoided, there would be a hand-to-hand
encounter with bayonets, or a noisy exchange
of hand-grenades. There was danger, too, of
a false alarm started by a nervous sentry.
It needs but a moment for such an alarm to
become general, so great is the nervous ten-
sion at which men live on the firing-line.
Terrific fusillades from both sides followed
while the listening patrols flattened them-
selves out on the ground, and listened, in no
pleasant frame of mind, to the bullets whis-
tling over their heads. But at night, and under
the stress of great excitement, men tire high.
I23

Kitchener's Mob

Strange as it may seem, one is comparatively
safe even in the open, when lying fiat on the
ground.
Bombing affalrs were of almost nlghtly occur-
rence. Tommy enjoyed these extremely haz-
ardous adventures which he called "Carryin'
a 'app'orth o' 'ate to Fritzie," a halfpenny
worth of hate, consisting of six or a dozen hand-
grenades which he hurled into the German
trenches from the far side of their entangle-
ments. The more hardy spirits often worked
their way through the barbed wire and, from a
position close under the parapet, they waited
for the sound of voices. When they had located
the position of the sentries, they tossed their
bombs over with deadly effect. The sound of
the explosions called forth an immediate and
heavy tire from sentries near and far; but lying
close under the very muzzles of the German
rifles, the bombers were in no danger unless a
party were sent out in search of them. This, of
course, constituted the chier element of risk.
The strain of waiting for developments was a
severe one. I have seen men come in from a
"bombing stunt" worn out and trembling from

Under Cover

nervous fatigue. And yet many of them en-
joyed ît, and were sent out night after night.
The excitement of the thing worked into their
blood.

Throughout the summer there was a great
deal more digging to do than fighting, for it was
not until the arrival on active service of Kitch-
ener's armies that the construction of the double
line of reserve or support trenches was under-
taken. From June until September this work
was pushed rapidly forward. There were also
trenches to be ruade in advance of the original
firing-line, for the purpose of connecting up
advanced points and removing dangerous sali-
ents. At such rimes there was no loafing until
we had reached a depth sufl]cient to protect us
both from view and from tire. We picked and
shoveled with might and main, working in
absolute silence, throwing ourselves fiat on the
ground whenever a trench rocket was sent up
from the German lines. Casualties were fre-
quent, but thls was inevitable, working, as we
did, in the open, exposed to every chance shot
of an enemy sentry. The stretcher-bearers lay
125

Kitchener's Mob

in the tall grass close at hand awaiting the
whispered word, "Stretcher-bearers this way!"
and they were kept busy during much of the
rime we were at work, carrying the wounded
to the rear.
It was surprising how quîckly the men be-
came accustomed to the nerve-trying duties in
the firing-line. Fortunately for Tommy, the
longer he is in the army, the greater becomes
his indifference to danger. His philosophy is
fatalistic. "What is to be will be" is his only
comment when one of his comrades is killed.
A bullet or a shell works with such lightning
speed that danger is passed before one realizes
that it is at hand. Therefore, men work dog-
gedly, carelessly, and in the background of con-
sciousness there is always that comforting be-
lier, common to all soldiers, that "others may
be killed, but somehow, I shall escape."
The most important in-trench duty, as well
as the most wearisome one for the men, is their
period on "sentry-go." Eight hours in tventy-
four -- four two-hour shifts -- each man stands
at his post on the firing-bermh, rifle in hand,
keeping a sharp lookout over the "front yard."
I26

Under Cover

At night he observes as well as he can over the
top of the parapet; in the daytime by means of
his periscope. Most of our large periscopes
were shattered by keen-sighted German snip-
ers. We used a very good substitute, one of the
simplest kind, a piece of broken pocket mirror
placed on the end of a split stick, and set at an
angle on top of the parados. During the two
hours of sentry duty we had nothing to do other
than to keep watch and keep awake. The latter
was by far the more difficult business at night.
"'Ere, sergeant [" Tommy would say, as the
platoon sergeant felt his way along the trench
in the darkness, "w'en is the next relief comin'
on ? Yer watch needs a good blacksmith. I been
on sentry three hours if I been a minute !"
"Never you mind about my watch, son ! You
got another forty-five minutes to do."
"Will you listen to that, you blokes! S'y! I
could myke a better timepiece out of an old
bully tin ! I'm tellin' you straight, I'11 be asleep
w'en you corne 'round again!"
But he is n't. Although the temptation may
be great, Tommy is n't longing for a court-
martial. When the platoon oflîcer or the com-

Kitchener's Mob

pany commander makes his hourly rounds,
flashing hîs electric pocket lamp before him, he
is ready with a 'cheery "Post all correct, sir!"
He whistles or sings to himself until, at last, he
hears the platoon sergeant waking the next
relief by whacking the soles of their boots with
his rifle butt.
"Wake up 'ere! Corne along, my lads! Your
sentry-go !"

CHAPTER IX
BILLETS
CAVE lire had its alleviatlons, and chlef
among these was the pleasure of anticipating
our week in reserve. We could look forward to
this with certainty. During the long stalemate
on the western front, British military organi-
zation has been perfected until, in times of
quiet, it works with the monotonous smoothness
of a machîne. (Even during periods of pro-
longed and heavy fighting there is but little
confusion. Only twice, during six months of
campaigning, did we rail to receive our daily
post of letters and parcels from England, and
then, we were told, the delay was due to mine-
sweeping in the Channel.) With every detail
of military routine carefully thought out and
every possible emergency provided for in ad-
vance, we lived as methodically in the firing-
line as we had during our months of training
in England.
The movements of troops in and out of the
trenches were excellently arranged and timed.

Kitchener's Mob

The outgolng battalion was prepared to move
back as soon as the "relief" had taken place.
The trench water-cans had been filled, N an
act of courtesy between battalions, Nthe
dugouts thoroughly cleaned, and the refuse
buried. The process of "taking over" was a
very brief one. The sentries of the incoming
battalion were posted, and listening patrols
sent out to relieve those of the outgoing battal-
ion, which then moved down the communica-
tion trenches, the men happy in the prospect
of a night of undisturbed sleep.
Second only to sleep in importance was the
fortnightly bath. Sometimes we cleansed our-
selves, as best we could, in muddy little duck
ponds, populous with frogs and green with
scum; but oh, the joy when our march ended
at a military bathhouse! The Govemment had
provided these whenever possible, and for sev-
eral weeks we were within marching distance
of one. There we received a fresh change of
underclothing, and our uniforms were fumi-
gated while we splashed and scrubbed in great
rats of clean warm water. The order, "Every-
body out!" was obeyed with great reluctance,
I3o

Billets

and usually not until the bath attendants of the
Army Service Corps enforced it with the cold-
water hose. Tommy, who bas a song for every
important ceremonial, never sang, "Rule Brit-
annia" with the enthusîasm which marked his
rendition of the followîng chorus :--
"Whi--ter than the whitewash on the wall!
Whi--ter than the whitewash on the wall!
If yer leadin' us to slaughter
Let us 'ave our soap an' water -- FIRST!
Then we'll be whiter than the whitewash
on the wall!"
When out of the firing-line we washed and
mended out clothing and scraped a week's ac-
cumulation of mud from out uniforms. Before
breakfast we were inflicted with the old pun-
ishment, Swedish drill. "Gott strafe Sweden!"
Tommy would say as he puffed and perspired
under a hot August sun, but he was really glad
that he had no choice but to submit. In the
trenches there was little opportunity for vigor-
ous exercise, and out arms and legs became
stiff with the long inactivity. Throughout the
mornings we were busy with a multitude of
duties. Arms and equipment were cleaned
and inspected, machine guns thoroughly over-
131

Kitchener's Mob

hauled, gas helmets sprayed; and there was
frequent instruction in bomb-throwing and
bayonet-fighting in preparation for the day to
which every soldier looks forward with some
misgiving, but with increasing confidence--
the day when the enemy shall be driven out of
France.
Classes in grenade-fighting were under the
supervision of officers of the Royal Engineers.
In the early days of the war there was but one
grenade in use, and that a crude affair ruade by
the soldiers themselves. _An empty jam tin was
filled with explosive and scrap iron, and tightly
bound with wire. A fuse was attached and the
bomb was ready for use. But England early
anticipated the importance which grenade-
fighting was to play in trench warfare. Her
experts in explosives were set to work, and by
the time we were ready for active service, ten
or a dozen varieties of bombs were in use, all
of them made in the munltion factories in Eng-
land. The "hairbrush," the "lemon bomb,"
the "cricket bail," and the "policeman's trun-
cheon" were the most important of these, all
of them sb-called because of their resemblance

x3z

Billets

to the articles for which they were named. The
first three were exploded by a time-fuse set for
from three to rive seconds. The fourth was a
percussion bomb, which had long cloth stream-
ers fastened to the handle to insure greater ac-
curacy in throwing. The men became remark-.
ably accurate at a distance of thirty to forty
yards. Old cricketers were especially good,
for the bomb must be thrown overhand, with
a full-arm movement.
Instruction in bayonet-fighting was made
as realistic as possible. Upon a given signal, we
rushed forward, jumping in and out of succes-
sive lines of trenches, where dummy figures-
clad in the uniforms of German foot soldiers, to
give zest to the game m took our blades both
front and rear with conciliatory indifference.
In the afternoon Tommy's time was his own.
I-Ie could sleep, or wander along the country
roads, -- within a prescribed area, m or, which
was more often the case, indulge in those games
of chance which were as the breath of life to
him. iay-day was the event of the week in
billets because it gave him the wherewithal to
satisfy the promptings of his sporting blood.

Kitchener's Mob

Our fortnightly allowance of from rive to ten
francs vas not a princely sum; but in pennies
and halfpennies, it was quite enough to pro-
vide many hours of absorbîng amusement.
Tommy gambled because he could not help it.
SVhen he had no money he wagered his allowance
of cigarettes or his share of the daily jam ration.
I believe that the appeal which war ruade to
him was largely one to his sportîng instincts.
Lire and Death were playing stakes for his soul
with the betting odds about even.
The most interesting feature of our lire in
billets was the contact which it gave us with
the civilian population who remained in the war
zone, either because they had no place else to go,
or because of that indomitable, unconquerable
spirit which is characteristic of the French.
There are few British soldiers along the western
front who do not have memories of the heroic
mothers who clung to their ruined homes as
long as there was a wall standing. It was one of
these who summed up for me, in rive words, all
the heart-breaking tragedy of war.
She kept a little shop, in Armentières, on one
of the streets leading to the firing-line. We
x34

Billets

often stopped there, when going up to the
trenches, to buy loaves of delicious French
bread. She had candles for sale as well, and
chocolate, and packets of stationery. I-Ier stock
was exhausted daily, and in some way replen-
ished daily. I think she ruade long journeys to
the other side of the town, bringing back fresh
supplies in a pushcart which stood outside
her door. Her cottage, which was less than a
toile from our first-line trenches, was partly
in ruins. I could n't randerstand her being there
in such danger. Evidently it was wîth the con-
sent of the milîtary authorities. There were
other women living on the same street; but
somehow, she was different from the others.
There was a spiritual fineness about her which
impressed one at once. Her eyes were dry as
though the tears had been drained from them,
to the last drop, long ago.
One day, calling for a packet of candles, I
found her standing at the barricaded window
which looks toward the trenches, and the deso-
late towns and villages back of the German
lines. My curiosity got the better of my court-
esy, and I asked her, in my poor French, why
I35

Kitchener's Mob

she was living there. She was silent for a mo-
ment, and then she pointed toward that part
of France which was on the other side of the
world to us.
"Monsieur! Mes enfants! Là-bas!"
Iter children were over there, or had been at
the outbreak of the war. That is all that she
told me of her story, and I would have been a
beast to have asked more. In some way she had
become separated from them, and for nearly a
year she had been watching there, not knowing
whether her little family was living or dead.
To many of the soldiers she was just a plain,
thrifty little Frenchwoman who knew not the
meaning of fear, willing to risk her lire daily,
that she might put by something for the long
hard years which would follow the war. To
me she is the Spirit of France, splendid, superb
France. But more than this she is the Spirit
of Mother-love which wars can never alter.
Strangely enough, I had not thought of the
firing-line as a boundary, a limit, during all those
weeks of trench warfare. Henceforth it had a
new meaning for me. I realized how completely
it cut Europe in hall, separating friends and rel-
u36

Billets

afives as thousands of mlles of ocean could not
have done. Roads crossed from one side to the
other, but they vere barricaded with sandbags
and barbed-wire entanglements. At night they
were deluged with shrapnel and the cobble-
stones were chipped and scarred with machine-
gun bullets.
Tommy had a ready sympathy for the women
and children who lived near the trenches. I
remember many incidents which illustrate
abundantly his quick understanding of the
hardship and danger of their lives. Once, at
Armentières, we were marching to the baths,
when the German artillery were shelling the
town in the usual hit-or-miss fashion. The
enemy knew, of course, that many of our troops
in reserve were billeted there, and they searched
for them daily. Doubtless they would have de-
stroyed the town long ago had it not been for
the fact that Lille, one of their own most im-
portant bases, is within such easy range of our
batteries. As it was, they bombarded it as
heavily as they dared, and on this particular
morning, they were sending them over too fre-
quently for comfort.
137

Kitchener's Mob

Some of ithe shells were exploding close to
our line of march, but the boys tramped along
with that nonchalant air which they assume
in times of danger. One immense shell struck
an empty bouse less than a block away and sent
the masonry flying in every direction. The cloud
of brick dust shone like gold in the sun. A mo-
ment later, a fleshy peasant woman, wearing
wooden shoes, turned out of an adjoining street
and tan awkwardly toward the scene of the ex-
plosion. Her movements were so clumsy and
slow, in proportion to the great exertion she
was making, that at any other rime the sight
would bave been ludicrous. Now it was inevit-
able that such a sight should first appeal to
Tommy's sense of humor, and thoughtlessly
the boys started laughing and shouting at
ber.
"Go it, old dear! Yer makin' a grand race!"
"Two to one on Liza!"
"The other w'y, ma! That's the wrong
direction! Yer runnin' right into 'em!"
She gave no heed, and a moment later we saw
ber gather up a little girl from a doorstep, hug-
ging and comfortlng ber, and shielding ber with
I38.

Billets

ber body, nsfinctively, at the sound of an-
other exploding shell. The laughter in the ranks
stopped as though every man had been sud-
denly struck dumb.
They xvere courageous, those women in the
firing-line. Their thoughts were always for
their husbands and sons and brothers who were
fighting side by side with us. Meanwhile, they
kept their little shops and estaminets open for
the soldiers' trade and made a brave show of
living in the old way. In Armentières a few
old men lent their aid in keeping up the pre-
tense, but the feeble little trickle of civilian lire
made scarcely an impression in the broad cur-
rent of military activity. A solitary postman,
with a mere handful of letters, made his morn-
ing rounds of echoing streets, and a bent old
man with newspapers hobbled slowly along
the Rue Sadi-Carnot shouting, "Le Matin! Le
Journal !" to boardedwindows and bolted doors.
Meanwhile, we marched back and forth between
billets in the tovn and trenches just outside.
And the last thing which we saw upon leaving
the town, and the first upon returning, was
the lengthening row of new-made graves close
139

Kitchener's Mob

to a sunny wall in the garden of the ruined con-
vent. It was a pathetic little burial plot,
filled with the bodies of women and children
who had been killed in German bombardments
of the town.
And thus for more than three months, vhile
we were waiting for Fritzie to "corne out," we
adapted ourselves to the changing conditions
of trench lire and trench warfare, with a read-
iness which surprised and gratified us. Our
very practical training in England had prepared
us, in a measure, for simple and primitive liv-
ing. But even vith such preparation we had
constantly to revise downward our standards.
We lived without comforts which formerly we
had regarded as absolutely essential. We lived
a lire so crude and rough that our army experi-
ences in England seemed Utopian by compari-
son. But we throve splendidly. A government,
paternalistic in its solicitude for our velfare,
had schooled our bodies to withstand hardships
and to endure privations. In England we had
been inoculated and vaccinated whether we
would or no, and the result was that revers
were practîcally non-existent in the trenches.
14o

Billets

What little sickness there was was due to in-
clement weather rather than to unsanitary con-
ditions.
Although there were sad gaps in our ranks,
the trench and camp revers prevalent in other
wars were hot responsible for them. Bullets,
shells, and bombs took their toll day by day,
but so gradually that we had been given time
to forget that we had ever known the security
of civilian lire. We were soon to experience the
indescribable horrors of modern warfare at its
worst; to be living from morning until evening
and from dusk to dawn, looking upon a new day
with a feeling of wonder that we had survived
so long.
About the middle of September it became
clear to us that the big drive was at hand.
There was increased artillery activity along
the entire front. The men noted with great
satisfaction that the shells from our own bat-
teries were of larger calibre. This was a welcome
indication that England was at last meeting the
longfelt need for high explosives.
"Lloyd George ain't been asleep," some
unshaven seer would say, nodding his head
I4I

Kitchener's Mob

wisely. "'E's a long w'ile gettin' ready, but
w'en 'e is ready, there's suthin' a-go'n' to
drop !"
There was a feeling of excitement every-
where. The men looked to their rifles with

greater interest. They examined more carefully
their bandoliers of ammunition and their gas
helmets; and they were thoughtful about keep-
ing their metal pocket mirrors and their cigar-
ette cases in their left-hand breast pockets, for
any Tommy can tell you of miraculous escapes
from death due to such a protective armoring
over the heart.
The thunder of guns increased with every
passing day. The tire appeared to be evenly
distributed over many mlles of frontage. In
moments of comparative quiet along our sector,
we could hear them muttering and rumbling
mlles away to out right and left. We awaited
developments with the greatest impatience,
for we knew that this general bombardment
was but a preliminary one for the purpose of
concealing, until the last moment, the plan of
attack, the portion of the front where the great
artillery concentration would be ruade and the

Billets

înfantry assault pushed home. Then came sud-
den orders to move. Within twenty-four hours
the roads were filled with the incoming troops
of a new division. We ruade a rapid march to
a rail-head, entrained, and were soon moving
southward by an indirect route; southward,
toward the sound of the guns, to take an in-
conspicuous part in the battle at Loos.

CHAPTER X

IEW LODGIIGS

I. MOVING IN
WE were wet and fired and cokl and hunry,
for we had left the train toiles back of the tir-
ing-line and had been marching through the
rain since early morning; but, as the sergeant
said, "A bloke standin' by the side o' the road,
watchin' this 'ere column pass, would thlnk we
was a-go'n' to a Sunday-school picnic." The
roads were filled with endless processions of
singing, shouting soldiers. Seen from a distance
the long columns gave the appearance of
posing strength. One thought of them as bat-
talions, brigades, divisions, cohesive parts of a
great fighting machine. But when our lines of
march crossed, when we halted to make way
for each other, what an absorbing pageant of
personality! Each rank was a series of intimate
pictures. Everywhere there was laughing, sing-
ing, a merry minstrelsy of mouth-organs.
The jollity in my own part of the line was
doubtless a picture in little of what vas hap-
I44

New Lodgings
penlng elsewhere. We were anticipating the
exciting rimes just at hand. Mac, who was
blown to pieces by a shell a few hours later,
was dancing in and out of the ranks singing, --
"Oh! Won't it be joyful!
Oh! Won't it be joyful!"
Preston, who was killed at the saine rime, threw
his rifle in the air and caught it again in sheer
excess of animal spirits. Three rollicking lads,
all of whom we buried during the week in the
saine shell hole under the saine wooden cross,
stumbled with an exaggerated show of utter
weariness singing,-
"We never knew till now how muddy mud is,
We never knew how muddy mud could be."
And little Charley Harrîson, who had fibbed
bravely about his age to the recruiting officers,
trudged contentedly along, his rifle slung jaunt-
ily over his shoulder, and munched army bis-
cuit with all the relish of an old campaigner.
Several days later he said good-bye to us, and
ruade the journey back the saine road, this
rime in a motor ambulance; and as I vrite, he
is hobbling about a London hospital ward, one
trouser leg pathetically empty.
x45

Kitchener's Mob

I remember that march in the light of our
later experiences, in the light of the oflîcial
report of the total British casualties at Loos:
sixty thousand British lads killed, wounded,
and missing. Marchîng four abreast, a column
of casualties miles in length. I see them plod-
ding light-heartedly through the mud as they
did on that gray September day, their faces
wet with the rain, "an' a bloke standin' by the
side of the road would think they was a-go'ri'
to a Sunday-school picnic."
The sergeant was in a talkative mood.
"Lissen to them guns barkin'! We're in for
it this time, straight!"
Then, tuming to the men behind,-
"'Are you got yer wills made out, you lads ?
You're a-go'n' to see a scrap presently, an' it
ain't a-go'n' to be no flea-bite, I give you my
word!"
"Right you are, sergeant! I'm leavln' me
razor to 'is Majesty. 'Ope 'e'll tyke the 'int."
"Strike me pink, sergeant! You gettin' cold
feet?"
"Less sing 'im, 'I want to go 'ome.' Get 'im
to cryin' like a baby."
46

New Lodgings
"W'ere's yer mouth-organ, Ginger?"
"Right-O! Myke it weepy now! Slow
march!"
"I m want to go 'orne!
I m want to go 'orne!
Jack-Johnsons, coal-boxes, and shrapnel, oh, Lot'!
I don't want to go in the trenches no more.
Send me across the sea
W'ere the Allemand can't shoot me.
Oh, my! I don't want to die!
I m want to go 'orne!"
It is one of the most plaintive and yearning
of soldiers' songs. Jack-Johnsons and coal-
boxes are two greatly dreaded types of high
explosive shells which Tommy would much
rather sing about than meet.
"Wite," the sergeant said, smiling grimly;
"just wite till we reach the end o' this 'ere
march! You'll be a-singin' that song out o' the
other side o' yer faces."
We halted in the evening at a little mining
village, and were billeted for the night in houses,
stables, and even in the water-soaked fields,
for there was not suflîcient accommodation for
all of us. With a dozen of my comrades I slept
on the floor in the kitchen of a miner's cottage,

Kitchener's Mob

and listened, far into the night, to the constant
procession of motor ambulances, the tramp of
marching feet, the thunder of guns, the rattle
of windows, and the sound of breaking glass.
The following day we spent in cleaning our
rifles, which were caked with rust, and in wash-
ing our clothes. We had to put these, still wet,
into our packs, for at dusk we fell in, in column
of route, along the village street, when our offi-
cers told us what was before us. I remember
how vividly and honestly one of them described
the situation.
"Listen carefully, men. ,Ve are moving off
in a few moments, to take over captured Ger-
man trenches on the left of Loos. No one knows
yet just how the land lies there. The reports
we have had are confused and rather conflict-
ing. The boys you are going to relieve bave
been having a hard time. The trenches are full
of dead. Those who are left are worn out with
the strain, and they need sleep. They won't
care to stop long after you come in, so you must
not expect much information from them. You
will bave to find out things for yourselves. But
I know you well enough to feel certain that you
4 8

New Lodgings
will. From now on you'll not have it easy.
You will have to sit tight under a heavy tire
from the German batteries. ¥ou will have to
repulse counter-attacks, for they will make
every effort to retake those trenches. But re-
member! ¥ou're British soldiers! Whatever
happens you've got to hang on!"
We marched down a road nearly a foot deep
in mud. It had been churned to a thick paste
by thousands of feet and all the heavy wheel
traftîc incident to the business of war. The rain
was still coming down steadily, and it was
pitch dark, except for the reflected light, on the
low-hanging clouds, of the flashes from the
guns of our batteries and those of the bursting
shells of the enemy. We halted frequently, to
make way for long files of ambulances which
moved as rapidly as the darkness and the aw-
fui condition of the roads would permit. I
counted twenty of them during one halt, and
then stopped, thinking of the pain of the poor
fellows inside, their wounds wrenched and
torn by the constant pitching and jolting. We
had vivid glimpses of them by the llght from
flashing guns, and of the Red Cross attendants
I49

Kitchener's Mob

at the rear of the cars, steadying the upper
tiers of stretchers on either side. The heavy
Garrison artiIIery was by this time far behind
us. The big shells went over with a hollow
roar like the sound of an express train heard at
a distance. Field artillery was concealed in the
nains of houses on every side. The guns were
firing at a tremendous rate, the shells exploding
several mlles away with a sound of jarring
thunder claps.
In addition to the ambulances there was a
constant stream of outgoing traffic of other
kinds: dispatch riders on motor cycles, feeling
their way cautiously along the side of the road;
ammunition supply and battalion transport
wagons, the horses rearing and plunging in
the darkness. We approached a crossroad and
halted to make way for some batteries of field
pieces moving to new positions. They went by
on a slippery cobbled road, the horses at a dead
gaIlop. In the red lightenings of heavy-gun
tire they looked like a series of splendid sculp-
tured groups.
We moved on and halted, moved on again,
stumbled into ditches to get out of the way of

New Lodgings
headquarters cars and motor lorfies, jumpecl
up and pushed on. Every step through the
thick mud was taken with an effort. We fre-
quently lost touch with the troops ahead of us
and would have to march at the double in order
to catch up. I was fast getting into that de-
spondent, despairing frame of mind which often
follows great physical weariness, when I remem-
bered a bit of wisdom out of a book by William
James which I had read several years before.
I-te had said, in effect, that men have layers of
energy, reserves of nervous force, which they are
rarely called upon to use, but which are, never-
theless, assets of great value in times of strain.
I had occasion to test the truth of this state-
ment during that night march, and at intervals
later, when I felt that I had reached the end
of my resources of strength. And I round it to
be practical wisdom which stood me in good
stead on more than one occasion.
We halted to wait for our trench guides at
the village of Vermelles, about three miles back
of our lines. The men lay down thankfully in
the mud and many were soon asleep despite the
terrific noise. Our batteries, concealed in the

Kitchener's Mob

ruins of houses, were keeping up a steady tire
and the German guns were replying almost as
hotly. The weird flashes lit up the shattered
walls with a fascinating, bizarre effect. By their
light, I saw men lying with their heads thrown
back over their pack-sacks, their rifles leaning
across their bodies; others standing in attitudes
of suspended animation. The noise was deafen-
ing. One was thrown entirely upon his own
resources for comfort and companionship, for
it was impossible to converse. While we were
waiting for the order to move, a homeless dog
put his cold nose into my hand. I patted him
and he crept up close beside me. Every muscle
in his body was quivering. I wanted to console
him in his own language. But I knew very little
French, and I should have had to shout into
his ear at the top of my voice to bave ruade my-
self heard. When we marched on I lost him.
And I never saw him again.
There was a further march of two and a hall
toiles over open country, the scene of the great
battle. The ground was a maze of abandoned
trenches and was pitted with shell holes. The
clay was so slippery and we were so heavily
I52

Nev Lodgings
loaded that we fell down at every step. Some of
the boys told me afterward that I cursed like
blue blazes all the vay up. I was not conscious
of this, but I can readily understand that it
may have been true. At any rate, as a result
of that march, I lost what reputation I had for
being temperate in the use of profanity.
We crossed what had been the first line of
British trenches, vhich marked the starting-
point of the advance, and from there the
ground vas covered with the bodies of our com-
rades, men who had "done their bit," as Tommy
says, and would never go home again. Some
were huddled in pathetic little groups of two
or three as they might have crept together for
companionship before they died. Some were
lying face downward just as they had fallen.
Others in attitudes revealing dreadful suffering.
Many were hanging upon the tangles of Ger-
man barbed wire which the heaviest of bom-
bardments never completely destroys. We saw
them only by the lîght of distant trench rockets
and stumbled on them. and over them when
the darkness returned.
It is an unpleasant experience, marching
153

Kitchener's Mob

under tire, on top of the ground, even though it
is dark and the enemy is shelling haphazardly.
We machine gunners were always heavily
loaded. In addition to the usual infantryman's
burden, we had out machine guns to carry, and
our ammunition, water supply, tools and instru-
ments. We were very eager to get under cover,
but we had to go slowly. By the time we
reached our trench we were nearly exhausted.
The men whom we were to relieve were
packed up, ready to more out, when we arrived.
We threw out filles and equipment on the par-
apet and stood close to the side of the trench
to allow them to pass. They were cased in
mud. Their faces, which I saw by the glow of
matches or lighted cigarettes, were haggard
and worn. A week's growth of beard gave them
a wild and barbarie appearanee. They talked
eagerly. They were hysterically cheerful; vol-
uble from sheer nervous reaction. They had
the prospect of getting away for a little while
from the sickening horrors: the sight of maimed
and shattered bodies, the deafening noise, the
nauseating odor of decaying flesh. As they
moved out there were the usual conversations
x54

New Lodgings
which take place between incomin and out-
going troops.
"Wot sort of a week you 'ad, mate?"
"It ain't been a week, son; it's been a life-
time!"
"Lucky fer us you blokes corne in just w'en
you did. We've about reached the limit."
"'Ow far we got to go fer water?"
"'Bout two mlles. Awful journey! Tyke
you all night to do it. You got to stop every
minute, they's so much traffic along that
trench. Go down Stanley Road about rive
'unnerd yards, turn off to yer left on Essex
Alley, then yer first right. Brîngs you rîght
out by the 'ouse w'ere the pump is."
"'Ere's a straight tip! Send yer water
fatigue down early in the mornin': three o'clock
at the latest. They's thousands usin' that
well an' she goes dry arter a little w'ile."
"You blokes want any souvenirs, ail you got
to do is pick 'em up: 'elmets, revolvers, rifles,
German di'ries. You wite till mornin'. You'll
see plenty."
"Is this the last line o' Fritzie's trenches?"
"Can't tell you, mate. Ail we know is, we

Kitchener's Mob

got 'ere some'ow an' we been a-'oldin' on. My
Gawd! It's been awful! They calmed down a
bit to-night. You blokes is lucky comin' in
just w'en you did."
"I ain't got a pal left out o' my section.
You'll see some of 'em. We ain't 'ad rime to
bury 'em."
They were soon gone and we were left in
ignorance of the situation. We knew only ap-
proximately the direction of the living enemy
and the dead spoke to us only in dumb show,
telling us unspeakable things about the horrors
of modern warfare.
Fortunately for us, the tire of the German
batteries, during our first night in captured
trenches, was directed chiefly upon positions
to our right and left. The shells from our own
batteries were exploding far in advance of our
sector of trench, and we judged from this that
we were holding what had been the enemy's
last line, and that the British artillery were
shelling the line along which they would dig
themselves in anew. We felt more certain of
this later in the nîght when working parties
were sent from the battalion to a point twelve
56

New Lodgings
hundred yards in front of the trenches we were
then holding. They were to dig a new line there,
to connect with intrenchments which had been
pushed forward on either side of us.
At daybreak we learned that we were
slightly to the left of Hill 7o. Hulluch, a small
village still in possession of the Germans, was
to our left front. Midway between Hill 7o and
Hulluch and immediately to the front of our
position, there was a long stretch of open coun-
try which sloped gently forward for six or
eight hundred yards, and then rose gradually"
toward the sky-line. In the first assault the
British troops had pushed on past the trenches
we were holding and had advanced up the op-
posite slope, nearly a toile farther on. There
they started to dig themselves in, but an
fortunate delay in getting forward had given
the enemy time to collect a strong force of local
reserves behind his second line, which was
several hundred yards beyond. So heavT a tire
had been concentrated upon them that the
British troops had been forced to retire to the
line we were then occupying. They had met
with heavy losses both in advancing and re-

Kitchener's Mob

tiring, and the ground in front of us for nearly
a mlle was strewn with bodies. We did not
learn all of this at once. We knew nothing of
our exact position during the first night, but
as there appeared to be no enemy within
striking distance of our immediate front, we
stood on the firing-benches vainly trying to
get our bearings. About one o'clock, we wit-
nessed the fascinating spectacle of a counter-
attack at night.
It came with the dramatic suddenness, the
striking spectacular display, of a motion-picture
battle. The pictorial effect seemed extrava-
gantly overdrawn.
There was a sudden hurricane of rifle and
machine-gun tire, and in an instant all the
desolate landscape was revealed under the
light of innumerable trench rockets. We saw
the enemy advancing in irregular lines to the
attack. They were exposed to a pitîless in-
fantry tire. I could follow the curve of our
trenches on the left by the almost solid sheet
of flame issuing from the rifles of our comrades
against whom the assault was launched. The
artillery ranged upon the advancing lines at
158

New Lodgings

once, and the air was filled with the roar of
bursting shells and the melancholy whing-g-g-g
of flying shrapnel.
I did not believe that any one could cross
that fire-swept area alive, but before many
moments we heard the staccato of bursting
bombs and hand grenades which meant that
some of the enemy, at least, were within strik-
ing distance. There was a sharp crescendo of
deafening sound, then, gradually, the firing
ceased, and word came down the line, "Count-
er-attack against the Guards; and jolly
well beaten off too." Another was attempted
before daybreak, and again the same torrent
of lead, the same hideous uproar, the same sick-
ening smell of lyddite, the same ghastly noon-
day effect, the same gradual silence, and the
same result.

II. DAMAGED TRENCHES
The brief respite which we enjoyed during
our first night soon came to an end. We were
given rime, however, to make our trenches
tenable. Early the following morning we set
to work removing the wreckage of human
x59

Kitchener's Mob

bodies. Never before had death revealed itself
so terribly to us. Many of the men had been
literally blown to pieces, and it was necessary
to gather the fragments in blankets. For weeks
afterward we had to eat and sleep and work and
think among such awful sights. We became
hardened to them finally. It was absolutely
essential that we should.
The trenches and dugouts had been battered
to pieces by the Britîsh artillery tire before the
infantry assault, and since their capture the
work of destruction had been carried on by
the German gunners. Even in their wrecked
condition we could see how skillfully they had
been constructed. No labor had been spared in
making them as nearly shell-proof and as com-
fortable for listing quarters as it is possible for
such earthworks to be. The ground here was
unusually favorable. Under a clayish surface
soil, there was a stramm of solid chalk. Advan-
tage of this had been taken by the German en-
gineers who must have planned and supervised
the work. Many of the shell-proof dugouts
were fifteen and even twenty feet below the
surface of the ground. Entrance to these was
16o

New Lodgings

made in the front wall of the trench on a level
with the floor. Stairways ]ust large enough to
permit the passage of a man's body led down
to them. The roofs were reinforced with heavy
timbers. They were so strongly built through-
out that most of them were intact, although
the passageways leading up to the trench were
choked with loose earth.
There were larger surface dugouts with floors
but slightly lower than that of the trench.
These were evidently built for living quarters
in timei of comparative quiet. Many of them
were iix feet wide and from twenty to thirty
feet long, and quite palaces compared to the
wretched little "funk-holes" to which we had
been accustomed. They were roofed with logs
a foot or more in diameter placed close together
and one on top of the other in tiers of three,
with a coverlng of earth three or four feet thick.
But although they were solidly built they had
not been proof against the tain of high explo-
sives. Many of them were in ruins, the logs
splintered like kindling wood and strewn far
and wide over the ground.
We found several dugouts, evidently oflï-
16I

Kitchener's Mob

cers' quarters, which were almost luxuriously
furnished. There were rugs for the wooden
floors and pictures and mirrors for the walls;
and in each of them there was the jolliest little
stove with a removable lid. We discovered one
of these underground palaces at the end of a
blind alley leading off from the main trench. It
was at least fifteen feet underground, with two
stairways leading down to it, so that if escape
was cut off in one direction, it was still possible
to get out on the other side. We immediately
tookpossession, built a roaring tire, and were
soon passing canteens of hot tea around the
circle. Life was worth while again. We all
agreed that there were less comfortable places
in"which to have breakfast on rainy autumn
mornings than German officers' dug-outs.
The haste with which the Germans aban-
doned their trenches was evidenced by the
amount of war material which they left behind.
We found two machine guns and a great deal
of small-arms ammunîtion in our own limited
sector of frontage. Rifles, intrenching tools,
haversacks, canteens, greatcoats, bayonets were
scattered everywhere. All of this material was

New Lodgings
of the very best. Canteens, water-bottles, and
small frying-pans were made of aluminum and
most ingeniously fashioned to make them less
bulky for carrying. Some of the bayonets were
saw-edged. We found three of these needlessly
cruel weapons in a dugout which bore the fol-
lowing inscription over the door:--
"Gott tret' herefn. Brfng' glfick herein."
It was an interesting commentary on German
character. Tommy Atkins never writes in-
scriptions of a religious nature over the door-
way of his splinter-roof shelter. Neither does he
file a saw edge on his bayonet.
We found many letters, picture post-cards,
and newspapers; among the latter, one called
the "Krieg-Zeitung," published at Lille for
the soldiers in the field, and filled with glowing
accounts of battles fought by the ever vic-
torious German armies.
Death cornes swiftly in war. One's lire hangs
by a thread. The most trivial circumstance
saves or destroys. Mac came into the half-
ruined dugout where the off-duty machine
gunners were making tea over a tire of splin-
tered logs.

Kitchener's Mob

"Jamie," he said, "take my place at sentry
for a few minutes, will you ? I've lost my water-
bottle. It's 'ere in the dugout somew'ere, l'll
be only a minute."
I went out to the gun posîtion a few yards
away, and immediately afterward the Germans
began a bombardment of our line. One's ear
becomes exact in distinguishing the size of
shells by the sound which they make in travel-
ing through the air; and it is possible to judge
the direction and the probable place of their
fall. Two of us stood by the machine gun. We
heard at the same rime the sound which we
knew meant danger, possîbly death. It was
the awful whistling roar of a high explosive.
We dropped to the floor of the trench at once.
The explosion blackened our faces with lyddite
and half-blinded us. The dugout which I had
left less than a moment ago was a mass of
wreckage. Seven of our comrades were inside.
One of them crawled out, pulling himself
along with one arm. The other arm was terribly
crushed and one leg was hanging by a tendon
and a few shreds of flesh.
"My God, boys! Look wot they did to me!"
I64

New Lodgings
He kept saying it over and over while we cut
the cords frorn our bandoliers, tied thern about
his leg and arm and twisted them up to stop the
flow of blood. He vas a fine, healthy lad. A
moment before he had been telling us what he
was going to do when we went horne on fur-
lough. Now his face was the color of ashes, his
voice grew weaker and weaker, and he died
while we were working over him.
High explosive shells were bursting all along
the line. Great rnasses of earth and chalk were
blown in on top of rnen seeking protection where
there was none. The ground rocked like so rnuch
pasteboard. I heard frantic cries for "Picks and
shovels !" "Stretcher-bearers ! Stretcher-bearers
this way, for God's sake!" The voices sounded
as weak and futile as the squeaking of rats in a
thunderstorm.
When the bombardrnent began, all off-duty
rnen were ordered into the deepest of the shell-
proof dugouts, where they were really quite
sale. But those English lads were not cowards.
Orders or no orders, they carne out to the rescue
of ther cornrades. They worked without a
thought of their own danger. I felt actually
165

Kitchener's Mob

happy, for I was witnesslng splendid heroic
things. It was an experience which gave one a
new and unshakable faith in his fellows.
The sergeant and I rushed into the ruins of
our machine-gun dugout. The roof still held in
one place. There we round Mac, his head split
in two as though it had been done with an
axe. Gardner's head was blown completely
off, and his body was so terribly mangled that
we did not know until later who he was. Pres-
ton was lying on his baek with a great jagged,
blood-stained hole through his tunic. Bert
Powel was so badly hurt that we exhausted our
supply of field dressings in bandaging him. We
round little Charlie Harrison lying close to the
side of the wall, gazing at his crushed foot with
a look of incredulity and horror pitiful to see.
One of the men gave him first aid with all the
deftness and tenderness of a woman.
The rest of us dug hurriedly into a great
heap of earth at the other end of the shelter.
We quickly uncovered Walter, a lad who had
kept us laughing at his drollery on many a
rainy night. The earth had been heaped loosely
on him and he was still conscious.
66

New Lodgings
"Good old boys," he said weakly; "I vas
about done for."
In our baste we dislodged another heap of
earth which completely buried him again, and
ît seemed a lifetime before we were able to
remove it. I bave never seen a finer display of
pure grit than Walter's.
"Easy now!" he said. "Can't feel anything
below me waist. I think I'm 'urt down there."
We worked as swiffly and as carefully as we
could. We knew that he was badly wounded,
for the earth was soaked with blood; but when
we saw, we turned away sick with horror.
Fortunately, he lost consciousness while we
were trying to disentangle him from the fallen
timbers, and he died on the way to the field
dressing-station. Of the seven lads in the dug-
out, three were killed outright, three died
within hall an hour, and one escaped with a
crushed foot which had to be amputated at the
field hospital.
What had happened to our little group was
happening to others along the entire line.
Americans may have read of the bombardment
which took place that aumlnn morning. The
67

Kitchener's Mob

dispatches, I believe, described it with the
usual oflïcial brevity, giving ail the information
really necessary from the point of view of the
general public.
"Along the Loos-La Bassée sector there
was a lively artillery action. We demolished
some earthworks in the vicinity of Hulluch.
Some of our trenches near Hill 7o were dam-
aged."
"Damaged!" It was a guarded admission.
Our line was a shambles of loose earth and
splintered logs. At sorne places it was diflïcult
to see just where the trench had been. Had the
Germans launched a counter-attack immedi-
ately after the bombardment, we should have
had diflïculty in holding the position. But it
was only what Tommy called "a big 'ap'orth
o' 'are." No attempt was ruade to follow up
the advantage, and we at once set to work re-
building. The loose earth had to be put into
sandbags, the parapets mended, the holes,
blasted out by shells, filled in.
The worst of it was that we could not get
away from the sight of the.mangled bodies of
our comrades. Arms and legs stuck out of the
x68

New Lodgings
wreckage, and on every side we saw distorted
human faces, the faces of men we had known,
with whom we had lived and shared hardships
and dangers for months past. Those who have
never lived through experiences of this sort
cannot possibly know the horror of them. It
is hot in the heat of battle that men lose their
reason. Battle frenzy is, perhaps, a temporary
madness. The real danger cornes when the
strain is relaxe& Men look about them and
see the bodies of their comrades torn to pieces
as though they had been hacked and butchered
by fiends. One thinks of the human body as
inviolate, a beautiful and sacred thing. The
sight of it dismembered or disemboweled,
trampled in the bottom of a trench, smeared
with blood and filth is so revolting as to be
hardly endurable.
And yet, we had to endure it. We could hot
escape it. Whichever way we looked, there were
the dead. Worse even than the sight of dead
men were the groans and entreaties of those
lying wounded in the trenches waiting to be
taken back to the dressing-stations.
"I'm shot through the stomach, matey!
I69

Kitchener's Mob

Can't you get me back to the ambulance?
Ain't they some way you can get rne back out
o' this ?"
"Stick it, old lad! You won't 'are long to
wite. They'll be sorne of the Red Cross along
'ere in a jiffy now."
"Give me a lift, boys, can't you? Look at
my leg! Do you think it'll 'are to corne off?
Maybe they could save it if I could get to 'os-
pital in rime! Won't some of you give me a
lift? I can 'obble along with a little 'elp."
"Don't you fret, sonny! You're a-go'n' to
ride back in a stretcher presently. Keep yer
courage up a little w'ile longer."
Sorne of the rnen, in their suffering, forgot
every one but thernselves, and it was hot strange
that they should. Others, with more iron in
their natures, endured fearful agony in silence.
During rnernorable half-hours, filled with dan-
ger and death, rnany of rny gross rnisjudgrnents
of character were ruade clear to me. Men whorn
no one had credited with heroic qualities re-
vealed them. Others failed rather pitiably to
lire up to one's expectations. It seerned to me
that there was strength or weakness in rnen,
17o

New Lodgings
quite apart from their rem selves, for whlch
they were in no way responsible; but doubtless
it had always been there, waiting tobe called
forth at just such crucial times.
During the afternoon I heard for the first
time the hysterical cry of a man whose nerve
had given way. He picked up an arm and
threw it far out in front of the trenches, shout-
ing as he did so in a way that ruade one's blood
run cold. Then he sat down and started crying
and moaning. He was taken back to the rear,
one of the saddest of casualties in a war of
conceivable horrors. I heard of many instances
of nervous breakdown, but I witnessed sur-
prisingly few of them. Men were often badly
shaken and trembled from head to foot. Usu-
ally they pulled themselves together under the
taunts of their less susceptible comrades.

III. RISSOLES AND A REQUIE1V[
At the close of a gloomy October day, six
unshaven, mud-encrusted machine gunners,
the surviving members of two teams, were
gathered at the C Company gun emplacement.
D Company's gun had been destroyed by a
I7I

Kitchener's Mob

shell, and so we had joined forces here in front
of the wrecked dugout, and were waiting for
night when we could bury our dead comrades.
A fine drenching rain was falling. We sat with
our waterproof sheets thrown over our shoul-
ders and our knees drawn up to our chlns, that
we might conserve the damp warmth of our
bodies. No one spoke. No reference was made
to our dead comrades who were lying there so
close that we could almost touch them from
where we sat. Nevertheless, I believe that we
were all thinking of them, however unwillingly.
I trled to see them as they were only a few
hours before. I trled to remember the sound of
their voices, how they had laughed; but I could
think only of the appearance of their mutilated
bodies.
On a dreary autumn evening one's thoughts
often take a melancholy turn, even though one
is indoors, sitting before a pleasant tire, and
hearing but faintly the sighing of the wind and
the sound of the rain beating against the win-
dow. It is hardly to be wondered at that sol-
diers in trenches become discouraged at times,
and on this occasion, when an unquenchably

New Lodgings
cheefful volce shouted over an adjolnlng tra-
verse, --
"Wot che'r, lads! Are we downhearted?"--
a growling chorus answered with an unmis-
takable, --
"YES!"
We were in an open ditch. The tain was
beating down on out faces. We were waiting
for darkness when we could go to out unpleas-
ant work of grave-digging. To-morrow there
would be more dead bodies and more graves to
dig, and the day after, the saine duty, and the
day after that, the same. Week a{ter week we
should be living like this, killing and being
killed, binding up terrible wounds, digging
graves, .always doing the saine work with not
one bright or pleasant thing to look forward to.
These were my thoughts as I sat on the tir-
îng-bench with my head drawn down between
my knees watchîng the water dripping from
the edges of my puttees. But I had forgotten
one important item in the daily routine: supper.
_And I had forgotten Private Lemley, our
cook, or, to give him his due, our chef. He was
not the man to waste his rime in gloomy re-
I73

Kitchener's Mob

i]ecfion. With a dozen mouldy potatoes which
he had procured Heaven knows where, four
tins of corned beef, and a canteen lid filled with
bacon grease for raw materials, he had set to
work with the enthusiasm of the born artist,
the result being rissoles, brown, crisp, and
piping hot. It is a pleasure to think of that
meal. Private Lemley was one of the rare
souls of earth, one of the Mark Tapleys who
never lost his courage or his good spirits. I
remember how our spirits rose at the sound of
his voice, and how gladly and quickl¥ we re-
sponded to his summons.
"'Ere Fou are, me lads! Bully beef rlssoles
an' 'ot tea, an' it ain't 'arf bad fer the trenches
if I do s'y it."
I can only wonder now at the keenness of
our appetites in the midst of the most grue-
some surroundings. Dead men were lying about
us, both in the trenches and outside of them.
And yet our rissoles were not a whit the less
enjoyab|e on that account.
It was quite dark when we had finished. The
sergeant jumped to his feet.
"Let's get at it, boys," he said.
I74

New Lodgings

Hall an hour later we erected a wooden
cross in Tommy's grave-strewn garden. It
bore the following inscription written in pencil:

Pte. # 4326 MacDonald.
Pte. # 7864 Gardner.
Pte. # 985 Preston.
Pte. # 694 ° Allen.
Royal Fusiliers.
"They did their bit."

Quietly we slipped back into the trench and
piled our picks and shovels on the parados.
"Got yer mouth-organ 'andy, Nobby ?" some
one asked.
"She's always 'andy. Wot '11 you 'are,
lads?"
"Give us 'Silk 'At Nat Tony.' That's a
proper funeral 'ymn."
"Right you are ! Sing up, now !"
And then we sang Tommy's favorite klnd
of requiem "m

"I'm Silk Hat Nat Tony,
I'm down and I'm stony:
I'm not only broke, but I 'm bent,
The fringe of my trousers
Keeps lashing the houses,
But still I ara gag and content.
75

Kitchener's Mob

I stroll the West gayly,
You'll see me there daily,
From Budington Arcade
Up to the Old Bailey.
I'm stony! I'm Tony!
But that makes no diff'rence, you see.
Though I have n't a fraction,
l've thls satisfaction,
They built Piccadilly for me."

CHAPTER XI
« SI'I*I'ING TIGHT '

I. LEMONS AND CRICKET BALLS
THROUGHOVT October we fulfilled the pro-
phecy of the ofiîcer who told us that "sitting
tight" in the German trenches was to be our
function. There were nightly counter-attacks
preceded by heavy artillery tire, when the
enemy ruade determined efforts to retake the
lost territory. There were needless alarms when
nervous sentries "got the wind up," to use the
authentic trench expression, and contagious
excitement set men to firing like mad into blank
darkness. In the daytime there were moments
of calm whîch we could not savor owing to that
other warfare waged upon us by increasing
hordes of parasitic enemies. We moved from
one position to another through trenches where
the tangled mass of telephone wires, seemingly
gifted with a kind of malignant humor, coiled
themselves about our feet or caught in the pil-
ing swivels of our rifles. There were orders
77

Kitchener's Mob

and counter-orders, alarums and excursions.
Through them ail Tommy kept his balance and
his air of cheery unconcern, but he wished that
he might be "struck pink" if he knew "wot we
was a-doin' of anyw'y."
Our ideas of the tactical situation were de-
cidedly vague. However, we did know, in a
general way, our position with reference to im-
portant military landmarks, and the amateur
strategists were busy at all rimes explaining the
situation to frankly ignorant comrades, and
outlining plans for definite action.
"Now, if I was General French, I'd make
'Ulluch me main objective. They ain't no
use tryin' to get by at this part o' the line till
you got that village."
"Don't talk so bloomin' ignorant! Ain't that
just wot they been a-tryin'? Wot we got to do
is go 'round 'Ulluch. Tyke 'em in the rear an'
from both sides."
"W'y don't they get on with it? Wot t6
blazes are we a-doin' of, givin' 'em a chanct
to get dug in again? 'Ere we all but got 'em
on the run an' the 'ole show stops !"
The continuation of the offensive was the
178

,, 8itting Tight"
chier topic of conversation. The men dreaded
it, but they were anxious to get through with
the business. They believed that now if ever
there was the chance to push the Germans out
of France.
In the mean rime the day's work was still
the day's work. There were nightly bombing
affairs, some of them most desperate hand-to-
hand contests for the possession of small sec-
tors of trench. One of these I witnessed from
a trench sixty yards away. The advantage lay
with us. The enerny held only the center of the
line and were forced to meet attacks from either
end. However, they had a communication
trench connecting with their second line,
through which carrying parties brought them
a limîtless supply of bombs.
The gaine of pitch and toss over the barri-
cades had continued for several days without
a decision. Then came orders for more decisive
action. The barricades were to be destroyed and
the enemy bombed out. In underground fight-
ing of this kind the element of surprise is possi-
ble. If one opponent can be suddenly over-
whelmed with a heavy rain of bombs, the
x79

Kitchener's Mob

chances of success for the attacking party are
quite favorable.
The action took place at dusk. Shortly be-
fore the hour set, the bombers, all of them boys
in their early twenties, filed slowly along the
trench, the pockets of their grenade waistcoats
bulging with "lemons" and "cricket balls,"
as the two most effective kinds of bombs are
called. They went to their places with that
spirit of stolid cheeriness which is the won-
der and admiration of every one who knows
Tommy Atkins intimately. Formerly, when I
saw him in this mood, I would think, "He does
n't realize. Men don't go out to meet death like
this." But long association with him had con-
vinced me of the error of this opinion. These
men knew that death or terrible injury was in
store for many" of them; yet they were talking
in excited and gleeful undertones, as they might
bave passed through the gates at a football
match.
"Are we downhearted ? Not likely, old son!"
"Tyke a feel o' this little puffball ! Smack on
old Fritzie's napper she goes !"
"I'm a-go'n' to arsk fer a nice Blightey one!
18o

,, Sitting Tight"
Four months in Brentford 'ospital an' me
Christmas puddin' at 'orne !"
"Now, don't ferget, you blokes! County o'
London War 'Ospital fer me if I gets a knock!
Write it on a piece o' pyper an' pin it to me
tunic w'en you sends me back to the am-
bulance."
The barricades were blown up and the fight
was on. A two-hundred-piece orchestra of
blacksmiths, with sledgehammers, beating ket-
tle-drums the size of brewery vats, might have
approximated, in quality and volume, the sound
of the battle. The spectacular effect was quite
different from that of a counter-attack across
the open. Lurid flashes of light issued from the
ground as though a door to the infernal regions
had been thrown jarringly open. The cloud of
thick smoke was shot through with red gleams.
Men ran along the parapet hurling bombs down
into the trench. Now they were hidden by the
smoke, now silhouetted for an instant against
a glare of blinding light.
An hour passed and there was no change in
the situation.
"Fritzie's a tough old bird," said Tommy.

Kitchener's Mob

"'E's a-go'n' to die game, you got to glve it
to 'ira."
The excitement was intense. Urgent calls
for "More lemons! More cricket balls!" were
sent back constantly. Box after box, each con-
taining a dozen grenades, was passed up the
line from hand to hand, and still the call for
"More bombs!" We could n't send them up
fast enough.
The wounded were coming back in twos and
threes. One lad, his eyes covered with a bloody
bandage, was led by another with a shattered
hand.
"Poor old Tich! She went off right in 'is
face! But you did yer bit, Tîch! You ought
to 'a' seen 'ira, you blokes! Was n't 'e a-lettin'
'eu 'are it!"
Another man hobbled past on one foot, sup-
porting himself against the side of the trench.
"Got a Blightey one," he said gleefully.
"Solong, you lads! I'11 be with you again arter
the 'olidays."
Those who do hot know the horrors of mod-
ern warfare cannot readily understand the
joy of the soldier at receiving a wound which

,, 8itting Tight"
is not likely to prove serious. A bullet in the
arm or the shoulder, even though it shatters
the bone, or a piece of shrapnel or shell casing
in the leg, was always a matter for congratula-
tion. These were "Blightey wounds." When
Tommy received one of this kind, he was a can-
didate for hospital in "Blightey," as England
is affectionately called. For several months
he would be far away from the awful turmoil.
His body would be clean; he would be rid of the
vermin and sleep comfortably in a bed at night.
The strain would be relaxed, and, who knows,
the war might be over before he was again fit
for active service. And so the less seriously
wounded made their way painfully but cheer-
fully along the trench, on their way to the field
dressing-station, the motor ambulance, the
hospital ship, and--home! while their un-
wounded comrades gave them words of en-
couragement and good cheer.
"Good luck to you, Sammy boy! If you
sees my missus, tell 'er I 'm as right as rain!"
"Sammy, you lucky blighter! W'en yer
convalescin', 'are a pint of ale at the W'ite
Lion fer me."
183

Kitchener's Mob

"An' a good feed o' fish an' chips fer me,
Sammy. Mind yer foot! There's a 'ole just
eFe !"
"'Ere cornes old Sid! W'ere you caught it,
mate ?"
"In me bloomin' shoulder. It ain't 'arf givin'
it to me !"
"Never you mind, Sid! Blightey fer you,
boy !"
"Hi, Sid! Tell me old lady I'm still up an'
comin', will you ? You know w'ere she live,
forty-six Bromley Road."
One lad, his nerve gone, pushed his way
franfically down the trench. He had "funked
it." He was hysterical with fright and crying
in a dry, shaking voice,-
"It's too 'orrible! I can't stand it! Blow
you to 'ell they do! Look at me! I'm slathered
in blood! I can't stand it! They ain't no man
can stand it!"
He met w]th scant courtesy. A trench
during an attack is no place for the
hearted. An unsympathefic Tommy kicked
him savagely.
"Go 'ide yerself, you bloody little coward!"
.I84

,, $itting Tight"
"More lemons! More cricket balls!" and at
last, Victory! Fritzie had "chucked it," and
men of the Royal Engineers, that wonderfully
efficient corps, were on the spot with picks
and shovels and sandbags, clearing out the
wreckage, and building a new barricade at the
farther end of the communication trench.
It was only a minor affair, one of many which
take place nightly in the firing-line. Twoscore
yards of trench were captured. The cost was,
perhaps, one man per yard; but as Tommy
said, --
"It ain't the trench wot counts. It's the
more-aie. Bucks the blokes up to win, an' that's
worth a 'ole bloomin' army corps."

II.  GO IT, THE NORFOLKS!"
Rumors of all degrees of absurdity reached
us. The enemy was massing on our right, on
out left, on out immediate front. The division
was to attack at da»vn under cover of a hundred
bomb-dropping battle-planes. Units of the new
armies to the number of rive hundred thousand
were concentrating behind the line from La
Bassée to Arras, and another tremendous drive
85

Kitchener's Mob

was to be made in conjunction with the French,
(As a marrer of fact, we knew less of what was
actually happening than did people in England
and America.) Most of these reports sprang,
full grown, from the fertile brains of of[icers'
servants. Scraps of information which they
gathered while in attendance at the of[icers'
mess dugout were pieced together, and much
new material of their own invention added. The
striving was for piquancy rather than plausi-
bility. A wild tale was always better than a dull
one; furthermore the "batmen" were our only
sources of of[icial information, and could always
command a hearing. When one of them came
down the trench with that mysterious "I-could-
a-tale-unfold" air, he was certain to be halted
by willingly gullible comrades.
"Wot's up, Jerry? Anything new?"
"Nor 'arf! Now, keep this under yer 'ats,
you blokes ! My gov'nor was a-talkîn' to Major
]3radley this mornin' w'ile I was a-mykin' 'is
tea, an' 'e says--"
Then followed the thrilling narrative, a dis-
closure of of[icial secrets while groups of war-
worn Tommies listened with eager interest.
186

,, Sitting Tight"
"Spreadlng the News" was a tragi-comedy
enacted daily in the trenches.
But we were not entirely in the dark. The
signs which preceded an engagement were un-
mistakable, and toward the middle of October
there was general agreement that an important
action was about to take place. British aircraft
had been patroIIing out front ceaselessly for
hours. Several battalions (including our own
which had just gone into reserve at Vermelles)
were placed on bomb-carrying fatigue. As we
went up to the firing-line with our first load,
we found all of the support trenches filIed to
overftowing with troops in fighting order.
We reached the first line as the preliminary
bombardment started. Scores of batteries were
concentrating their tire on the enemy's trenches
directly opposite us. It is useless to attemptto
depict what lay before us as we looked over the
parapet. The trenches were hidden from view I
in a cloud of smoke and flame and dirt. The
earth was like a muddy sea dashed high
spray against hidden rocks.
The men who were to lead the attack were
standing rifle in hand, waiting for the sudden
87

Kitchener's Mob

cessation of tire which would be the signal for
them to mount the parapet. Bombers and
bayonet-men alternated in series of two. The
bombers wore their medioeval-looking shrapnel-
proof helmets and heavy canvas grenade coats
with twelve pockets sagging with bombs. Their
rifles were slung on their backs to give them free
use of their hands.
Every one was smoking -- some calmly, some
with short, nervous puffs. It was interesting
to watch the faces of the men. One could read,
almost to a certainty, what was going on in their
minds. Some of them were thinking of the ter-
rible events so near at hand. They were imagin-
ing the horrors of the attack in detail. Others
were unconcernedly intent upon adjusting
traps of their equipment, or in rubbing their
clips of ammunition with an oily rag. Several
men were sînging to a mouth-organ accompani-
ment. I saw their lips moving, but not a sound
reached me above the din of the guns, although
I was standing only a few yards distant. It
was lîke an absurd pantomime.
As I watched them, the sense of the unreality
of the whole thing swept over me more strongly
i88

,, 8itting Tight"
than ever before. "This can't be true," I thought;
"I have never been a soldier. There is n't any
European war." I had the curious feeling that
my body and brain were functioning quite
apart from me. I was only a slow-witted, in-
credulous spectator looking on with a stupîd
animal wonder. I have learned that this feel-
ing is quite common among men in the trenches.
A part of the mind works normally, and another
part, which seems to be one's essential self,
refuses to assimilate and classify experiences so
unusual, so different from anything in the cata-
logue of memory.
For two hours and a hall the roar of guns
continue& Then it stopped as suddenly as it
had begun. An officer near me shouted, "Now,
men! Follow me!" and clambered over the
parapet. There was no hesitation. In a mo-
ment the trench was empty save for the bomb-
carrying parties and an artillery observation
officer, who was jumping up and down on the
firing-bench, shouting-
"Go it, the Norfolks! Go it, the Norfolks.t
My God! Is n't it fine! Is n't it splendid!"
There you have the British oflïcer true to
189

Kitchener's Mob

type. He is a sportsman: next to taking part
in a fight he loves to see one--and he says
"is n't" not "ain't," even under stress of the
greatest excitement.
The German artillery, which had been re-
serving tire, now poured forth a deluge of
shrapnel. The sound of rifle tire was scattered
aad ragged at first, but it increased steadily
in volume. Then came the "boiler-factory
chorus," the sharp rattle of dozens of machine
guns. The bullets were flying over our heads
like swarms of angry wasps. A ration-box board
which I held above the parapet was struck al-
most immediately. Fortunately for the artil-
lery officer, a disrespectful N.C.O. pulled him
down into the trench.
"It's no use throwin' yer lire aw'y, sir. You
won't 'elp 'em over by barkin' at 'em."
He was up again almost at once, coolly
watching the progress of the troops from behind
a small barricade of sandbags, and reporting
upon it to batteries several mlles in rear.
The temptation to look over the parapet was
not to be resisted. The artillery lengthened
their ranges. I saw the curtain of flame-shot

,, 8itting Tight"

smoke leap at a bound to the next line of Ger-
man trenches.
Within a few moments several lines of re-
serres filed into the front trench and went over
the parapet in support of the first line, ad-
vancing with heads down like men bucking into
the fury of a gale. We saw them only for an
instant as they jumped to their feet outside the
trench and rushed forward. 1V[any were hit
belote they had passed through the gaps in our
barbed wire. Those who were able crept back
and were helped into the trench by comrades.
One man was killed as he was about to reach
a place of safety. He lay on the parapet with
his head and arms hanging down inside the
trench. His face was that of a boy of twenty-
one or twenty-two. I carry the memory of it
with me to-day as vividly as when I left the
trenches in November.
Following the attacking infantry were those
other soldiers whose work, though less spec-
tacular than that of the riflemen, was just as
essential and quite as dangerous. Royal Engi-
neers, with picks and shovels and sandbags,
rushed forward to reverse the parapets of the
191

Kitchener's Mob

captured trenches, and to clear out the wreck-
age, while the riflemen waited for the launching
of the first counter-attack. They were preceded
by men of the Signaling Corps, who advanced
swiftly and skillfully, unwinding spools of in-
sulated telephone wire as they went. Bomb-
carriers, stretcher-bearers, intent upon their
widely divergent duties, followed. The work of
salvage and destruction went hand in hand.
The battle continued until evening, when
we received orders to more up to the firing-line.
We started at rive o'clock, and although we
had less than three mlles to go, we did not
reach the end of our journey until four the next
morning, owing to the fatigue parties and the
long stream of wounded which blocked the com-
munication trenches. For more than an hour
we lay just outside of the trench looking down
on a seemingly endless procession of casualties.
Some of the men were crying like children, some
groaning pitifully, some laughing despite their
wounds. I heard dialects peculiar to every part
of England, and fragmentary accounts of hair-
breadth escapes and desperate fighting.
"They was a big Dutchman comin' at me
lgz

,, 8itting Tight"
from the other side. Lucky fer me that I'ad a
round in me breach. He'd 'a' got me if it 'ad n't
'a' been fer that ca'tridge. I let 'im 'ave it an'
'e crumpled up like a wet blanket."
"Seeven of them, an' that dazed like, they
wasna good for onything. Mon, it would ha'
been fair murder to kill 'em! They wasna
wantin' to fight."
Boys scarcely out of their 'teens talked with
the air of old veterans. Many of them had been
given their first taste of real fighting, and they
were experiencing a very common and natural
reaction. Their courage had been put to the
most severe test and had hot given way. It was
not diflïcult to understand their elation, and one
could forgive their boastful talk of bloody deeds.
One highly strung lad was dangerously near to
nervous breakdown. He had bayoneted his
first German and could not forget the experi-
ence. He told of it over and over as the line
moved slowly along.
"I could n't get me bayonet out," he said.
"W'en 'e fell 'e pulled me over on top of 'ira.
I'ad to put me foot against 'im an' pull, an'
then it came out with a jerk."
193

Kitchener's Mob

We met small groups of prisoners under es-
cort of proud and happy Tommies who gave us
conflicting reports of the success of the attack.
Some of them said that two more lines of Ger-
man trenches had been taken; others declared
that we had broken completely through and that
the enemy were in full retreat. Upon arriving
at our position, we were convinced that at least
one trench had been captured; but when we
mounted our guns and peered cautiously over
the parapet, the lights which we saw in the
distance were the flashes of German rifles, not
the street lamps of Berlin.

III. CHRISTIAN PRACTICE
Meanwhile, the inhumanity of a war without
truces was being revealed to us on every hand.
Hundreds of bodies were lying between the
opposing lines of trenches and there was no
chance to bury them. Fatigue parties were
sent out at night to dispose of those which were
lying close to the parapets, but the work was
constantly delayed and interrupted by persis-
tent sniping and heavy shell tire. Others farther
.out lay where they had fallen day after day and
I94

,, 8itting Tight"
week after week. Many an anxious mother in
England was seeking news of a son whose body
had become a part of that Flemish landscape.
During the week following the commence-
ment of the offensive, the wounded were
brought back in twos and threes from the con-
tested area over which attacks and counter-
attacks were taking place. One plucky English-
man was discovered about fifty yards in front
of out trenches. He was waving a handkerchief
tied to the handle of his intrenching tool.
Stretcher-bearers ran out under tire and brought
him in. He had been wounded in the foot when
his company were advancing up the slope fiffeen
hundred yards away. When it was found neces-
sary to retire, he had been left with many dead
and wounded comrades, far from the possibility
of help by friends. He had bandaged his wound
with his first-aid field dressing, and started
crawling back, a few yards at a rime. He se-
cured food from the haversacks of dead com-
rades, and at length, after a week of painful
creeping, reached out lines.
Another of our comrades was discovered by
a listening patrol, six days after he had been
95

Kitchener's Mob

wounded. He, too, had been struck down close
to the enemy's second line. Two kind-hearted
German sentries, to whom he had signaled,
crept out at night and gave hîm hot coffee to
drink. He bgged them to carry him in, but
they told him they were forbidden to take any
wounded prîsoners. As he was unable to crawl,
he must have died had ît not been for the keen
ears of the men of the listening patroI. A third
victim whom I saw was brought in at daybreak
by a working party. He had been shot in the
jaw and lay unattended through at least rive
wet 0ctober days and nights. His eyes were
swollen shut. Blood-poisonîng had set in from
a wound which would certainly not have been
fatal could it have received early attention.
We knew that there must be many wounded
still alive in the tall grass between our lines.
We knew that many were dying who might be
saved. The Red Cross Corps ruade nightly
searches for them, but the diflïculties to be
overcome were great. The volume of tire in-
creased tremendously at night. Furthermore,
there was a Mde area to be searched, and in the
darkness men lying unconscious, or too weak
96

« 8itting Tight"

from the loss of blood to groan or shout, were
discovered only by accident.
Tommy Atkins is n't an advocate of "peace
at any price," but the sight of awful and need-
less suffering invariably moved him to declare
himself emphatically against the inhuman
practices in war of so-called Christian nations.
"Christian nations!" he would say scorn-
fully. "If this 'ere is a sample o' Christianity,
l'Il tyke me charnces down below w'en I gets
knocked out." His comrades greeted such
outbursts with hearty approval.
"I'm with you there, mate! 'Ell won't be
such a dusty old place if all the Christians go
upstairs."
"They ain't no God 'avin' anything to do
with this war, I'm telling you! All the religious
blokes in England an' France an' Germany
ain't a-go'ri' to pray 'Ira into it!"
I ara not in a position to speak for Hans and
Fritz, who faced us from the other side of No-
Man's-Land; but as for Tommy, it seemed to
me that he had a higher opinion of the Deity
than many of his better-educated countrymen
at home.

I97

Kitchener's Mob

IV. TOMMY
By the end of the month we had seen more of
suffering and death than it is good for men to
see in a lifetime. There were attacks and coun-
ter-attacks, hand-to-hand fights in communi-
cation trenches with bombs and bayonets,
heavy bombardments, nightly burial parties.
Tommy Atkins looked like a beast. His cloth-
ing was a hardened-mud casing; his body was
the color of the sticky Flanders clay in which
he lived; but his soul was clean and fine. I saw
him rescuing wounded comrades, tending them
in the trenches, encouraging them and hearten-
ing them when he himself was discouraged and
sîck at heart.
"You're a-go'n' 'ome, 'Arry! Blimy! think
o' that[ Back to old Bllghtey w'ile the test
of us 'as got to stick it out 'ere[ Don't I wish
I was you[ Not 'arf!"
"You ain't bad 'urt! Strike me pink! You'll
be as keen as a w'istle in a couple o' months.
An' 'ere! Christmas in Blightey, son[ S'y! I'll
tyke yer busted shoulder if you'll give me the
chanctl"

198

,, Sitting Tight"
"They ain't nothin' they can't do fer you
back at the base 'ospital. 'Member 'ow they
fixed old Ginger up ? ¥ou ain't caught it 'arf
as bad!"
In England, before I knew him for the man
he is, I said, "How am I to endure living with
him?" And now I ara thinking, how ara I to
endure living without him; without the inspira-
tion of his splendid courage; without the visible
example of his unselfish devotion to his fellows ?
There were a few cowards and shirkers who
failed to lire up to the standard set by their
comrades. I remember .he man of thirty-five
or forty who lay whimpering in the trench when
there was unpleasant work to be done, while
boys hall his age kicked him in a vain at-
tempt to waken him to a sense of duty; but
instances of this kind were rare. There were
not enough of them to serve as a foil to the
shining deeds which were of daily and hourly
occu rrence.
Tommy is sick of the war -- dead sick of it.
I-Ie is weary of the interminable procession of
comfortless nights and days. He is veary of
the sight of maimed and bleeding men -- of the
I99

Kitchener's Mob

awful suspense of waiting for death. In the
words of his pathetic little song, he does "want
to go 'orne." But there is that within him which
says, "Hold on!" He is a compound of cheery
optimism and grim tenacity which makes him
an incomparable fighting man.
The intimate picture of him which lingers
most willingly in my mind is that which I car-
ried with me from the trenches on the dreary
November evening shortly before I bade him
good-bye. It had been raining and sleeting for
a week. The trenches were knee-deep in water,
in some places waist-deep, for the ground was
as level as a floor and there »vas no possibility
of drainage. We were wet through and our
legs were numb with the cold. Near our gun
posîtion there was a hole in the floor of the
trench where the water had collected in a deep
pool. A bridge of boards had been built around
one side of this, but in the darkness a passer-by
slipped and fell into the icy water nearly up to
his arm-pits.
"Now, then, mateyI" said an exasperating
voice, "bathin' in our private pool without a
permit,':

,, 8itting Tight"
And another, "'Ere, son! This ain't a swim-
rein' bawth! That's our tea water yer a-stand-
in' in!"
The Tommy in the pool must have been
nearly frozen, but for a moment he made no
attempt to get out.
"One o' you fetch me a bit o' soap, will you ?'"
he said coaxingly. "You ain't a-go'n' to talk
about tea water to a bloke wot ain't 'ad a bawth
in seven weeks ?"
It is men of this stamp who have the for-
tunes of England in their keeping. And they
are called, "The Boys of the Bulldog Breed."

THE ENI)

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