WITH THE

AUSTRALIANS

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“OVER THERE”
WITH THE AUSTRALIANS

From a photograph by Moffett, Chicago

“OVER THERE”

WITH THE AUSTRALIANS

BY

CAPTAIN R. HUGH KNYVETT

ANZAC SCOUT

Intelligence Officer, Fifteenth Australian Infantry

TORONTO

GEORGE J. MCLEOD

LIMITED

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1918, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
Published April, 1918

Printed in U. S. A.

BILL-JIM’S CHRISTMAS

(Bill-Jim is Australia’s name for her soldier)

Here where I sit , mucked-up with Flanders mud ,
Wrapped-round with clothes to keep the Winter out ,
Ate-up wi’ pests a bloke don't care to name
To ears polite ,

Fm glad Fm here all right ;

A man must fight for freedo?n and his blood
Against this German rout
An’ do his bit ,

An’ not go growlin’ while he’s doin’ it:

The cove as can’t stand cowardice or shame
Must play the game.

Here’s Christmas, though , with cold sleet swirlin’ down .
God ! gimme Christmas day in Sydney town !

I long to see the flowers in Martin Place ,

To meet the girl I write to face to face,

To hold her close and teach

What in this Hell Fm learning — that a man

Is only half a man without his girl ,

That sure as grass is green and God’s above
A chap’s real happiness,

If he’s no churl,

Is home and folks and girl,

And all the comforts that come in with love !

There is a thrill in war, as all must own,

The tramplin’ onward rush,

The shriek o’ shrapnel and the followin’ hush,

The bosker crunch o’ bayonet on bone,

The warmth of the dim dug-out at the end,

v

The talkin’ over things, as friend to friend,

And through it all the blessed certainty
.4 s this war’s working out for you an’ me
As we would have it work.

Fritz maybe, and the Turk
Feel that way, too,

The same as me an’ you,

And dream o’ victory at last, although
The silly cows don't know,

Because they ain’t been born and bred clean-free,
Like you and me.

But this is Christmas, and I’m feeling blue,

An’ lonely, too.

I want to see one little girl’s sly pout
( There’s lots of other coves as feels like this )

That holds you of and still invites a kiss.

I want to get out from this smash and wreck
Just for to-day,

And feel a pair of arms slip round me neck
In that one girl’s own way.

I want to hear the splendid roar and shout
O’ breakers cornin’ in on Bondi Beach,

While she, with her old scrappy costume on,

Walks by my side, an’ looks into my face,

An’ makes creation one big pleasure- place
Where golden sand basks in that golden weather —
Yes! her an' me together !

I do me bit,

An’ make no fuss of it ;

But for to-day I somehow) want to be
At home, just her an’ me.

(From the Sydney “ Sunday Times ”)

vi

CONTENTS

An Introduction Mainly About Scouts . 3

PART I

“ THE CALL TO ARMS”

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Call Reaches Some Far-Out Australians 15

II. An All-British Ship . 21

III. Human Snowballs . 28

IV. Training-Camp Life . 37

V. Concentrated for Embarkation .... 48

VI. Many Weeks at Sea . 62

PART II
EGYPT

VII. The Land of Sand and Sweat . 77

VIII. Heliopolis . 80

IX. The Desert . 85

X. Picketing in Cairo . 90

XI. “Nipper” . 101

• •

Vll

• • ♦

Vlll

CONTENTS

PART III

GALLIPOLI

CHAPTER

XII.

The Adventure of Youth .

PAGE

hi

XIII.

The Landing That Could Not Succeed —
But Did .

116

XIV.

Holding On and Nibbling .

124

XV.

The Evacuation .

131

XVI.

“ Ships That Pass ...” .

138

PART IV

THE WESTERN FRONT

XVII.

Ferry Post and the Suez Canal Defenses .

151

XVIII.

First Days in France .

161

XIX.

The Battle of Fleurbaix .

171

XX.

Days and Nights of Strafe .

186

XXI.

The Village of Sleep .

201

XXII.

The Somme .

213

XXIII.

The Army’s Pair of Eyes .

226

XXIV.

Nights in No Man’s Land .

236

XXV.

Spy-Hunting .

250

XXVI.

Bapaume and “ a Blighty ” .

259

CONTENTS ix

PART V
HOSPITAL LIFE

CHAPTER PAGE

XXVII. In France . 271

XXVIII. In London . 281

XXIX. The Hospital-Ship . 289

XXX. In Australia . 299

XXXI. Using an Irishman’s Nerve . 305

PART VI

MEDITATIONS IN THE TRENCHES
XXXII. The Right Infantry Weapons . . . . 31 1

XXXIII. The Forcing-House of Bestiality . . . 315

XXXIV. The Psychology of Fear . 320

XXXV. The Splendor of the Present Opportunity . 325

XXXVI. Not a Fight for “ Race ” but for “ Right ” 330

XXXVII. “ Keeping Faith with the Dead ” . . . 334

Poem, “But a Short Time to Live”

339

ILLUSTRATIONS

R. Hugh Knyvett . Frontispiece

FACING PAGE

From inland towns . . . men without the means of
paying their transportation . . . started out to
walk the three or four hundred miles ... to the

nearest camp . 30

“On Show” Before Leaving Home . 56

Anzac Cove, Gallipoli . 118

An Australian Camel Corps . 156

“Us — Going In” . 172

My Own Comrades Waiting for Buses . 210

Ammunition Going Through a Somme City . . . . 218

“OVER THERE”
WITH THE AUSTRALIANS

I

AN INTRODUCTION MAINLY
ABOUT SCOUTS

I am a scout; nature, inclination, and fate put
me into that branch of army service. In trying
to tell Australia’s story I have of necessity en¬
larged on the work of the scouts, not because
theirs is more important than other branches of the
service, nor they braver than their comrades of
other units. Nor do I want it to be thought that
we undergo greater danger than machine-gunners,
grenadiers, light trench -mortar men, or other
specialists. But, frankly, I don’t know much
about any other man’s job but my own, and less
than I ought to about that. To introduce you
to the spirit, action, and ideals of the Australian
army I have to intrude my own personality, and
if in the following pages “what I did” comes out
rather strongly, please remember I am but “one
of the boys,” and have done not nearly as good
work as ten thousand more.

I rejoice though that I was a scout, and would
not exchange my experiences with any, not even
with an adventurer from the pages of B. O. P.*
Romance bathes the very name, the finger-tips

* Boys Own Paper.

3

4

“OVER THERE”

tingle as they write it, and there was not infre¬
quently enough interesting work to make one
even forget to be afraid. Very happy were those
days when I lived just across the road from
Fritz, for we held dominion over No Man’s Land,
and I was given complete freedom in planning
and executing my tiny stunts. The general said :
“It is not much use training specialists if you
interfere with them,” so as long as we did our
job we were given a free hand.

The deepest lines are graven on my memory
from those days, not by the thrilling experiences
— “th’ hairbreadth ’scapes” — but by the fellow¬
ship of the men I knew. An American general
said to me recently that scouts were bom, not
made. It may be so, but it is surprising what
opposite types of men became our best scouts.
There were two without equal: one, city-bred, a
college graduate; the other a “bushie,” writing
his name with difficulty.

Ray Wilson was a nervous, highly strung sort
of fellow, almost a girl in his sensitiveness. In
fact, at the first there were several who called
him Rachel, but they soon dropped it, for he was
a lovable chap, and disarmed his enemies with his
good nature. He had taken his arts course, but
was studying music when he enlisted, and he
must have been the true artist, for though the
boys were prejudiced against the mandolin as
being a sissy instrument, when he played they

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER 5

would sit around in silence for hours. What
makes real friendship between men? You may-
know and like and respect a fellow for years, and
that is as far as it goes, when, suddenly, one day
something happens — a curtain is pulled aside and
you go “ben”* with him for a second — after¬
ward you are “friends,” before you were merely
friendly acquaintances.

Ray and I became friends in this wise. We
were out together scouting preparatory to a raid,
and were seeking a supposed new “listening post”
of the enemy. There had been a very heavy
bombardment of the German trenches all day,
and it was only held up for three-quarters of an
hour to let us do our job. The new-stale earth
turned up by the shells extended fifty yards in
No Man’s Land. (Only earth that has been
blown on by the wind is fresh “over there.”
Don’t, if you have a weak stomach, ever turn up
any earth ; though there may not be rotting flesh,
other gases are imprisoned in the soil.) This
night the wind was strong, and the smell of warm
blood mingled with the phosphorous odor of high
explosive, and there was that other sweet-sticky-
sickly smell that is the strongest scent of a recent
battle-field. It was a vile, unwholesome job, and
we were glad that our time was limited to three-

* “ Ben ” was the living-room of a Scotch cottage where only
intimate friends were admitted. Ian Maclaren says of a very good
man: “He was far ben wi God.”

6

“OVER THERE”

quarters of an hour, when our artillery would re¬
open fire. I got a fearful start on looking at my
companion’s face in the light of a white star-
shell ; it might have belonged to one of the corpses
lying near, with the lips drawn back, the eyes
fixed, and the complexion ghastly. He replied to
my signal that he was all right, but a nasty sus¬
picion crept into my mind — his teeth had chat¬
tered so much as to make him unable to answer
a question of mine just before we left the trench,
but one took no notice of a thing like that, for
stage fright was common enough to all of us be¬
fore a job actually started. But “ could he be
depended on?” was the fear that was now haunt¬
ing me.

Presently some Germans came out of their
trench. We counted eight of them as they
crawled down inside their broken wire. We cau¬
tiously followed them, expecting that they were
going out to the suspected “listening post,” but
they went about fifty yards, and then lay down
just in front of their own parapet. After about
twenty minutes they returned the way they came,
and I have no doubt reported that they had
been over to our wire and there were no Aus¬
tralian patrols out.

This had taken up most of our time, and I
showed Wilson that we had only ten minutes
left, and that we had better get back so as not
to cut it too fine. I was rather surprised when

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER 7

he objected, spelling out in Morse on my hand
that we had come out to find the “listening post,”
and we had not searched up to the right. The
Germans were evidently getting suspicious of the
silence, and to our consternation suddenly put
down a heavy barrage in No Man’s Land, not
more than thirty yards behind us. There was
no getting through it, and we grabbed each other’s
hand, and only the pressure was needed to signal
the one word “trapped.” When the shelling
commenced we had instinctively made for a drain
about four feet deep that ran across No Man’s
Land, and “sat up” in about six inches of water.
Had we remained on top the light from the shells
would have revealed us only too plainly, being
behind us. I was afraid to look at my wrist-
watch, and when I did pluck up sufficient courage
to do so, I might have saved myself the trouble,
as the opening shell from our batteries at the same
moment proclaimed that the time was up. As
we huddled down, sitting in the icy water, we
realized that the objective of our own guns was
less than ten yards from us, and we could only
hope and pray that no more wire-cutting was
going to be done that night. Once, when we
were covered with the returning debris, we in¬
stinctively threw our arms round each other.
When we shook ourselves free, what was my
amazement to find my companion shaking with
— laughter. There was now no need for silence,

8

“OVER THERE”

a shout could hardly be heard a few yards away.
He called to me: “Did you ever do the Blondin
act before, because we are walking a razor-edge
right now. We’re between the devil and the
‘deep sea,’ anyway, and I think myself the ‘deep
sea’ will get us.” As I looked at him something
happened, and I felt light-hearted as though
miles from danger — all fear of death was taken
away. What did it matter if we were killed ? — it
was a strange sense of security in a rather tight
place.

After a short while our bombardment ceased.
We learned afterward that word was sent back to
the artillery that we were still out. As the boche
fire also stopped soon afterward, we were able to
scurry back and surprise our friends with our
safe appearance.

After this experience Ray Wilson and I were
closer than brothers — than twin brothers. It
was only a common danger shared, such an or¬
dinary thing in trench life, but there was some¬
thing that was not on the surface, and though I
was his officer, our friendship knew no barrier.
I went mad for a while when his body was found
— mutilated — after he had been missing three
days. Don’t talk of “not hating” to a man
whose friend has been foully murdered ! What
if he had been yours ?

A very different man was Dan Macarthy, a
typical outbacker. All the schooling he ever

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER 9

got was from an itinerant teacher who would
stay for a week at the house, correct and set
tasks, returning three months later for another
week. This system was adopted by the govern¬
ment for the sparsely settled districts not able
to support a teacher, as a means of assisting the
parents in teaching their children themselves.
But Dan’s parents could neither read nor write,
and what healthy youngster, with “all out-of-
doors” around him, would study by himself.
Dan read with difficulty and wrote with greater,
but I have met few better-educated men. His
eyesight was marvellous, and I don’t think that
he ever forgot an incident, however slight. After
a route march our scouts have to write down
everything they saw, not omitting the very small¬
est detail. For example, if we pass through a
village they have to give an estimate by examin¬
ing the stores, how many troops it could support,
and so on. No other list was ever as large as
Dan’s. He saw and remembered everything.
He had received his training as a child looking
for horses in a paddock so large that if you did
not know where to look you might search for a
week. Out there in the country of the black-
tracker powers of observation are abnormally
developed — lives depend on it, as when in a
drought the watercourses dry up, and only the
signs written on the ground indicate to him who
can read them where the life-saving fluid may be

1

IO

“OVER THERE ”

found. Dan was a wonderful scout, a true and
loyal friend, but he had absolutely no “sense of
ownership.” He thought that whatever another
man possessed he had a right to ; but, on the other
hand, any one else had an equal right to appro¬
priate anything of his (Dan’s). He never put
forward any theory about it, but would just help
himself to anything he wanted, not troubling to
hide it, and he never made any fuss if some one
picked up something of his that was not in use.
I never saw such a practical example of com¬
munism. At first, there were a number of rows
about it, but after a while if any of the boys
missed anything they would go and hunt through
Dan’s kit for it. The only time he made a fuss
at losing anything was when one of his mates for
a lark took his rosary. He soon discovered, by
shrewd questioning, who it was, and there was
a fight that landed them both in the guard-tent.
The boys forbore to tease him about his incon¬
sistency when he said: “It was mother’s. She
brought it from Ireland.’ * Dan was still scouting
when I was sent out well-punctured, and I doubt
if there are any who have accounted for more of
the Potsdam swine single-handed. His score was
known to be over a hundred when I left. If I
can get back again, may I have Dan in my squad!

These two are but types of the boys I lived
with so long, and got to love so well. Few of
my early comrades are left on the earth; but we

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER

II

are not separated even from those who have
‘‘gone west,” and the war has given to me, in
time and eternity, many real friends.

The following pages are not a history of the
Australians. I have no means of collecting and
checking data, but they are an attempt to show
the true nature of the Australian soldier, and sent
out with the hope that they will remind some,
in this great American democracy, of the contri¬
bution made by the freemen who live across the
ocean of peace from you to “make the world
safe for democracy.”

I also have the hope that the stories of per¬
sonal experience will make real to you some of
the men whose bodies have been for three years
part of that human rampart that has kept your
homes from desolation, and your daughters from
violation, and that you will speed in sending them
succor as though the barrier had broken and the
bestial Hun were even now, with lust dominant,
smashing at your own door.

PART I

‘THE CALL TO ARMS”

*

CHAPTER I

THE CALL REACHES SOME FAR-OUT
AUSTRALIANS

Just where the white man’s continent pushes
the tip of its horn among the eastern lands there
is a black man’s land half as large as Mexico that
is administered by the government of Australia.
New Guinea has all the romance and lure of un¬
explored regions. It is a country of nature’s
wonders, a treasure-chest with the lid yet to be
raised by some intrepid discoverer. There are
tree-climbing fish, and pygmy men, mountains
higher and rivers greater than any yet discovered.
To the north of Australia’s slice of this wonder¬
land the Kaiser was squeezing a hunk of the same
island in his mailed fist.

The contrast between the administration of
these two portions of the same land forms the
best answer to the question: “What shall be done
with Germany’s colonies?”

In German New Guinea there have always
been more soldiers than civilians, cannibalism is
rife, and life and property are insecure outside
the immediate limits of the barracks. In British
New Guinea or Papua there has never been a

15

i6

“OVER THERE”

single soldier and cannibalism is abolished. A
white woman, Beatrice Grimshaw, travelled
through the greater part of it unprotected and
unmolested.

The following story told of Sir William Mac-
gregor, the first administrator, shows the way of
Britishers in governing native races. He one day
marched into a village where five hundred war¬
riors were assembled for a head-hunting expedi¬
tion. Sir William, then Doctor Macgregor, had
with him two white men and twelve native police.
He strode into the centre of these blood-thirsting
savages, grasped the chief by the scruff of the
neck, kicked him around the circle of his war¬
riors, demanded an immediate apology and the
payment of a fine for the transgression of the
Great White Mother’s orders for peace — the bluff
worked, as it always does.

Australia has now added the late German
colony Hermanlohe, or German New Guinea, to
the southern portion, making an Australian crown
colony of about two hundred and fifty thousand
square miles. This was taken by a force of
Australian troops conveyed in Australian ships.
I was not fortunate enough to be a member of the
expedition, but the ultimatum issued to the Ger¬
man commandant resulted in the Australian flag
flying over the governor’s residence at Rabaul
within a few hours of the appearance of the
Australian ships.

SOME FAR-OUT AUSTRALIANS 17

It was soon evident to the Australians that
this was intended to be a German naval station
and military post of great importance. Enough
munition, and accommodation for troops were
there to show that it was to be the jumping-off
place for an attack on Australia. Such arma¬
ment could never have been meant merely to
impel Kultur on the poor, harmless blacks with
their blowpipes and bows and arrows.

Every Australian is determined that these of
nature’s children shall not come again within
reach of German brutality, but that they shall
know fair play and good government such as the
British race everywhere gives to the “nigger,”
having a sense of responsibility toward him that
the men of this breed cannot escape. It would
almost seem that the Almighty has laid the black
man’s burden on the shoulders of the Briton, as
he was the first to abolish slavery, and no other
people govern colored peoples for the sole benefit
of the governed.

In every British colony other nations can trade
on equal terms, and millions of pounds sterling
are squeezed from the British public every year to
provide for the well-being of native peoples, wor¬
shipping strange deities and jabbering a gibberish
that would sound to an American like a gramo¬
phone-shop gone crazy ! While other nations
make their colonies pay for the protection they
give them, the British people pay very heavily for

i8

“ OVER THERE ”

the privilege (?) of sheltering and civilizing these
far-flung, strange peoples. No true friend of
the black man can consider the possibility of
handing him back to the cruelty of Teutonic
“forced Kultur.”

The most heartless of Japanese gardeners could
never twist and torture a plant into freak beauty
more surely than the German system of govern¬
ment would compress the governed into a sham
civilization. Australia would fight again sooner
than that a German establishment should offend
our sense of justice and menace our peace near
our northern shores.

The western half of New Guinea (and the least
known) belongs to Holland, and it was in the
waters of this coast that the Australians whose
story I am telling were living and working
when the tocsin of war sounded. These sons of
empire were registered under a Dutch name with
their charter to work there from the Dutch Gov¬
ernment, yet when they heard that men were
needed for the Australian army, they dropped
everything and hastened south to enlist. The
long-obeyed calls of large profits and novel ex¬
periences, the lure of an adventurous life, were
drowned by the bugle notes of the Australian
“call to arms.”

These were young men who had left the shores
of their native country, venturing farther out
a-sea, ever seeking pearls of great price. They

SOME FAR-OUT AUSTRALIANS 19

had once been engaged in pearl-fishing from the
northernmost point of Australia- — Thursday
Island — that eastern and cosmopolitan village
squatting on the soil of a continent sacred to the
white races.

When the handful of white people holding this
newest continent first flaunted their banner of
“No Trespassers” in the face of the multicolored
millions of Asia, they declared their willingness to
sweat and toil even under tropic skies, and de¬
velop their country without the aid of the cheap
labor of the rice-eating, mat-sleeping, fast-breed¬
ing spawn of the man-burdened East. But this
policy came well-nigh to being the death-blow to
one little industry of the north, so far from the
ken of the legislators in Sydney and Melbourne
as to have almost escaped their recognizance.

The largest pearling-ground in the world is just
to the north of this lovely Southland. It would
seem as though the aesthetic oyster that lines its
home with the tinting of heaven and has caught
the “tears of angels,” petrifying them as perma¬
nent souvenirs, loves to make its home as near to
this earthly paradise as the ocean will permit.

When the law decreed that only white labor
must be employed on the fleets a number of the
pearlers went north and became Dutch citizens,
for from ports in the Dutch Indies they could
work Australian waters up to the three-mile limit.

But as soon as it was known that Australia

20

“OVER THERE”

needed men, that we were at war, then politics
and profits could go hang: at heart they were all
Australians and would not be behind any in of¬
fering their lives. It took but a few days to pay
off the crews, send the Jap divers where they be¬
longed, beach the schooners, and take the fastest
steamer back HOME — then enlist, and away,
with front seats for the biggest show on earth.

CHAPTER II

AN ALL-BRITISH SHIP

We flew the Dutch flag, we were registered in
a Dutch port, but every timber in that British-
built ship creaked out a protest, and there paced
the quarter-deck five registered Dutchmen who
could not croak “Gott-verdammter !” if their
lives depended on it, and who guzzled “rice
tafHe” in a very un-Dutch manner. Generally
they forgot that they had sold their birthright.
Ever their eyes turned southward, which was
homeward, and only the mention of the Labor
party brought to their minds the reason for leav¬
ing their native land. Each visit to port rubbed
in the fact that they were now Dutchmen, as there
were always blue papers to be signed and fresh
taxes to be paid.

There was George Hym, who was a member of
every learned society in England. The only
letter of the alphabet he did not have after his
name was “I,” and that was because he did not
happen to have been bom in Indiana. Had that
accident happened to him, even the Indiana So¬
ciety would have given him a place at the speak¬
er’s table. He was the skipper of our fleet, had
an extra master’s certificate entitling him to

22

“OVER THERE”

command even the Mauretania. Many yams
were invented to explain his being with us. It
was as if “John D.” should be found peddling
hair-oil.

Some said he had murdered his grandmother-
in-law and dare not pass the time of day with
Mr. Murphy in blue. Others claimed that the
crime was far greater — the murder of a stately
ship — and that the marine underwriters would
have paid handsomely for the knowledge of his
whereabouts. At any rate, he never left the
ship while in port, and he seemed to have no
relatives.

There were times when the black cloud was
upon him and our voices were hushed to whis¬
pers lest the vibration should cause it to break
in fury on our own heads — then he would flog
the crew with a wire hawser, and his language
would cause the paint to blister on the deck.
At other times the memory of his “ mother”
would steal over his spirit and in a sweet tenor
he would croon the old-time hymns and the old
ship would creak its loving accompaniment,
and the unopened shell-fish would waft the in¬
cense heavenward.

We believed most of his ill temper was due to
the foreign flag hanging at our stern that the
Sydney-built ship was ever trying to hide be¬
neath a wave. He had sailed every sea, with
no other flag above him than the Union Jack*

AN ALL-BRITISH SHIP

23

and felt maybe that even his misdeeds deserved
not the covering of less bright colors. It was like
a ringmaster fallen on hard times having to act
the part of “clown.” But needs must where ne¬
cessity drives, and as his own country would have
none of him, he was tolerant of the flag that hid
him from the “sleuths” of British law.

BUT WAR CAME, and the chance to redeem
himself. What washes so clean as blood — and
many a stained escutcheon has in these times
been cleansed and renewed — bathed in the hot
blood poured out freely by the “sons of the line.”
Whether the fleet was laid up or not, George was
going ! He might be over age, but no one could
say what age he really was, and he was tougher
than most men half his age. He left Queens¬
land for Egypt with the Remount Unit in 1915,
and is to-day in Jerusalem with the British forces.
Maybe he is treading the Via Dolorosa gazing at
a place called Calvary, hoping that One will re¬
member that he, too, had offered his life a ran¬
som for past sins, which were many.

“For ours shall be Jerusalem, the golden city blest,

The happy home of which we’ve sung, in every land
and every tongue,

When there the pure white cross is hung,

Great spirits shall have rest.” *

Prince Dressup was the dandy of the ship, a
“swell guy” even at sea. His singlets were open-

* Mrs. A. H. Spicer, Chicago.

24 “OVER THERE”

work, his moleskins were tailor-made, and his
toe-nails were pedicured. The others wore only
singlets and “pants/’ but had the regulation cos¬
tume been as in the Garden of Eden, his fig-leaf
would have been the greenest and freshest there !

At one time he had been the best-dressed man in
Sydney, giving the glad and glassy optic to every
flapper whose clocked silk stockings caught his
fancy. Some girl must have jilted him, and this
was his revenge on the fluffy things, the choice of
a life where none of them could feast their eyes on
his immaculate masculine eligibility. Or, maybe,
he was really in love, and some true woman had
told him only to return to her when he had proved
himself a man. If so, he had chosen the best
forcing-school for real manhood that existed prior
to the war. And there was real stuff in Prince
Dressup; for, although there was distinction and
style even in the way he opened shell -fish, he took
his share of the dirty work, and when the time
came he would not let another man take his place
in the ranks of the fighters for Australia’s free¬
dom. He said, when we knew of the war, “that
it would be rather good fun,” and when he died
on Gallipoli, the bullet that passed through his
lungs had first of all come through the body of a
comrade on his back.

Chum Shrimp’s size was the joke of the ship —
he must have weighed three hundred pounds.
He could only pass through a door sideways, and

AN ALL-BRITISH SHIP

25

the “Binghis ” (natives of New Guinea), when they
saw him, blamed him for a recent tidal wave,
saying that he had fallen overboard. He was the
most active man I have ever known, and on rough
days would board the schooner by catching the
dinghee boom with one hand as it dipped toward
the launch, and swing himself hand over hand in¬
board. I never expected the schooner to com¬
plete the opposite roll until Chum was “play¬
ing plum” in the centre.

Chum’s parentage was romantic — his father a
government official and his mother an island
princess — he himself being one of the whitest
men I have ever been privileged to call friend.
We never thought he would get into the army,
for though he was as strong as any two of us,
he would require the cloth of three men’s suits
for his uniform, and he would always have to
be the blank file in a column of fours, as four
of his size would spread across the street, and to
“cover off” the four behind them would just
march in the rear of their spinal columns, having
a driveway between each of them.

He was determined to enlist, and a wise gov¬
ernment solved the problem by making him quar¬
termaster, thus insuring in the only way possible
that Chum would have a sufficient supply of
“grub.” This job was also right in his hands,
because he possessed considerable business in¬
stinct; and you remember Lord Kitchener said

26

“OVER THERE”

of the quartermaster that he was the only man
in the army whose salary he did not know !

The fifth Britisher of our crew will growl him¬
self into your favor, being a well-bred British
bulldog, looking down with pity on the tykes of
mixed blood. Even before the war he showed
his anti-German feelings by his treatment of a
pet pig that we had on the schooner.

As I look back on it, our evening sport was a
prophecy of what is to-day happening on the
western front. “Torres” would stand growling
and snapping at the porker, which would squeal
and try to get away, but his hoofs could not grip
the slippery deck, and though his feet were going
so fast as to be blurred he would not be making
an inch of progress. The Germans have been
squealing and wanting to get away from the
British bulldog but they do not know how to
retire without collapse.

This pig had a habit of curling up among the
anchor chains, and while we only used one anchor
he escaped injury, but one rough day when both
anchors were dropped simultaneously, piggy shot
into the air with a broken back. The Germans
have withstood the Allies so far, but now that
America is with us, the back of the German re¬
sistance will soon be broken.

Of course Torres enlisted ! In the beginning
he was with Chum, and there was danger of his
growing fat of body and soft of soul in the quar-

AN ALL-BRITISH SHIP

27

termaster’s store, but he was rescued in time,
and after months of exciting researches into ca¬
nine history among the bones of the tombs of
Egypt he earned renown at Armen tieres, as his
body was found in No Man’s Land with his head
in the cold hand of a comrade to whom he had
attached himself, and I believe his spirit has
joined the deathless army of the unburied dead
that watch over our patrols and inspire our sen¬
tries with the realization that on an Australian
front No Man’s Land has shrunk and our pos¬
session reaches right up to the enemy barbed
wire.

CHAPTER III

HUMAN SNOWBALLS

’Way out back in the Never Never Land of
Australia there lives a patriotic breed of humans
who know little of the comforts of civilized life,
whose homes are bare, where coin is rarely seen,
but who have as red blood and as clean minds
as any race on earth.

The little town of Muttaburra, for instance,
has a population of two hundred, one-half of
whom are eligible for military service.

They live in galvanized-iron humpies with dirt
floors, newspaper-covered walls, sacking stretched
across poles for beds, kerosene-boxes for chairs,
and a table made from saplings. The water for
household uses is delivered to the door by modem
Dianas driving a team of goats at twenty-five
cents per kerosene-tin, which is not so dear when
you know that it has to be brought from a “billa-
bong”* ten miles away.

Most of the men in such towns work as “rouse-
abouts” (handy men) on the surrounding sheep
and cattle stations. At shearing-time the “gaf¬
fers” (grandfathers) and young boys get employ-

* Billabong — a water-hole in a dry river-course.

28

HUMAN SNOWBALLS

29

ment as “pickers-up” and “rollers.” Every
shearer keeps three men at high speed attending
to him. One picks up the fleece in such a man¬
ner as to spread it out on the table in one throw;
another one pulls off the ends and rolls it so
that the wool-classer can see at a glance the
length of the wool and weight of the fleece; an¬
other, called the “sweeper,” gathers into a basket
the trimmings and odd pieces. These casual la¬
borers and rouseabouts are paid ten dollars a
week, while the shearer works on piece work,
receiving six dollars for each hundred sheep shorn,
and it is a slow man who does not average one
hundred and fifty per day. All the shearing is
done by machine, and in Western Queensland
good shearers are in constant employment for ten
months of the year. The shearers have a sepa¬
rate union from the rouseabouts, and there is a
good deal of ill feeling between the two classes.
When the shearers want a spell I have known them
declare by a majority vote that the sheep were
“wet,” though there had not been any rain for
months ! There is a law that says that shearers
must not be asked to shear “wet” sheep, as it is
supposed to give them a peculiar disease. The
rouseabouts do not mind these “slow-down”
strikes, as they get paid anyway, but the shearers
are very bitter when these have a dispute with the
boss and strike, for it cuts down their earnings,
probably just when they wanted to finish the shed

30

"OVER THERE”

so as to get a “stand” at the commencement of
shearing near by.

When the war broke out the problem of the
government was how to collect the volunteers
from these outback towns for active service. It
would cost from fifty to one hundred dollars
per head in railway fare to bring them into
camp.

The outbacker, however, solved the problem
without waiting for the government to make up
its mind. They just made up their swags and
“humped the bluey ” * for the coast. That is how
the remarkable phenomenon of the human snow¬
ball marches commenced.

Simultaneously from inland towns in different
parts of Australia men without the means of pay¬
ing their transportation to Sydney or Melbourne
simply started out to walk the three or four hun¬
dred miles from their homes to the nearest camp.
In the beginning there would just be half a dozen
or so, but as they reached the next township they
would tell where they were bound, and more
would join. Passing by boundary riders’ and
prospectors’ huts, they would pick up here and
there another red-blood who could not resist the
chance of being in a real ding-dong fight. Many
were grizzled and gray, but as hard as nails, and
no one could prove that they were over the age

* Bumped the bluey — tramped across country with blue blanket
(or swag).

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HUMAN SNOWBALLS

3i

for enlistment, for they themselves did not know
how old they were !

“Said the squatter, ‘Mike, you’re crazy, they have soldier-
men a-plenty !

You’re as grizzled as a badger, and you’re sixty year or so ! ’
‘But I haven’t missed a scrap,’ says I, ‘since I was one-
and-twenty,

And shall I miss the biggest ? You can bet your whiskers
—No!!”’*

Presently the telegraph-wires got busy, and the
defense department in Melbourne rubbed its eyes
and sat up. As usual, the country was bigger
than its rulers, and more men were coming in
than could be coped with. The whole country
was a catchment of patriotism — a huge river-
basin — and these marching bands from the far-
out country were the tributaries which fed the
huge river of men which flowed from the State
capitals to the concentration camps in Sydney
and Melbourne. The leading newspapers soon
were full of the story of these men from the bush
who could not wait for the government to gather
them in, and none should deny them the right to
fight for their liberties.

Strange men these, as they tramped into a bush
township, feet tied up in sacking, old felt hats on
their heads, moleskins and shirt, “bluey,” or blue
blanket, and “billy,” or quart canister, for boiling

* Robert W. Service.

32

“OVER THERE”

tea slung over their backs, all white from the
dust of the road.

Old Tom Coghlan was there. He had lived in
a boundary hut for twenty years, only seeing
another human being once a month, when his
rations were brought from the head station.
His conversation for days, now that he was with
companions, would be limited to two distinctive
grunts, one meaning “yes,” the other “no.” But
on the station he had been known to harangue for
hours a jam-tin on a post, declaiming on the in¬
iquities of a capitalist government. Those who
heard him as they hid behind a gum-tree declared
his language then was that of a college man.
Probably he was the scion of some noble house
— there are many of them out there in the land
where no one cares about your past.

Here, too, was young Bill Squires, who had
reached the age of twenty-one without having
seen a parson, and asked a bush missionary who
inquired if he knew Jesus Christ: “What kind of
horse does he ride?”

Not much of an army, this band. They would
not have impressed a drill-sergeant. To many
even in those towns they were just a number of
sundowners.* They would act the part, arriv¬
ing as the sun was setting and, throwing their
swags on the veranda of the hotel, lining up to the
bar, eyeing the loungers there to see who would

* Sundowners — tramps who arrive at a ranch at sundown expect¬
ing to be put up for the night.

HUMAN SNOWBALLS

33

stand treat. Only the eye of God Almighty could
see that beneath the dust and rags there were
hearts beating with love for country, and spirits
exulting in the opportunity offering in the under¬
taking of a man-size job. Perhaps a Kitchener
would have seen that the slouch was but habit
and the nonchalance merely a cloak for enthu¬
siasm, but even he would hardly have guessed
that these were the men who would win on Gal¬
lipoli the praise of the greatest British generals,
who called them “the greatest fighters in the
world.” Soon the news of these bands “on the
wallaby”* at the call of country caught the
imagination of the whole nation. Outback was
terra incognita to the city-bred Australian, but
that these men who were coming to offer their
lives should walk into the city barefoot could not
be thought of. The government was soon con¬
vinced that the weeks, and, in some cases, months
that would be occupied in this long tramp need
not be wasted. Military training could be given
on the way, and they might arrive in camp fin¬
ished soldiers.

So the snowball marches were at last recognized
and controlled by the government. Whenever
as many as fifty had been gathered together, in¬
structors, boots, and uniforms were sent along,
and the march partook of a military character.
No longer were they sundowners; they marched
into town at the end of the day, four abreast, in

* On the wallaby — on the tramp.

34

“OVER THERE”

proper column of route, with a sergeant swinging
his cane at the head, sometimes keeping step to
the tune of mouth-organs. The uniforms were
merely of blue dungaree with white calico hats,
but they were serviceable, and all being dressed
alike made them look somewhat soldierly. The ser¬
geants always had an eye open for more recruits,
and every town and station they passed through
became a rallying-point for aspirants to the army.

Their coming was now heralded — local shire
councillors gathered to greet them, streets were
beflagged, dinners were given — always, at every
opportunity, appeals were made for more recruits.
Sometimes, to the embarrassment of many a
bushman whose meetings with women had been
few and far between, there were many girls who
in their enthusiasm farewelled them with kisses,
though one can hardly imagine even a shy bush-
man failing to appreciate these unaccustomed
sweets !

The snowballs grew rapidly. Farmers let down
their fences, and they marched triumphantly
through growing crops, each farmer vying with
another to do honor to these men coming from
the ends of the earth to deliver democracy.

“They’re fools, you say? Maybe you’re right.
They’ll have no peace unless they fight.

They’ve ceased to think; they only know
They’ve got to go — yes, got to go I” *

* Robert W. Service.

HUMAN SNOWBALLS

35

By the time they reached the camp many of
these groups had grown to regiments, and under
names such as “Coo-ees,” “Kangaroos,” “Wal¬
laroos,” .they marched through the streets of
Sydney between cheering throngs to the tune of
brass bands. Such was the intention, at any
rate, but before they reached the railway sta¬
tion their military formation was broken up,
and in their enthusiasm the people of the capital
practically mobbed these “outb ackers,” loading
them, not merely with cigarettes and candy, but
before night came there was many a bushman
who had never seen a city before who carried a
load of liquor that made even his well-seasoned
head spin. The “chain lightning” of the bush
was outclassed with the cinematograph whiskey
of the city, that made its moving throngs and
streets pass before his eyes like a kaleidoscope.
A day or two in camp soon restored their balance.
The training en route bore fruit; their comman¬
dant was so impressed that some of these regi¬
ments were equipped and officered, in a few weeks
embarking for overseas.

Men from these regiments can be picked out
to-day in London. If you see an Australian in
a slouch-hat galloping his horse down Rotten
Row, expecting “Algy” and “Gertrude” to give
him a clear course, be sure it’s a “Coo-ee !”

When some Australian sprawls in the Troca-
dero, inviting himself to table with the Earl of

“OVER THERE ”

36

So-and-so, asking him to pass the butter, it’s
likely to be one of the “Kangaroos.”

These Australians have had no master in their
lives but the pitiless drought; they respect not
Kings, but they love a real man who knows not
fear and is kind to a horse. Masefield said of
them in “Gallipoli”: “They were in the pink of
condition and gave a damn for no one !”

There is a certain hospital in London provided
by a certain grand lady for convalescent Aus¬
tralians. She is very kind, but rather inclined to
treat the patients as “exhibits” and show them
off to her “tony” friends. The Australians bore
this meekly for some time, but one day it was
announced that some high personages would be
visitors. On their arrival they found every bed
was placarded, such as this: “No. 1 Bed — This
is a Military Cross Hero. He bumped into a
trench of Fritzes. If he hides his face under the
bedclothes, it is because he is sensitive of his
looks.” “No. 2 Bed — Here lies a D.S.O. (Dirty
Stop-Out).

‘“He stopped out of the trenches as long as he could.

And now the old blighter must stop out for good.’ ”

The bushman is a real man under all circum¬
stances, having no awe of authority, no hesita¬
tion in speaking his mind, but a great reverence
for women and a real respect for a religion that
does not savor of cant.

CHAPTER IV

TRAINING-CAMP LIFE

The town of Bendigo received a great increase
of liveliness by having to accommodate four or
five thousand soldiers.

It had known some lively times in the old gold
days, but when its “ yellow love” became thin,
thousands of people went to other fields and the
former flourishing city became a husk and as dull
as only a declining mining city can become; but,
as usually happens in old mining districts, when
the gold gives out, the solid wealth of the soil in
crop-growing capacity is developed, and Bendigo
is prospering again through the labors of the till¬
ers of the soil, if not by the delvings of its miners.
Still, farmers have not the same habit of “blow¬
ing in their earnings” and are, admittedly, a
little dull. There was a story that when the
town council put a notice at the busy centre —
“Walk Round Comers” — many of the farmers
made sure of keeping the law by getting out of
their vehicles and leading their horses round !
The old-time miner was rather in the habit of
smashing the unoffending lamp-post that barred
his straight progress to the “pub.” where his fa¬
vorite brand of fire-water was on tap.

37

“OVER THERE”

38

The Bendigoans will never forgive me for hav¬
ing failed to appreciate the fact that their Golden
City was far ahead even of Melbourne. They
would never believe that any one could make the
mistake in regard to their city that an American
did about an Australian seaport when he mar¬
velled at our frankness in putting notice at the
entrance to the harbor 11 Dead Slow ,” and he never
learned, after months of residence, that said no¬
tice was really a warning to shipping.

But at any rate the soldiers livened things up.
They were gathered from many States — their day
was just “one damn thing after another” — some¬
times varied a bit with a right turn instead of
left, and sometimes we would salute to the right
instead of the left — but when night came, fun
must be had somehow, and Bendigo had to sup¬
ply it.

We all had some intelligence, so after spending
a whole day in employment that forbade our
using the smallest atom, we would seek during
the night a “safety-valve.”

The camp was in the show-ground which natu¬
rally divided the young animals in training into
different sorts — the elite had the grand stand,
horse-boxes were grabbed by the N. C. O.’s, prize-
cattle stalls were clean enough, but some line of
mental association must have caused the powers
that be to allot the “pig-and-dog” section to the
military police and their prey.

TRAINING-CAMP LIFE

39

It was fun on the arrival of a tresh contingent
who were told “they could take what accommoda¬
tion was left in the grand stand, the remainder
having to bunk in the animal stalls,” to see them
rush the lower tiers, appropriating their six-foot
length by dumping their “blueys” upon it, but
that same night they would be convinced of their
mistake as the old hands, living above them, ex¬
hibited their joy at having dodged the guard,
returning in the small hours, by walking on
every one possible on their way up top. Next
morning there would be more applications for
“horse-and-cattle” stalls, but the best ones would
be gone, and they would have to be content to
lie, six in a box, where a flooring-board was miss¬
ing through which the rats would make their
nightly explorations. But even this was better
than the lower tiers of the grand stand, as the rats
would not always wake you running across your
face, but a husky in military boots stepping on
it would rouse even the deadest in slumber. As
he would step on about twenty others as well,
the mutual recriminations would continue for
hours, and as the real culprit would settle down
in the dark into his own place without a word no
one would know who it was. There would come
from up above: “Shut up, there!” “What the
h — are you makin’ all that row about ?” and the
answer: “So would you make a row if a b — b —
elephant stepped on your face!” “Go and bag

40

“OVER THERE”

your head ! Anyway, there are two hundred men
who didn’t step on your face trying to go to
sleep, and it will be reveille in an hour or so.”

These grand-stand couches were bad places at
the best of times. They may have been high and
dry, but were open to every breeze that blew and
were sheltered only on the side from which the
rain never came. The Bendigo show committee
must have faced them that way so that the sun
and weather would be right in the eyes of the
onlookers and prevent them seeing any “crook
riding” or “running dead,” etc.

The first item on the day’s programme was the
“gargling parade.” Meningitis had broken out
in the camp and every one had to gargle his
throat first thing in the morning with salt water.
We would be marched under our sergeant to each
receive our half-pannikin of salt water at the
A. M. C. tent. We would string out along the
brick drain and then began the most horrible
conglomeration of sounds that ever offended the
ear. It was like the tuning up of some infernal
orchestra. I don’t know why it is, but it is sur¬
prising how few men can gargle “like a gentle¬
man.” For days I have not spoken to my best
friend, who was most refined in other respects,
but could not desist from spluttering and spray¬
ing the half dozen men nearest to him. We be¬
came friends again, but although we slept and
messed together, I always took care never to be

TRAINING-CAMP LIFE

4i

nearer than number ten from him at “gargling
parade.” I never heard any complaints from
the people at Bendigo about this early-morning
discord, but I learn that no frogs have been heard
in the neighborhood since.

Our training at this camp was purely prelimi¬
nary — we certainly formed fours seven billion
times, and turned to the right fourteen billion, and
saluted a post that represented an officer so often,
that the rush of air caused by the quick move¬
ment of hands and heads had worn the edge off it.

We were so used to the sound of the sergeant-
major’s voice when he said, “The company will
move to right in fours,” that, when a grazing
donkey happened to “hee-haw,” the whole com¬
pany formed fours. Even then only about half
the company discovered the mistake — there was
mighty little difference in the tones, anyway !

For a man that has never previously had mili¬
tary training, the first few weeks in camp is the
most humiliating and trying experience that could
be inflicted on him. I am quite sure that were
it a prison and a treadmill he could not hate it
the more.

Here was I, never been under orders since I
was breeched, and even before then getting my
own way, suddenly finding myself with every
movement I was to make laid down in regulations,
with about a score of men round me all day to
see that I carried them out correctly.

42

“OVER THERE”

How I used to hate that camp band, when it
played at reveille, I cursed it in full BLAST be¬
cause it would wake me suddenly when I seemed
to have only just lain down, and reviled it when
it played softly because I would not hear it and
some of the other boys would wake me only when
they were fully dressed; and the last to fall in
at roll-call were picked for cook’s fatigue — peel¬
ing spuds and cleaning dixies ! How I loathed
those dixies ! The more grease you got on your
hands and clothes the more appeared to be left
in the dixie ! The outside was sooty, the inside
was greasy, and after I had done my best, the
sergeant cook would make remarks about my
ancestors which had nothing to do with the ques¬
tion, and I could not resent them lest I be detailed
for a whole week of infernal dixie-cleaning. Any¬
way, all his ancestors had ever dared to do in
the presence of mine was to touch their forelock.

In those first weeks I think I would gladly
have murdered every sergeant. It was “ Num¬
ber io, hold your head up!” “Put your heels
together!” or a sarcastic remark as to whether
I knew what a button was for, when I happened
to miss doing one up in my flurry to dress in
time, so that I would not be at the bottom of
the line and picked for fatigue.

It is not often realized what a purgatory the
educated, independent man who enlists as a pri¬
vate has to go through before his spirit is tamed

TRAINING-CAMP LIFE

43

sufficiently to stand bossing, without resentment,
by men socially and educationally inferior. There
was a young officer who called me over one day
and told me to clean his boots. I answered,
“Clean them yourself !” and got three days C. C.
(confinement to camp). This same officer took
advantage of his rank on several other occasions
and sought to humiliate me. He was a poor sort
of a sport, and many months later when I was his
equal in rank in France I punched his head, tell¬
ing him I had waited eighteen months to do
it. So you see, everything comes to those who
wait.

As a matter of fact, it was only three weeks
before I was made an acting sergeant, but I have
great sympathy with the soft-handed rookie, for
in those three weeks it seemed to me that it was
an easy thing to die for one’s country, but to train
to be a soldier was about the worst kind of penal
servitude a man could undergo.

When acting as sergeant I was boss of five sta¬
bles, each containing eight men, who could only
squeeze in the floor space by sleeping head to
feet. These stables were only completely closed
in on three sides, the entrance side being boarded
up three feet high, except for the space of the
doorway. There was no attempt to close up
this opening, except after afternoon parade, when
visitors would have arrived before our changing
into reception-clothes was completed, and we

44 “OVER THERE”

would partially block it with our waterproof
sheeting.

I must mention that in the early days we had
no real uniforms, but used to parade in blue
dungarees and white cloth hats. They certainly
made the men look “uniform,” but “uniformly
hideous,” and none of us would be seen in them
by a pretty girl, for a king’s ransom. As soon as
afternoon parade was dismissed, we would dive
for our quarters, and re-don our “civvies” until
next parade. The “cocky” would be resplen¬
dent again in his soft collar and red tie, and the
city clerk in starched collar and cuffs.

Sometimes, however, there was a variation in
time between the watches of the sergeant-major
on the parade-ground and the guard at the gate.
Visitors would be let in too soon, and innocently
curious dames would wonder what these rows of
stables were for, and wandering in that direction,
would suddenly beat a blushing retreat at the
revelation of hundreds of young men getting into
respectable clothes who had no other place in
which to change. Even if you did put a blanket
or W. P. sheet over the entrance, there were no
tacks, or nails, and it always fell down at the
most awkward moments. However, the visitors
soon got wise, and in about half an hour the boys
who had callers would be proudly showing their
friends, by the name above the feed-box, that
the previous occupant of their quarters was the

TRAINING-CAMP LIFE

45

famous “Highflyer,” winner of scores of cups,
etc.

There were a good lot of us there from other
states, and we had no special callers, but there
were always girls who came out to see a Sergeant
Martin or some such name not on the rolls.
“Couldn’t we find him for you?” If we did
happen to find a sergeant of that name, he would
not happen to be the one she wanted, then we
would offer to do the honors of the camp, and
as she would not like the hamper brought for
her friend to be wasted, an acquaintance was
soon struck up. Some boys were too shy, but
nearly all of us had visitors after we had been in
camp a week or two.

The town had appointed a soldiers’ entertain¬
ment committee, and they gave us a concert every
night in the Y. M. C. A. tent. These were high-
class shows, but most of us preferred to go into
the town though we only had leave till six
o’clock.

Some of us used to stay in town till midnight,
trusting to our ingenuity in bluffing the guard.
Many were the dodges used to gain entrance
to the camp. Some townsboys could get passes
till midnight about once a week, and instead of
handing these to the guard, as they hurried past,
they would substitute a piece of blank paper. If
they got past it was good for another occasion,
as the date was easily altered. If they were

“OVER THERE”

4 6

pulled up they would apologize profusely and
hand up the right pass. Sometimes we would
wait until there were a score of us, and while the
sentry was examining the first pass the others
would rush the gate. Rarely could more than
one or two be identified, and the odds were in
our favor.

Soon the guard was doubled, and only a small
wicket was opened, where but one man could
pass through at a time. Then we scraped holes
under the galvanized-iron fence that surrounded
the show-ground, concealing them carefully with
bushes and watching out for the pickets who pa¬
trolled the outside of the camp.

I think I got my best training in scouting
dodging these pickets. I have climbed trees,
crawled into hollow logs, and played ’possum in
gullies to escape them. Being caught meant not
only several days in the guard-tent, but the loss
of the chance of “stripes.”

There was really not much excitement in the
town and many of us just stayed late for the
excitement of breaking the law without being
caught. It was the outbreak of our personality
after being mere cogs in a drill-machine all day.
I never was guilty of returning except after hours,
and I never was caught, even when extraordinary
precautions were taken to get the delinquents.
Sometimes a check-roll would be called, at some
uncertain hour, but it was always a point of honor

TRAINING-CAMP LIFE

47

for the boys in camp to answer “present” for any
absent mates.

Evidently I was destined to be a scout. From
this camp I was drafted into the intelligence sec¬
tion for specialized training. That has been my
work all the time overseas, and I never had
harder work dodging Fritz’s sentries than those
pickets round Bendigo show-ground.

CHAPTER V

CONCENTRATED FOR EMBARKATION

One morning there was great excitement in the
Bendigo camp. An announcement was made
that members of rifle-clubs would be tried out on
the range and all qualifying with ninety per cent
of marks would be sent overseas in the earliest
draft. All who had ever fired a gun, and some
who hadn’t, stepped forward for trial, but on the
range the eligibles were found to be only fifty, of
whom I was lucky enough to be one.

The next day we lined up for a final medical
inspection. As we passed the doctor there were
none to congratulate us, but we made allowances,
knowing how sore the others were who had failed
to qualify. We packed up our kits and marched
to the train leaving a camp literally “green with
envy.” We shouted good-bye, amazed at the good
fortune that had chosen us to escape many months
of deadly grind in the training-camp, and it seemed
as we passed in single file through the old show-
ground turnstile as if already we had left Australia
behind, and in imagination our feet felt the roll
of the ship that in our fancy was even now carry¬
ing us out on the “Great Adventure”; and our
thoughts wafted farewells to mother or wife, as

48

EMBARKATION

49

we bade them never fear but that we would
show that their men were not unworthy of their
regard.

Our spirits had not been so elated had we
known that more weeks of camp life in Australia
yet awaited us. Had we not thought that we
were destined for immediate embarkation we
might have been better disposed to appreciate
Broadmeadows, but as it was it seemed to us
about the last place made — and not yet finished.

As the days passed, our detestation of the place
grew, but we soon found that our impatience of de¬
lay in embarking was shared by several thousand
others who had gathered there from many States
and been weeks trampling out the grass and rais¬
ing the dust in those accursed fields till it choked
them, when they had long before expected to be
inhaling the ozone from the deck of some good
ship that with every knot bore them nearer to
the strife for liberty and a man’s chance.

This camp was always seething with discon¬
tent, for with the delay was in every man’s heart
the haunting fear that the war might be over
ere he got there, and none could think without
dread of the possibility that we might have to
endure the lowest depths of humiliation in return¬
ing home without having struck a blow.

On one occasion the impatience that was like
a festering sore among the men of this camp
nearly resulted in a show of mutiny. Oil was

“OVER THERE”

50

added to the flame of our discontent by the tact¬
lessness of the camp adjutant. He will always be
known to the men of those days as the “Puppy.”
His father was a commanding officer, and though
he was only nineteen years of age and his voice was
just breaking, he rode the “highffiorse of authority”
over those men as though they were schoolchildren.
When his lady friends came to visit him he would
order a special parade so that they might see him
in command of 11 his men , doncherknow ! ” But
his “high horse” nearly threw him one day when
he gave the order, “Move to the right and fours,
form fours!” and not a man moved. Blushing
like a schoolgirl, he called the officers out for con¬
sultation and sent for the commandant. When,
however, real men took command there was no
further trouble, though the boys openly voiced
their complaints — “that their leave was restricted
for no reason” — “that they were on parade after
hours,” and “Why don’t they send us away to
fight, anyway? That’s what we enlisted for.”
The announcement that we would be sailing soon
brought forth cheers and every one was in good
humor again. Only let us be sure that we were off
to war, and we could stand even the Puppy’s
yelping.

But all the same, there were a couple more
weeks of the mud and dust to be endured. I have
been in sand-storms in the interior of Australia
when the sun was blotted out and in Egypt when

EMBARKATION

Si

the Kam-seen said to the mountain, “Be thou
removed !” and it was removed in a single night
some fifty miles away, but neither of these is
worse than some of the dust-storms that blow over
Melbourne, and at Broadmeadows we got their
full force. We would march in from the parade-
ground not being able to see the man in front of
us, and in the light of the candles in our tents our
very features were blotted out and nothing but
eyes and teeth were visible, except that, perhaps,
in some faces two small holes would suggest
where the nose might be. It was only after a
good deal of shaking that the place could be dis¬
cerned where neck emerged from collar. There
were some serious accidents in these dust-storms
through men trying to bump buildings out of
their way, and on one occasion two poor fellows
were nearly killed in failing to give the “right-
away” to a couple of sheets of galvanized iron.
And when it rained, great snakes ! Where was
there ever mud like that ! We certainly did a
good deal in mixing the soil of those paddocks,
for we would carry an acre of it from around the
tents onto the drill-ground, where we would care¬
fully scrape it off, and when we marched back we
would bring another acre on our boots to form a
hillock at our tent door. If there had been but
an inch of rain we would lift up on the soles of our
boots all the wet earth, uncovering a surface of
dust to pepper our evening meal.

52

“OYER THERE”

Large sums of money have been spent on this
camp since those days and it is now a nursery for
the recruits who have volunteered three years
late and need the enticement of feather beds to
induce them to leave mother. It has been thor¬
oughly drained and terraced, and comfortable
huts have been erected, but we simply rolled in
blankets on bare Mother Earth and sheltered
from sun and rain in tents that were supposed to
be water-proof, and generally were unless you
happened to touch them when wet. If you did
accidentally happen to rub against the sides, there
would be a stream of water pouring down on you
all night. There was no escaping this, for there
was not an inch of ground inside the tent that was
not covered by man. In fact, with ten in a tent,
one of us had to lie three-quarters outside, any¬
way, which was the chief reason why I was never
last in. Dressing was a problem, for every one
must needs dress at the same time, and from the
outside the tent must have looked something like
a camel whose hump was constantly slipping.
Perhaps that is why every one used safety-razors
after a while, for although our faces would fre¬
quently look as though they had been mixed up in
barbed wire, there was really not much danger of
cutting one’s throat, for even though you received
a forty-horse-power jolt at a critical moment,
the razor-guard prevented your life being actually
imperilled.

EMBARKATION 53

In this camp we received our uniforms and
equipment, but it was only after a lot of exchang¬
ing had been done that our uniforms made us look
soldierly. Oh, Lord ! what caricatures many of
us were after the first issue. There were prac¬
tically no out-sizes in tunics, but plenty of the
men were not merely out-size, but odd-sized.
Some little fellows looked as if they were wear¬
ing father’s coat, and there were others who
looked as if they were wearing that of baby
brother. Some had to turn back the cuffs two
or three times, while others had at least a foot of
wrist and forearm showing. But the breeches!
Oh, my Aunt Sarah ! Some were able to tuck
the bottoms into their boots, while others had to
wind puttees above their knees. There were
men who couldn’t bend comfortably, while others
had room to carry a couch about with them.
However, the orders were that we were to keep
on exchanging until we got something like a fit,
but as there were varieties in the quality of the
cloth, there were those who preferred a misfit to
poor material, so that there were always a num¬
ber who looked like Charlie Chaplin.

New arrivals in camp were always called “Mar¬
malades,” because they were distinguished by
their relish for marmalade jam. After they had
consumed over a ton of it and forgotten the taste
of any other kind of jam then they looked at a
tin of it with loathing, when they would be con-

“OVER THERE”

54

sidered to have passed the “recruit” stage and
be on a fair way to becoming soldiers.

Long before we got our uniforms we were issued
greatcoats, hats, and boots. At this time the
only other clothes we had were the blue dungarees
and white cloth hats called “fatigue dress.” No
self-respecting man would allow a lady friend to
see him in this rig-out. Yet one must breathe the
free air of liberty sometime, and “confinement to
camp” was a punishment for crime. So we com¬
promised by strolling the city streets with our
military hats and boots, with the army great¬
coats seeking to hide the blue hideousness of our
dungarees. Some of us sought to be unconscious
of the foot or two of blue cloth showing beneath
the greatcoat, and these were times when we en¬
vied the little chap enveloped in a greatcoat that
hung down as low as his boots. We received at
this time the nickname “Keystone soldiers,”
some genial ass conceiving that we looked as funny
as the Keystone police. These greatcoats were
a bit out of place on a day that was over a hundred
in the shade, and they did not look exactly the
thing at a dainty tea-table in a swell cafe, but we
clung to those greatcoats as our only salvation,
for they did hide the blue horror beneath. I
should have explained that our civilian clothes
had been taken from us, and we were forbidden,
under severe penalty, to wear any but regulation
dress. Nevertheless, the lucky dogs who had rel-

EMBARKATION

55

atives near by would take the risk and borrow a
cousin’s rig-out, but we hated them as mean dogs,
feeling they were taking an unfair advantage;
and, if we got a chance, we would, by innuendo,
hint to the lady in the case that these fellows did
so much dixie-cleaning that their dungarees were
too stiff to wear !

Nearing the close of a long, sunny Australian
day — the air soft, warm, and sweet, and the sky
suffused with a lovely pink. It was visiting-day —
Friday. In the camp, rows of figures in blue
dungarees and white hats were marching round
and round the drill- ground, turning from left to
right, forming fours, then back to two deep, and
so on and so on. Out across the flat ground be¬
tween the camp and the railway-station, coming
steadily toward the camp, was a very straggly
line of white figures. As they came closer, one
saw they were women and girls, fresh and dainty
in summer frocks and hats, all carrying big baskets,
suitcases, and all manner of strange and weirdly
shaped parcels. A few odd males among them,
mostly nearing sixty, or under ten. Some were
portly, puffing a little, some old, their heavy par¬
cels making their lips quiver and their step slow — •
and girls, just multitudes of them, all sizes, ages,
and shapes — blondes, brunettes, in-betweens, and
from every rank in the social scale — mostly in
groups of any number from two to twenty — some
chaperoned, some not. Here and there one saw

“OVER THERE”

56

one alone carrying an extra heavy suitcase, which
somehow you knew contained extra-specially
good things to eat, and when you looked at her
face under her big hat a certain something there
told you that on the third finger of the left hand
under her glove you would surely find a diamond
half-loop, and even, perhaps, a very plain new gold
band !

From the drill-ground the soldiers could see
this crowd of womenfolk steadily coming toward
them, and grew acutely aware of their shapeless,
grubby dungarees, dusty boots, and perspiring
faces under tired-looking white hats. Agonized
glances were turned on the sergeant-major as,
with his face utterly expressionless, ignoring the
oncoming feminine figures, he still right-about-
turned and quick-marched them. The fluttering
white frocks came closer and closer, and as they
began to get near the gate imploring glances were
turned in the direction of the guard, praying they
would not let any one in. Then suddenly, to
their immense relief, they were dismissed; then
it was just one mad rush for tents. Swearing
breathlessly as they bumped into each other or
tripped over tent-pegs and ropes, they ran, putting
on an extra spurt every time they glanced over
their shoulders and saw the women advancing
upon them in mass formation. Changing was
soon accomplished, not without a good deal of
confusion, mixing up of garments, and splashing

On Show” Before Leaving Home.

EMBARKATION

57

water around, but when they were finally all
dressed and again in khaki uniforms smiles of
satisfaction spread over clean and shiny faces
as they glanced down at neat uniforms and well-
polished boots — Smoke-o that day had seen much
activity in the business of brushing and pol¬
ishing.

Down at the gate the picket was having a busy
time answering questions: “Could you tell me
where I will find Private McIntosh ?” “What
tent is my brother in, d’you know?” But as
many of the eager questioners were, well, very
delightful, none of the boys on picket duty kicked
at their job. Some of the boys who were quicker
dressers than the others now began to come down
to the gate, bustling into the crowd of womenfolk,
looking eagerly for their own particular visitors,
and, seeing them, dashing up, hugging mothers
and sisters, shaking bashfully the hand of “sister’s
friend,” gathering up all their parcels, and, with
them all following close behind, leading the way
to “a dandy spot” for supper. In course of time
the sorting-out process was complete, and the
camp was dotted with hundreds of groups, large
and small, all laughing and talking, and busy
unpacking those very weighty parcels. Boys who
had changed into uniform with the others and gone
down to the gate, though not really expecting any
one as they were from out back and had no city
friends, but still feeling lonesome, and, perhaps,

“OVER THERE”

58

having a forlorn hope that there might be some one,
had helped rather bewildered girls, carrying their
baskets and finding the man they wanted — these
boys now looked longingly around at these groups,
hoping some one would invite them to join in; and
how their faces brightened when one of their tent-
mates, looking up from a hunk of frosted cake,
would see them and shout, “Hey, Bill! Here!”
and, after the agony of being presented to “My
mater, my sister, and Miss Stephenson,” things
were just O. K.

Yet there were a good many lonely ones, boys
who hadn’t even bothered to change, still in their
ill-shaped blue dungarees, dusty boots, and cloth
hats, some of them walking round, their heads
down, and kicking at every clump of grass or
stone that came within reach of their boots —
some of them, too lonely even to look at the fun,
hanging over the fences, occasionally exchanging
a few peevish words with each other, while
others gathered round the old man who kept a
stall just inside the gate and bought lemonade,
ginger ale, and arrowroot biscuits, consuming them
with much assumed gusto, while others still sat
inside their tents or the Y. M. C. A. hut.

Looking at these boys gave one a deep heart¬
ache, but the sob in one’s throat changed suddenly
to a laugh as one looked at their hats. Americans
in Australia have always held the prize for origi¬
nality in headgear, but that same prize must now

EMBARKATION 59

be handed over to our soldiers in camp. What
they can do with one simple, unoffending, white-
cloth cricket-hat passes all belief. Seldom, as
is the case with their dungarees, did these boys
have a hat that really fitted them, those with big
heads had the smallest hats, and those with extra
small heads got the largest size. They were all
shades, from their original pure white down, or up,
to an exact match with Mother Earth. And the
shapes ! Some wore them turned down all round,
some turned up all round, some turned up in
front and down at the back, some vice versa, some
turned up on the left side and down at the right,
and some down at the left and up at the right;
some had tucked the front part in, leaving a large
expanse of bare brow, while the back part, turned
down, shaded the nape of their neck. Some ap¬
plied this idea reversed, turning in the back ; some
turned the brim right in except for a small peak
a la jockey; some had a peak back and front,
made by rolling in both sides, and some settled
the question by turning the whole brim in, the
resultant skull-cap effect being such as to bring
tears to the eyes of all beholders.

These disconsolate, lonely faces, with, in the
cases of the younger boys, tear-filled eyes, sur¬
mounted by these absurd, preposterous hats —
it was truly a case of not knowing whether to
laugh or to cry; so by laughing hard, the women
who saw them hid their tears.

6o

“OVER THERE”

It soon began to get dark — in Australia our twi¬
light is short — so suitcases and baskets were re¬
packed, but only this time with plates, cups,
spoons, etc. — and one by one the parties rose and
went over to the Y. M. C. A. tent for the concert.
In the tent tables had all been moved out and
rows of chairs and forms filled it. In a short time
they were all occupied, the officers sitting in front,
some with visitors, others alone and casting very
longing eyes at the lovely girls coming in with
the men.

The concert was given, as they mostly were, by
an amateur club, and had its ups and downs.
But every one enjoyed it — the items that took the
popular fancy were loudly applauded, and the
others that weren’t so good — well, no one minded,
as every one was happy, and the lights were very
dim !

By the end of the concert it was nine q’clock,
the time for all visitors to be shooed off home.
The bugles blew “The First Post,” and every
one, very unwilling, made their way slowly down
to the gate. Here good-byes were said, meetings
arranged for the boys’ next leave, promises made
to come out next week, with much chattering and
laughing, though here and there, back in the
shadows, would be couples, very quiet, maybe
engaged, perhaps just married, hating to separate.

At last the remaining white frocks flutter
through the big gate and join in the stream al-

EMBARKATION 6 1

ready straggling across country toward the rail¬
way-station, every one quiet and very tired.

In camp the boys stroll over to their tents,
exchanging an occasional word with pals, but for
the most part silent, and turn in, tired also, and
a little thoughtful. In an hour all the stars shine
brightly from the velvety, blue-black sky, the soft-
scented air wafts in through open tent-flaps,
lights are out, and all is quiet in the camp, except
for the periodical changing of pickets and the occa-
sonal roar of a passing train in the distance.

CHAPTER VI

MANY WEEKS AT SEA

A troop-ship has no longer a name, but al¬
though the ship we boarded at Port Melbourne
docks was designated by the number A 14, it was
not hard to discover that we were on a well-
known ocean-liner, for on life-buoys and wheel-
house the paint was not so thick that inquisitive¬
ness could not see the name that in pre-war days
the Aberdeen line proudly advertised as one of
their most comfortable passenger-carrying ships.
That meant little to us, for her trimmings of com¬
fort had been stripped off but for a few cabins left
for the officers, and when we were mustered in our
quarters, we wondered where we would sleep,
for no bunks met our eye.

Embarkation is for every one concerned the
most tedious, red-tapeyist incident in a soldier’s
career. For fear of spies the exact day had been
kept secret, and although we had expected to
leave weeks previously, and had, at least, twenty
times said our tearful farewells, when the actual
day arrived there was no expectation of it and no
farewells. The night previously men had said to
their wives, '‘See you to-morrow, dear!” — meet¬
ings were arranged with best girls, for the movies —

62

MANY WEEKS AT SEA 63

in fact, not the faintest rumor had spread through
the camp that there was any likelihood of our sail¬
ing for weeks, and here in the early dawn we were
lined up on the wharf, being counted off like
sheep, and allotted our quarter cubic foot of
ship’s space; preparing for our adventure over¬
seas without the slightest chance of letting any one
know what had happened to us. We could sym¬
pathize with the feelings of our folks as they would
journey out to camp with the usual good things
to eat only to find we had gone. By this time
we would be well out at sea, en route for the Great
Adventure, but it was hard luck for mothers and
wives suddenly to find us gone without warning,
and having to wait many weeks for the first
letter.

It was wet, it was cold, it was dark on that
wharf. If we were counted once, we were counted
fifty times, and for hours we stood in the rain be¬
cause there were two men too many. No, not
men, for they were found to be boys of fifteen who
had stolen uniforms and had hidden near the wharf
for days to get away with the troops, but they
were discovered, as every man had his name
called and was identified by his officer as he passed
up the gangway. One of them was not to be kept
off, however: he slipped round the stem and
climbed up the mooring cables like a monkey,
and as no one gave him away he was undiscovered
until rations were issued, so, perforce, he was a

64 “OVER THERE”

member of the ship’s company and went with us
to Egypt.

It’s marvellous what quantities of men a troop¬
ship can swallow. There were a thousand men
on our ship and we wondered how we would possi¬
bly move about, for we were marched ’tween decks,
and seated on benches ranged alongside deal
tables, and when all were aboard there was not
room for a man more. It was explained to us
that these were our quarters. We could under¬
stand them as eating quarters, but where were we
to sleep? It was soon evident; above our heads
were rows of black iron hooks; these were for
our hammocks, which, with a blanket apiece,
were in bins at the end of each deck. Hammock
sleeping was not new to me, so I got a good deal of
fun seeing the early-to-bedders climb in one side
of their hammock, only to fall out the other, and
very few could manipulate their blankets. One
could see that nearly every one was nervous for
fear of turning over in his sleep, but there was
really no danger of falling out, for when all the
hammocks were up they were packed so closely
that if you did roll over, you would only roll into
the next hammock on top of some fellow who
would, no doubt, think the mast had fallen.
There were a good number of men to whom life
would have been much pleasanter the next few
days if they could have stayed in their hammocks
all day, as, no matter how the ship rolls, a ham-

MANY WEEKS AT SEA 65

mock, being swung, always keeps level. Un¬
fortunately, all hammocks had to be taken down
at 6 a. m. so we could sit at the tables for break¬
fast, and to most of the boys that first morning
getting out of their hammocks was like stepping
onto a razzle-dazzle. We were now well at sea
and the general cry was in the words of the song :
“Sea, sea, why are you angry with me?” Dis¬
cipline had to be relaxed those first days, for a
seasick man is quite willing to be shot and has
no interest in the war, and doesn’t care which
horse wins the boat-race. Seasickness never gets
any sympathy from those who are immune, but
sometimes just retribution comes on the scoffer,
and it is some satisfaction to see a man’s face
turn green who but a few hours ago had been
whistling with a selfish cheerfulness while you were
revealing your own sticky past to the mermaids.

After about a week parades were announced,
and in the early morning we were lined up for
“physical jerks,” by which is meant calisthenics,
or setting-up exercises. We now realized the
appropriateness of the nickname, for the first
stretching would cause a number to rush to the
side, where they would attempt to jerk their
hearts out, and also, standing on tiptoe on a roll¬
ing ship, one can only bend in jerks. To our joy
these parades were short affairs, for there was
only the limited space of the boat and saloon
decks and each platoon had to take its turn in

66

“OVER THERE”

occupying this very limited parade-ground — so
the greater part of the time was spent in passing
remarks about the slovenly work of every other
squad but one’s own. Of course there were always
fatigue and guard duties. I’ll never forget my
first butcher’s fatigue, for when I stooped to pick
up a carcass of mutton, I thought the best way to
carry it would be to hang it round my neck like
a feather boa, but no log of wood was stiffer or
more unbending than that frozen woolly, and I
asked if we were expected to eat that. No won¬
der so much coal is used on a ship when the food
has to be thawed out ! But this job was very
comforting, for I saw the inside of the ship’s store¬
house, and never feared, though we were wrecked
on a desert island, there would be any danger of
our starving.

We turned out some pretty ragtime guards —
sentries were posted at different parts of the ship,
the most important being the guard over the
liquor, and another sentry at the saloon gangway,
whose duty it was to prevent any private or
other common person trespassing on the hallowed
ground sacred to the cigarette-ash and footprints
of officers. This last sentry was expected to
salute the O. C. troops and commander of the
ship, all other salutes being dispensed with, as
on board ship we saw our officers some five hundred
and ninety times a day, and their arms would
have been whirling like windmills had they been

MANY WEEKS AT SEA

67

compelled to return our salutes. I remember
one sentry failing to recognize the commander-in¬
chief, and presently the colonel spoke to him thus :
“What are you doing here, my man?” “I’m

supposed to be a - sentry.” “Well, do you

know that I am supposed to be the - colonel ? ”

“Oh ! Well, I’m supposed to give you a -

salute!” And the sentry forthwith performed
his belated duty.

On this ship the officers were all pretty popular,
especially one who was never known by any title
or other designation than “Jerry.” Jerry had
more self-confidence than any man I have ever
met. He could not correctly put a platoon
through its formations, but would not hesitate
to take charge of a battalion. When he had
given some orders and had hopelessly mixed up
a company, he would look at the mess with an air
of superiority that proclaimed to all and sundry
that he was commanding a lot of imbeciles, and
then he would calmly throw the responsibility
of disentangling themselves upon the men by
the order: “As you were !”

It was a puzzle to all as to how he got his
commission. He was tall and spruce, most scru¬
pulous in the fit of his uniform, but absolutely too
lazy to learn his job. He was something of a
joke as an officer, yet his men got to like him for
his good humor and absolute indifference to the
censure of his superiors. In instructing a squad

68

“OVER THERE”

he would quite calmly read aloud out of a drill-
book right under the eyes of the colonel, and his
air of calm assurance under rebuke would so an¬
noy his superiors that he frequently escaped much
censure, for few senior officers are willing to dis¬
play a loss of temper in front of the men, as it
makes for a loss of dignity. One day Jerry found
a sentry asleep at his post while he wTas on “visit¬
ing rounds” as officer of the guard. All Jerry
did was to drawl out: “Next time you go to
sleep, my lad, you’ll wake up in hell!” As a
matter of fact, he was too good-natured to have
a man punished, and as the boys realized this,
they would not let any one take advantage of
him. We did not think there was anything
that Jerry could do properly until the first con¬
cert.

These concerts were weekly affairs, and we had
three artists who were equal to the best. Tom
Dawson, the Tivoli comedian, who was after¬
ward killed in France, was one of us and always
willing to provide half a dozen songs, with his
india-rubber face stretched to suit each part.
He was a prime favorite. Then we had an oper¬
atic tenor who could sing a solo from almost any
Italian opera, but his talent was not appreciated
— some one would be bound to call “Pretty
Joey!” in the middle of his most impassioned
passages. He got plenty of applause when he
sang about “the end of a perfect day,” even

MANY WEEKS AT SEA 69

though the day had been as beastly as a severe
storm could make it for a thousand-odd men
cooped up so closely that only a third of them
could see the sky at one time. His efforts to
educate our musical taste completely failed, for
the announcement that he was going to sing in
Italian always raised cries of “Steaka-de-oyst’ !”
“Fiji banana !” etc.

Another real artist played the mandolin, and
when he appeared with it first of all he was greeted
with cries of “Gertie!” As he played, however,
he held the boys spellbound and never after failed
to get an encore, though many still held that a
mandolin was only a “sissy” instrument. But the
star performer, to every one’s surprise, was Jerry.
Here was one thing he could do, at any rate !
His recitation of “Gunga Dhin” brought tears to
our eyes, and thereafter no programme was com¬
plete without this item.

Toward the end of the voyage the concerts lost
popularity, as there were only three or four art¬
ists; and there was no stock of music on board,
so their two or three songs became as wearisome
as a much-played gramophone record. The box¬
ing and wrestling matches always held the crowd,
and there was no lack of competition, for the
runner-up was always sure that he would have won
but for bad luck and was ever ready for another
try. These were no “pussy” shows, for we had
some professionals among us: “Sailor Duffy,” one

“OVER THERE ”

7 o

of our second lieutenants, was middleweight cham¬
pion of Victoria, and one of the ship’s crew was
champion wrestler of London. There were others
who required convincing, at any rate, that they
were not as good as the champions, and anyway
there were always plenty of disputes during the
day that by general consent were settled in the
ring at night. This was how we passed the long
weeks to Colombo, our first port of call.

To the white man having to make his home at
Colombo it may not be paradise, but to the sea-
weary landlubber who has been weeks without
a sight of land, there never was place more delight¬
ful. The first day we weren’t allowed ashore, but
there were other troop-ships lying in the harbor,
and soon pretty well every man who could find a
footing on the rigging was semaphoring like mad:
“Who are you? Where ’d you come from?
Where are you going ?” We discovered one boat
was full of New Zealanders and we coo-eed and
waved wildly to them, feeling that New Zealand
ought to be part of Australia, anyhow, and they
were almost homelanders. There were also some
Indian troops bound for the Persian Gulf, and im¬
mediately the rumor started that that was where
we were bound, and everybody looked pretty
blue. Pretty soon some coal-lighters came along¬
side — that is, we discovered there was coal in
them after they had discharged their living freight,
for they were simply black with niggers. There

MANY WEEKS AT SEA

7 1

did not seem to be an inch of boat space that was
not covered up by nigger. About half of them
started to work, for the method of coaling in these
parts is for the niggers to carry aboard about a
teaspoonful in a wicker basket. By working in
shifts and maintaining a constant stream of men
hurrying from lighters to ship each with his spoon¬
ful of coal, sufficient is taken inboard in a very
long time. Those who were not coaling, loudly
proclaimed that they would dive for money and
thereafter, by day and night, our ears were
assailed by their cries: “Me di\” “Gib it
money.” “You throw.” It was very amusing
for the first hour or two, but we soon got heartily
sick of their importunity and their incessant
chatter.

The second day we were allowed a couple of
hours ashore, and as many had a three- weeks’
thirst, they saw no more of Colombo than the in¬
side of a hotel bar. Others of us were amused
at being escorted through the streets by the nigger
policemen with whips, who did not hesitate to
belabor very energetically any niggers who ap¬
proached us too closely; but while the policeman
was chasing one nigger another would seize his
chance and offer for sale native jewelry of ex¬
quisite workmanship, at what would seem to us a
ridiculously low price, but we were assured by
every one that whatever price they asked was
ten times its value. Some of the boys were after

72

1 “ OVER THERE ”

souvenirs, and as soon as it was realized that we
had money to spend we were followed about, dur¬
ing our whole stay, by scores of merchants, some
simply loaded down with the entire stock of their
shops. Our time ashore was too short for us to
see what Colombo really was like, but it was
delightful to be able to stretch our legs ashore
again, and the novelty and charm of the streets
and the luxuriant tropical vegetation made us
feel that we would be willing to remain a life¬
time amid scenes of such fascination and color.

After Colombo the days were more wearisome
than before. The weather was scorching and
only a few of us could get on deck at a time for a
breath of fresh air. Long before nightfall the
decks would be covered with men lying on their
blankets, for permission was given to as many as
there was room for to sleep on the boat and
saloon decks, and as there was only room for a
twentieth of the complement, one had to grab one’s
position early. Some preferred a comfortable
night’s rest to their tea, and so would occupy their
man’s length of deck space while the others were
eating.

Going through the Red Sea was a feast of
beauty, for the evening colors of the sand-hills
were gorgeous, and inconceivable to any but an
eye-witness. We were now on biblical ground, and
great were the religious arguments that waged.
One boy wrote home that one of the ship’s anchors

MANY WEEKS AT SEA

73

had brought up a wheel from the chariot of Pha¬
raoh, and his mother had replied that she was glad
he was visiting such historic country, but when he
later on told her that “Big Lizzie” was firing
shells twenty-seven miles at the Dardanelles, she
wrote him that she was afraid life in the army was
making him exaggerate things and that he should
keep strictly to the truth !

There was fighting going on at Aden when we
passed — some Bedouins were attacking the town
from the desert side, but evidently it was not
serious, for, to our disappointment, we were not
asked to join in. We were merely examined by
a British war-ship and told to pass on.

At Suez we disembarked and we were none of
us sorry to say good-bye to the old ship, and there
were no fond farewells taken of the crew, for they
were as unpatriotic a set of scoundrels as ever
sailed under the British flag. They robbed us
right and left. They stole our ration jam, selling
it to us in the form of a drink. A penny a glass
would buy “pineapple cordial, ” which was merely
a tin of pineapple jam mixed up in a ship’s bucket
of iced water. “Orangeade” was marmalade jam
and water. Strange to say, there were always
enough “boobs” among us soldiers to fall for it.
On board ship we were not allowed to wear boots,
as the hobnails in our military footwear could cut
up the deck, so those that hadn’t shoes went bare¬
foot, but at the end of the voyage when we began

74

“OVER THERE”

to search for our boots there was the deuce to
pay. Only half the men could find them at all,
and it was only through a search of the whole
ship that many of us did not have to walk in the
sands of Egypt barefooted. The missing pairs
were found among the sailors, of course, one of
them even having six. It is a wonder those
sailors didn’t cut our hair when we were asleep
to stuff their pillows — they certainly skinned us
as close as they could.

PART II

EGYPT

*

CHAPTER VII

THE LAND OF SAND AND SWEAT

How we hated Egypt before we left it ! It
may be a land of fascination to the tourist who
drives about in gharris to view its wonders and
stays at a European hotel, but to be there as a
soldier, to lie in its vile sand, to swallow its con¬
glomerated stinks, to rub the filth off the seats in
the third-class train-carriages, to have under your
eyes continually the animated lump of muck that
the “Gyppo” is, to have your ears filled continu¬
ally with the vile expressions that the Egyptian
conceives as wit, is an experience that makes one
so disgusted that few Australians that were there
will ever want to see the rotten country again.
At first, however, all was novelty, and we were
like children on a picnic as we marched from the
wharf into the third-class carriages of the Egyp¬
tian state railways waiting for us just outside the
gates. It was some job getting into those car¬
riages. Ordinarily white people travelled first-
class, but we were troops, and it was like pushing
against a wall to pass the smell that came from
the doors of these carriages that had been the
preserves of the unwashed nigger of varied age
and sex for the Lord knows how many years.

77

78

“OVER THERE”

We left the ship with twenty-four hours’ pro¬
visions, which were all consumed on that train.
Some of us managed to get a little sleep by pack¬
ing all the equipment in the end of the carriage
and sitting on the floor back to back. Now and
again the train would stop at nowhere in particu¬
lar, when we would be assailed by anything-but-
clean niggers, who would draw oranges and other
fruit from inside their shirts. We had been
warned against eating anything in Egypt that
could not be skinned, and when we saw the nig¬
gers and where they kept their stock in trade we
knew the reason. So far we had nothing but
English money, and, though we had been given
lectures before disembarking on the values of
Egyptian money, we had to pay liberal exchange
to these train-side merchants. Oranges cost us
about two cents apiece, though later on with
Egyptian money we bought them three for a half
piastre (three cents). The only station I remem¬
ber on this trip was because of its curious-sounding
name, Zagizig, where we had a stroll along the
platform and met some of our lordly Sikhs from
India, who were all smiles when they discovered
we were Australians. In the early dawn we dis-
entrained at Koubbeh and after straightening
ourselves out from having been cramped up in
those horse-boxes, we started our march of about
ten miles, carrying full pack, to the camp at
Zeitoun. But here there was no arrangement

THE LAND OF SAND AND SWEAT 79

for our breakfast. The New Zealanders and
Australians already camped there had only their
own day’s rations, and we hadjconsumed ours on
the train. How we cursed the powers that be !
We had humped our eighty-pound packs those
weary miles and when we thought we had arrived
— no tucker ! There might have been some
trouble; grumbling might have led to action in a
raid on somebody’s stores, but for the Y. M. C. A.
hut. They served out hot tea and in a few mo¬
ments grumbling gave place to “chiaching”;
criticism that a few moments ago had been edged
was now good-humored. Give an Australian sol¬
dier hot tea and it will pick him up quicker than
any other drink on earth.

CHAPTER VIII

HELIOPOLIS

Our camp was just outside the new city of
Heliopolis, which was built at the cost of about
$40,000,000 by a Belgian syndicate to rival Monte
Carlo, but it was a fiasco as a money-making con¬
cern. Nevertheless, there were some gorgeous
buildings, and it was a source of constant interest
to us. The Palace Hotel was the most magnifi¬
cent building I have ever seen; used by us as
a hospital. There was no lack of marble, and the
mosaics were marvellous. The lamp-stands were
of a unique and exquisite design. The contract
provided that the pattern should be destroyed
after they were made, so they would not be copied.
It was rather incongruous to see nothing but rows
and rows of army cots, and the white-robed nurses
flitting about in rooms that were manifestly in¬
tended for luxurious divans and the evening
dress of fashion. Lying in those cots, one had
but to gaze ceilingward, and forget that one was
in a hospital. It required little imagination to
people the rooms with the same splendor and
fashion that fills Monte Carlo, and maybe, had
the war not come and the gambling license been
granted, all this barbaric splendor would have

80

HELIOPOLIS

81

been perfumed with the scents of “attar of roses ”
and “lily-of-the-valley ” instead of “iodoform”
and “ carbolic.”

Another hospital was in Luna Park, which had
been built to cater to the amusement of thousands
of joy-seekers, but the only joy there now was
in relief from pain. It was fun to make the
round of the wards, for many beds were on the
scenic railway, and you would visit one poor
chap in a high fever, lying amid painted ice and
snow, while another nursed his broken leg along¬
side a precipice that might well have caused it.
I walked in to see the sights one day, and passing
through a cave almost fell over a bed whereon
was my own brother, whose whereabouts I had
been trying to discover for days. Such are the
coincidences of life.

The streets of this town were spacious and very
clean and were bordered by fine buildings with
granite and marble pillars and some fine masonry
lacework. Unfortunately, poor taste was often
shown, with plaster alongside the marble, and the
stone used was too soft and already in places was
crumbling. In Egypt, where it rarely rains, the
climate is kind to the jerry-builder, and it’s only
when Jupiter Pluvius wants a laugh and sends a
regular tropical downpour that the buildings that
were a thing of beauty and a joy forever come to
earth and are no more. We ourselves were on
one occasion victims of this god’s fun. We were

82

“OVER THERE”

told that it never rained, and our huts were built
just to shelter us from the sun, but at 2 a. m.
the grim old weather-god turned on the shower,
and no doubt it amused him a good deal to hear
our curses as we tried to shelter ourselves and
tucker beneath greatcoats and water-proof sheet¬
ing. There was no chance of “getting in out of
the rain,” for there was not a water-proof shelter
for miles. Egypt is not the only place, though,
where the residents know least about their own
climate !

Heliopolis, anyway, is a skeleton of a town, for
most of these buildings were merely occupied in
the front, by Greek and Indian merchants who
had anticipated our coming. In these shops any¬
thing could be bought, from a microbe (which
was sometimes given away) to an elephant (nearly
always a white one) ! However, there were silks
galore and filagree-work of beauty, but the big¬
gest trade was done in colored handkerchiefs,
crudely worked on a sewing-machine with a de¬
sign of the pyramids and “Advance Australia.”
The cuteness of these merchants was also evi¬
denced in the signs on their stores. The first
Australian to stroll down those streets was amazed
to see, in huge lettering, “The Melbourne Store,”
next door to “The Sydney Shop.” They even
knew our slang, for here was “The ‘Fair Dinkum’
Store,” and across the way “Ribuck Goods.”
Prices were pretty much what you liked to pay.

HELIOPOLIS 83

At any rate I never failed to get an article by
paying only a quarter of the first-named price.

The most persistent of professionals were the
bootblacks. You had to have your boots cleaned
whether you liked it or not ! Stop for a moment
to talk to a friend and there was a nigger on each
foot, industriously brushing away as if his life
depended on it. They would follow you on to a
tram-car, and whether you got a seat or not there
would be somebody working on your boots two
seconds after boarding it. Another nuisance were
the sellers of swagger-sticks, and I have fre¬
quently bought one just for the pleasure of lay¬
ing it across the back of its previous owner. They
soon picked up our language and its choicest
words, but one word they never understood was
“No /” The first Egyptian word we learned was
“Imski /” literally, “Get!” — but it generally re¬
quired the backing of a military boot to make it
effective. The Australianese that the “Gyppos”
picked up is not commonly used in polite society;
maybe they thought it correct English, but it was
sometimes very embarrassing when walking down
the street with a nurse. And some polite mer¬
chants were sorely puzzled when the effect of
their well-chosen words and bow was an unin¬
tentional biting of the dust.

We must pass a vote of thanks, however, to
the syndicate for providing us with some ideal
club-rooms. I guess the Y. M. C. A. never had

“OVER THERE”

84

such quarters before or since, and must have had
to do some squaring of conscience in calling these
“Army Huts.” It was a hut, though, all right,
out at the camp, made of grass mats, held to¬
gether with string, but it was the usual boon and
blessing to men, and I guess there were few let¬
ters left camp that weren’t on Red Triangle paper.
I may as well mention here, too, that the best
meals I had since leaving home were in the
Y. M. C. A. building in the Esbekiah Gardens in
Cairo, so here’s a thank-you to those ladies and
the management.

CHAPTER IX

THE DESERT

I know more about the desert in Egypt than
any other part of it, for it was on the desert we
trained. There were sham fights galore, but it
was mostly squad and company drill, until if
some devil had scooped out our brain-boxes and
filled them with sawdust we could have carried
out the orders just as well. In fact, one fellow
must have gone mad with the monotony of it
and perpetrated the rhyme, to the tune of “The
Red, White, and Blue”:

“At the halt, on the left, form platoons,

At the halt, on the left, form platoons,

If the odd numbers don’t mark time two paces,
How the hell can the boys form platoons?”

I don’t know whether the author was ever
found, but I know plenty that were laid out for
singing it. We began to have a sinking feeling
that we would not be in the real scrap at all, for
a good part of our time was taken up in forming
11 hollow square ,” a formation that is famous in
the British army as having been only once broken,
but is only of value against savages, and “fur-

phies” (unfounded rumors) spread that we were

8s

86

“OVER THERE”

going into Darkest Africa or the Soudan. How¬
ever, we also practised echelon for artillery for¬
mation, that is, breaking a company into chunks
and throwing it about at unequal distances, so
that a shell falling on one chunk would not wipe
any of the others off the map. Then there was
more gloom, for that looked as if the war was
real, and there must be something in what the
papers were saying after all. About this time
some of the boys’ letters began to contain more
war news even than the papers, for the padre,
who was regimental censor, informed us that if
he let our mail go home unpencilled there would
be many mothers weeping at the danger their
boys were in, as they described fierce battles in
the desert. Even as it was, letters were published
in home papers that showed our regiment to
have been four times annihilated while we were
in training ! The only shots these fellows heard
all day were the popping of the corks in the wet
canteen! (No charge to the “drys” for this
story !)

And then, of course, we route-marched — in
the desert, please remember; a very different
thing, Mr. Rookie, to the same thing on made
roads ! For one thing, we were not supposed to
do more than fifteen miles a day, but on the des¬
ert there were no milestones, and the distance
was “estimated” by the officer in command.
Some of these officers must have been city trea-

THE DESERT

87

surers in private life, for their estimate of distance
was like estimated annual expenditure, generally
much under the mark. Mostly they would know
when we had gone far enough, which for us was
too far, and then we would get lost coming back.
Fortunately, there was a lot of men camped in
that desert, and as it is customary for a man lost
to travel in a circle, we would generally run into
some camp or other, otherwise I’m afraid we
would now be a petrified army, ‘‘somewhere in
Sahara.” Ten miles with an eighty-pound pack
on your back, through heavy sand, is as much as
a man can endure; after that he doesn’t endure,
he just carries on, and on, and on, and on. At
that time your company are all feet and are walk¬
ing on your brain. Anyway, the man behind

you does actually walk on your - heels every

second step.

In the desert, also, did we dig trenches. No,
not the same thing as digging trenches anywhere !
For it is really nearly as easy to dig trenches in
the ocean. For every spadeful you throw out
two fall in, and if, by the use of much cunning,
you do manage to get a hole dug, then you must
not leave it for a single instant, for it is only wait¬
ing until your back is turned to disappear. There
is one thing — those trenches were good cover, for
we would no sooner occupy them than we would
be covered up entirely. I would defy an aero¬
plane with the best “made in Germany” specta-

88 “OVER THERE”

cles to discover whether we were men or mum¬
mies.

But we had one very exciting trench-digging
expedition. We dug, if you please, into an old
city, and broke into tombs umpteen thousand
years old. " There were scarabs and ancient jewels
there that the Field Museum would give their
eye-teeth for. We were ordered to deliver our
finds to the authorities, but I am afraid many
of the boys had “sticky” fingers. It was all jolly
interesting, but there is a fly in every box of oint¬
ment, and the supposed age of these relics brought
home to us the fact that this soil had been lived
on for thousands of years by people much like
our present neighbors, without any sanitary ideas ;
and one of our fellows with a scientific mind pic¬
tured to us every grain of sand as being a globe
inhabited by germs. This was comforting, for
we each of us swallowed a few billion of these
“universes” every day! They got in our eyes,
in our ears, in our nose and mouth, but if they
got into a cut by any chance, then we were sub¬
jects for the doctor. “Oh Egypt, thou land of
teeming life, how healthy wouldst thou be if
you weren’t so overcrowded!”

Yet there was beauty in the desert. We would
frequently pick up agates, sapphires, and tur¬
quoise matrix. But its beauty was chiefly sug¬
gestive. There were gorgeous sunsets — poetry
there, but more poetry still in the wonderful

THE DESERT

89

mirages. Why, here, hung above the earth, were
scenes from every age: Cleopatra’s galleys, Alex¬
ander’s legions, the pomp of the Mamelukes,
Ptolemy and Pompey, Napoleon and Gordon —
their times and deeds were all pictured here.
Perhaps the spirit world has its “movies,” and
only here in the desert mirage is the “screen”
of stuff that can be seen with mortal eyes.

But beauty is not for soldiers — the desert was
our “schoolmaster.” It was the right-hand man
of Kitchener, and well did it perform its task of
putting iron into our spirits and turning our
muscles into steel, and making us fit for whatever
job the Maker of Armies had for us. He knew
the place to train us — where the weaklings would
fall and only the very fit survive. Any soldier
who passed through his grades in the “academy
of the desert ’ ’ might not shine in a guard of honor
to a princess; his skin would be blistered, his
clothes would be stained, but he’d be the equal in
strength of any man on earth, and would have
fought the attacks of every known disease. It
was Egypt and the desert that made Gallipoli
possible, and the Australian army owes much to
the astuteness of Kitchener, who knew the ideal
training-ground for the daredevil freeman from
“down under.”

CHAPTER X

PICKETING IN CAIRO

No man in the British Empire knew Egypt
better than Lord Kitchener, and he had very good
reasons, apart from training, in sending us there.
There can be no doubt whatever that the majority
of the Egyptians were pro-Turkish if not pro-
German. The educated Egyptian, like the Babu
in Bengal, is specially fitted by nature for intrigue,
and if he sees a chance to oppose whatever govern¬
ment is in power and keep his own skin, it is his
idea of living well. Egypt was immediately put
under martial law, but there was plenty of scope
for a while for the midnight assassin and the
poisoner. Here and there soldiers would dis¬
appear and street riots would be started by the
wind. Who would not turn round on seeing an
R. S. V. P. eye in a face whose veil enhanced the
beauty it did not hide? But there would always
be some sedition-monger to immediately fill the
street with a thousand yelling maniacs who would
scream that their religion had been insulted by
the accursed infidels. Religion they knew nothing
about, but to make trouble was their meat and
drink. There was a good deal of Irish blood
among us, and many men who would rather fight

90

PICKETING IN CAIRO 91

than go to the opera, so there were some good old
ding-dong scraps. Of course the “Gyppo” is
no fighter, but he can stand behind and throw
stones and can’t resist plunging the knife into an
inviting back, so sometimes our boys would get
laid out. A street row is always a dangerous
thing, for those in front cry “Back!” and those
behind cry “Forward !” and there is likely to be
a jam in which the innocent, if there are any, get
hurt. I saw a pretty ugly-looking crowd dis¬
persed with a characteristic Australian weapon.
Firing over their heads had no effect, nor threats
of a bayonet charge, but when two Australian
bushmen began plying stockwhips, those niggers
made themselves scarcer than mice on the smell
of a cat. As a good manipulator of the stockwhip
can pull the cork from a bottle, maybe these
plotters were afraid of having their guilty secrets
picked from them. At any rate, there were some
who lost flesh in a part that would insure them
having a smaller following thereafter.

There was a battle fought in Cairo for which
there will be no medals distributed and to which
stay-at-home Australians think there is no honor
attached, but I doubt if any one who took part in
the battle of the Wasir, except maybe the military
police, are ashamed of what they did. Any one
who knows Cairo knows that there is a part of
it that is not mentionable at dinner-table. It is
the sink of the world. Every large city has its

“OVER THERE 99

92

sore, but Cairo has an ulcer. This vile spot made
the clean lads from the wind-swept plains and
scented bush of Australia absolutely sick. The
Australian is a practical idealist, and for him to see
dirt is to want to remove it. Besides which, this
place was a nest of spies and enemies. There
were several of our boys who disappeared, and,
though it may be said they had no right there,
the sign “No Admittance” is one that the aver¬
age Australian has never been able to read. It
was one of those scraps that no one starts but that
breaks out of itself, because it has been brewing
so long. There were a few thousand of the boys
in Cairo that night, and when the news spread
it did not take long for more to come in from
Mena and other camps. They did not wait for the
motorman to start his car, but in many cases
commandeered it for the time being. Things
moved quite warmly for an hour or two : ladies of
low degree scuttled like rats and panders dashed
for safety, while “owners” in princely motor¬
cars turned almost as white as their livers as they
saw their “warehouses of virtue” going up in
flame. Two incidents are very vivid — the sight
of a grand piano tumbling out of a five-story
window and one of the aforesaid “owners” trying
to remonstrate with the avengers, and having his
car run into the fire. The military police tried to
interfere early in the game, but only made matters
worse, as they were pretty well hated by the boys

PICKETING IN CAIRO 93

as being mostly slackers. The attitude of many
of the officers may be judged from Jerry. He
was looking on smoking a pipe when an English
major dashed up to him, very apoplectic. ‘‘Are
you an Australian officer ?” “Ye — es!” drawled
Jerry. “Well, why don’t you take your men in
hand?” “Can’t see they are doing any harm!”
said Jerry. In the end strong-armed guards were
brought in from the camps, and as the boys were
just about tired anyway of their self-appointed
policemanship, things soon quieted down. There
were rumors that it cost the Australian Govern¬
ment a tidy sum of money, but the burning of
those pest-houses must have risen like incense
to heaven, and one very good effect it had, about
which there will be no dispute — it put the fear of
God into the Gyppo, and Australian soldiers after
that even singly and in small groups received
nothing worse than black looks.

After this Cairo was very thoroughly picketed
— the streets were patrolled all night by parties
of ten or a dozen under an N. C. O. I was in
charge of one of these parties for a couple of
months and had a good deal of fun playing
“policeman” among the cosmopolitan crowds
that infest Cairo. We were only armed with the
handles of our intrenching tools, which were
sticks of hardwood about twelve inches long
with an iron band at the upper end, but they
made very effective batons. I remember once

94

“OVER THERE ”

we had to settle a dispute at a wedding-feast. I
suppose there must have been a lack of room in
the house, for the meal was spread in the street —
long tables with a couple of hundred guests
seated at them right in the way of the traffic. We
strolled past a couple of times, but as we had no
instructions to prevent folk using the public
street for their domestic affairs, we saw no call
to interfere, but our mouths watered at the sight
of the good things to eat, and we thought it rather
a tempting of Providence to spread this abundance
of food in the open street of a city where there
are always about a million of people who had not
enough to eat at any time. We had only gone a
couple of blocks away when some wildly excited
niggers rushed after us and informed us: “Plenty
men kill ’um back there !” We went back at the
double and there was as ugly a riot as ever Irish¬
man longed for. There seemed to be a couple of
thousand yelling maniacs packing both sides of
the street. Our instructions were to prevent
the gathering of crowds. There were only ten of
us and we had but our improvised batons, but I
told the boys to get into the crowd and tell them
once to “imshi” (get) and then hit. “Be sure
and never speak twice.” We soon dispersed the
crowd. There was something about our “Nulla-
nullas”* that looked very businesslike, and none
stopped to argue the point.

* Australian native weapon.

PICKETING IN CAIRO 95

Sometimes the boys were pretty thirsty in those
long tramps through the streets, and the open
cafes were very inviting. But we had an ex¬
perience that warned me against allowing any of
them to go in and get a drink. One of them
had certainly not been gone more than a couple
of minutes, and he swears he only had one drink;
nevertheless, he had to be put in a cab and sent
back to the barracks. We had pretty dull times
in those barracks — -the Kasr-el-nile just alongside
the bridge of the same name. The chief amuse¬
ment was to feed the hawks that all day hovered
in the courtyard. We would drop pieces of meat
and bread from the balcony, but so quick were the
birds that I never knew a piece to reach the ground.

Jerry was one of the officers of the picket,
and we had to report to him at midnight at a
shelter in a part of the city with an evil reputa¬
tion. . From here we would issue in force to close
for the night the various dens of iniquity. Jerry
would generally stroll ahead with his cane and
walk into the resort of the worst ruffians on earth
with all the assurance of a general at the head of
a brigade. He would announce to these, the most
lawless men and women in the world, that it was
time to close up, and there was something in his
bearing that commanded prompt obedience.

In fact, nothing ever ruffled Jerry. One night
a senior officer attached to the commandant came
down in a tearing rage, and began to dress Jerry

“OVER THERE”

9 6

down for having presumed to close up a certain
gambling resort without consulting the authorities.
After about twenty minutes’ harangue in which he
threatened Jerry with all manner of punishment,
he collapsed at the drawled retort: “And then
you’ll wake up !”

Jerry was still on the picket when I left to go
down to the Suez Canal defenses, and I did not
hear any more about him until I met him in
Melbourne a few weeks ago, when I asked him
if he had been over to France, and his reply was :
“No. I — I came back.” No explanation as to
whether he was invalided or wounded. Jerry was
quite equal to telling a field-marshal to go to a
place even warmer than Egypt. Maybe his ex¬
traordinary self-assurance got on the nerves of
some general so much that to protect himself
from those critical eyes he had to send Jerry home.

The two principal, hotels in Cairo, Shepheard’s
and the Continental, were out of bounds to all
but officers. Some of our boys resented this dis¬
crimination while not on parade, for many of
the privates were, in social life, in higher standing
than the majority of the officers. There was one
of our colonels who took his brother in to dine
with him at Shepheard’s. A snobbish English
officer came up to this man who happened to be
only a private, and said: “What are you doing
in here, my man?” But he got rather a set¬
back when the Australian colonel said to him:

PICKETING IN CAIRO 9 7

“Captain, let me introduce my brother.” There
was another Australian private whom an English
officer objected to have sitting at the same table
with him at the Trocadero in London. Next day
this private reserved every seat in this swell
restaurant and provided dinner for several hun¬
dred of his chums, putting a notice on the door:
“No Officers Admitted.” Another illustration
of snobbishness, this time in Australia, was when
some officers at a race-meeting instructed the com¬
mittee to refuse admittance to the saddling pad-
dock and grand stand to all privates and N. C. O.’s,
but they looked pretty small when informed that
the owner of the race-course was a private and
could hardly be debarred from his own property.
Few Australian officers are of this type, however,
and in the trenches our officers and men are a
happy family. When the men realize that an
officer knows his job and has plenty of pluck,
they will follow him through hell.

A favorite rendezvous in Cairo was the Ezbe-
kiah Gardens of a Sunday afternoon. There
were beauties there from many nations, dressed
in the “dernier cri” of fashion, who were tickled
to death to be escorted by the bronzed giants
from “down-under,” and though one failed some¬
times to find words that were understood, yet
sufficient was said in glance and shrug to make a
very interesting conversation. And the Sultan’s
band was always there to fill in pauses and, in

“OVER THERE”

98

fact, played so well as to be an encouragement to
flirtations that were delightful in spite of differ¬
ences of nationality.

There was always plenty to see around Cairo,
and the education of the Australian bushman has
been widened considerably through those months
in Egypt, though I am afraid some of us swallowed
the yarns of the guides and garnered a vast store
of misinformation. These guides were a set of
blackmailers, but once you had engaged one he
looked on you as his personal property, and would
let no one rob you but himself. I would like,
even now, to have within reach of my boot the
old scoundrel who took me inside the Great
Pyramid. After following him in and by the
light of a candle climbing very carefully in stock¬
inged feet the granite passage (polished by millions
of toes until it was as slippery as glass), the old
ruffian led me into the Queen’s chamber, and then
announced that he had lost his candle but would
show me the height of the chamber by burning
magnesian wire for the price of one piastre (five
‘ cents) per second. After I had a good flash-light
view of the inside of this room, and marvelled
sufficiently at the enormous size of the blocks of
marble in the walls and out of which the sar¬
cophagus was made, the old son of a thief told
me it would be at the same rate that he would
light my way to the outside air again. I only
had stockinged feet, and made the foolish mistake

PICKETING IN CAIRO

99

of striking out in the dark. The old boy howled,
but I verily believe that I very nearly displaced
one of the eighty- ton blocks of marble. We ar¬
rived at the opening at the same moment and I
got a “full-Nelson” on the greasy blackguard.
He handed over the magnesian wire, also the can¬
dle, and was quite willing to give me as many of
his wives as I required before I released him. I
have never been in any place as hot as the inside
of the Great Pyramid, and no longer wonder that

_ f

a mummy is so dried up. For in five minutes
pretty nearly every drop of moisture in my own
body came out through the pores of my skin.

I also was barmy enough to climb to the top
of the Great Pyramid; each separate block of
stone to be surmounted was like the wall of a
house, but the view from the top was worth while,
and might have been enjoyed but for the thought
of getting down again; especially as old Job (my
new guide) persisted in telling me about several
people who had been killed, bouncing all the way
to the bottom. I did pretty well all the tourist
stunts in Egypt. I rode a donkey when my feet
touched the ground on either side, also mounted
a camel that lifted me to a dizzy height. I gazed
into the imperturbable face of the Sphinx and
wandered among the numerous pyramids of Sak-
kara. I visited the tombs of the Mamelukes
and feasted on the beauty of the mosques (hav¬
ing my feet shod with the provided sandals so

IOO

“OVER THERE”

that my infidel dust might not defame the hal¬
lowed floor). I also viewed the citadel; but the
place of most charm was the streets of old Cairo.
I was never tired of elbowing my way through the
bazaars and it was worth it to buy something
you didn’t want for the sake of being waited on
by “Abraham in the flesh.” Here was the
Arabian Nights in very reality, and all the ro¬
mance and lure of a thousand dreams. The smell
was a bit overpowering, but bearable if you sur¬
rounded yourself with the smell of your favorite
tobacco.

CHAPTER XI

“NIPPER”

On the sheep and cattle station of Wyaga in
southwestern Queensland there is a shepherd’s
hut about fifty miles from the homestead.

One night my father was camping in this hut,
and before lying down had piled a lot of dry dung
on the fire outside so that the smoke would drive
away the mosquitoes. Somewhere about mid¬
night he woke with the sense of some human
being near him. Then he was startled to see the
fire scattered before his eyes, but never found
sight nor sound of anything living.

Many months later he again visited the hut.
This time it was occupied by old Mullins, the
shepherd. Again about midnight he was roused,
this time by the whining of the sheep-dog “Nip¬
per.” Every hair on the dog was bristling, but
he made no attempt to attack whatever it was
he saw. Suddenly the fire was again scattered.
The old shepherd said that this happened about
once a month, and that on one occasion he had
seen a woman kick the fire apart and then dis¬
appear.

To the railway-station at Goondiwindi came
Mullins one day in December, 1914, and bought

IOI

102

“OVER THERE”

tickets to Brisbane for himself and Nipper.
The regulations of the Queensland government
railways will not allow dogs to travel in pas¬
sengers’ carriages. As Nipper had to travel in
a dog-box at the end of the guard’s van, old Mul¬
lins insisted on occupying a seat in the van, and
at every station would get his friend a drink.

When the train stopped for meals at mid¬
day and evening Mullins would seize the plate
served to him and make for the door. The man¬
ager of the refreshment-room made him pay for
the plate before taking it outside, not trusting his
looks, but the old shepherd only wanted to have
Nipper’s hunger satisfied before his own. At the
end of the journey there were several china plates
in the box that were of no further use to either
of them.

The recruiting-officer in Brisbane was not sur¬
prised to see a weather-beaten old “bushie” walk
into the depot, for there were many such seeking
to join the young lads in “this ding-dong scrap.”
It was only too evident that he was well over the
age limit, but when they told him he was too old,
he offered to fight them singly or collectively, or
take on the best fighter their blank-blank army
could produce. They managed to get him out¬
side the door, but not before both he and Nipper
had left behind them proof of their quality in lost
skin and tom clothes.

Some days later old Mullins appeared again,

“ NIPPER ”

103

leading Nipper on a chain. Almost every one
entrenched himself behind a table, but the old
man had no fight in him, declaring in a chok¬
ing voice that Nipper had come to enlist alone.
“He is not too old, anyway, and will deal with
more of the blank-blank swine than a hundred of
your sissy, white-faced, un weaned kids!” One
of the doctors had a heart in the right place and
wrote a letter to the commandant of a regiment
soon going overseas, asking him if he could not
take the dog as a regimental pet. He gave the
old man the letter and told him to take his dog
out to the camp.

The colonel was not without understanding,
and that is how Nipper “joined up” to fight for
democracy.

There were some who started out to teach
Nipper tricks, but it was soon discovered that
he knew a good deal more than most of us. He
had a keen sense of humor, and after some one
would spend hours trying to teach him to sit up,
all of which time he would pretend he could not
understand what he was wanted to do, with a
sly look he would suddenly go through a whole
repertoire of tricks, not merely sitting up, but
tumbling over backward, generally ending the
performance by “heeling-up” (nipping in the
heel) all and sundry. He never really bit any one,
but a lot of the new boys were nervous during
this heeling-up process.

104

“OVER THERE”

Nipper was certainly the most intelligent of
the whole canine race. He was continually try¬
ing out new tricks for our amusement and was in
ecstasy if they brought applause. On a shot
being fired he would stretch out and pretend he
was killed, but if you said, “White Flag ! Treach¬
ery ! ” he would^come to life again as savage as a
wolf. If any one scolded him he would lie down
and wipe his eyes with his paw, which was irre¬
sistible and turned the scolding voice into laughter.

There was one senior officer that Nipper sus¬
pected was a German, and every chance he got
he would sneak up and, without preliminary
warning, take a good hold of the seat of his trous¬
ers. This major returned Nipper’s dislike with
interest, and had it not been for the protection
of the colonel Nipper’s career might have been
cut short before we left Australia.

Nipper never seemed to entertain much respect
for the Army Service Corps, and sometimes he
would attack one of their wagons with such fury
as to clear the men off it and start the horses
bolting.

These were his dislikes, but his one and only
hate was a military policeman. Perhaps he had
a guilty conscience; but the very sight of a red¬
cap would make him foam at the mouth, and they
sent in several requests that they might be al¬
lowed to shoot him for their own protection. The
boys in camp had no special love for the M. P.’s

“ NIPPER ”

IOS

either, and there was very nearly a pitched battle
when Nipper appeared one day with two raw welts
across his back, suspicion being immediately laid
at their door.

Nipper always appeared on parade, and con¬
sidered his position to be the right flank when in
line and right ahead of everybody when in column
of route. If motor-car or horse vehicle was slow in
giving way to us, Nipper informed them who we
were, which was one of the few occasions on which
he was heard to bark. At first he had some nar¬
row escapes, but soon discovered that “heeling-
up” a horse or the rear wheel of a moving auto¬
mobile was more risky than nipping at the heels
of sheep or cow.

Once our adjutant had an argument with the
owner of an automobile for breaking through our
column. Nipper objected to a certain remark of
the slacker in the car, and without joining in
the conversation leaped into the car and dragged
out his overcoat into the mud, not relinquishing
it until it was well soaked.

On board the troop-ship Nipper pined for the
smell of the gum leaves, and it was the only time
when we lost patience with him, for every night
he would stand in the bow and howl.

The smells of Egypt disgusted Nipper, remem¬
bering the scents of the Australian bush. Only
once did he make the mistake of heeling-up a
Gyppo, after which he made a great pretense of

io6

“OVER THERE”

being very sick. On other occasions when he
wanted them to keep their distance, he found
mere growling to have the desired effect.

The atmosphere of Egypt had a bad effect on
Nipper’s morals, and he would sometimes disap¬
pear for days. After a while the old reprobate
acquired the disgusting habit of eating sand,
which not only showed how far he had fallen from
grace, but also had a serious effect on his health.
On several occasions he had to be taken to the
army medical tent, and only the most drastic
remedies saved his life.

One day the colonel read a letter he had received
from old Mullins inquiring if Nipper was still alive
and reminding us that his meat had always been
cooked for him. It almost made one believe in
reincarnation, for it was really uncanny, as no
human being could more contritely express re¬
morse than did Nipper as he listened with tail
between his legs, whining most piteously.

He accompanied me on some scouting expedi¬
tions in the desert, but his powers were failing, and
I never trusted him after one occasion on which
he made a fool of me. He showed all the symp¬
toms of danger being near; and sure enough on
looking through my glasses I saw what appeared
to be a man with a rifle crouched behind a bush.
I took three men with me and we made a long
detour to approach from behind, but after all
our precautions and alarm we found nothing but

“ NIPPER ”

107

a long stick leaning against the bush and the
shadow of a rock that looked something like a
man.

In the end Nipper committed suicide, and this
was the manner of his going. He was in the habit
of swimming across the canal every morning while
we were at Ferry Post. This morning, however,
one of the boys noticed him go under, and diving
in after him was able, after some difficulty, to get
his body ashore. He was quite stiff and we all
of us believed that he swam out a certain dis¬
tance and gave up.

His bearing for days indicated that something
was preying on his mind, and as we did not know
what cloud overshadowed his canine soul we for¬
bore to judge him.

His memory will remain for long in the hearts
of those who knew him, and we buried him in the
burning sand of Arabia with the simple inscrip¬
tion on a pine board:

Here Lies
“NIPPER”

Died on Active Service,

A true Comrade, —

Sacrificed to “On,” *

No. 0000 — Regimental Pet —

— th Brigade — Heathen.

* The Egyptian sun-god.

io8 “ OVER THERE”

and his identification disk was sent home to old
Mullins and maybe hangs in the old hut where,
perhaps, the ghost walks no more and the ashes
of the fire smoulder undisturbed.

PART III

GALLIPOLI

CHAPTER XII

THE ADVENTURE OF YOUTH

Fate has decided that Gallipoli shall always be
associated with the story of the Anzacs. This
name (which is formed from the initial letters of
the Australian New Zealand Army Corps) does
not describe more than half the troops that were
engaged in that fated campaign, but it has so
caught the popular fancy, that in spite of all his¬
torians may do, injustice will be done in the
thought of the public to the English, Scotch, and
Irish regiments and the gallant French Colonial
troops who played an equally heroic part. There
were certainly no finer troops on the Peninsula —
probably in the whole war no unit has shown
greater courage than did the glorious Twenty-
ninth British Division in the landing at Cape
Helles.

No writer who accurately pictured these mem¬
orable months of our “treading on the corns of
the Turkish Empire” could leave out even the
loyal dark-skinned Britishers from the Hindustani
hills and from the Ganges. There both Gourkas
and Sikhs added to their reputation as fighters.

Australia and New Zealand’s part does not, in
actual accomplishment or in personal daring and

1 12

“OVER THERE”

endurance, outclass the doings of these others,
the larger half of the army. But there is a ro¬
mance and a glow about the “Anzac” exploits
that (rail at the injustice of it as you may) makes
a human-interest story that will elbow out of the
mind of the “man in the street” what other
troops did. In fact, every second man one meets
has the idea that the Australians and New Zea¬
landers were the only men there.

I don’t intend to try and write the story of
Gallipoli — I haven’t the equipment or the experi¬
ence — John Masefield has written the only book
that need be read, and only a man who was in
that outstanding achievement of the landing on
the 25 th of April has a right to the honor of asso¬
ciating his name in a chronicle of 11 What I did /”
What I am going to attempt to do is just to pic¬
ture it as a “winning of the spurs” by the young¬
est democracy on earth.

There was something peculiarly fitting in the
fate that ordained that this adolescent nation of the
South Seas should prove its fitness for manhood
in an adventure upon which were focussed the
eyes of all nations. The gods love romance, else
why was the youngest nation of earth tried out
on the oldest battlefield of history ? How those
young men from the continent whose soil had
never been stained with blood thrilled to hear
their padres tell them as they gathered on the
decks of the troop-ships in the harbor of Lemnos,

THE ADVENTURE OF YOUTH 113

that to-morrow they would set foot almost on the
site of the ancient battlefield of Troy, where the
early Greeks shed their blood, as sung in the
oldest battle-song in the world.

These young Australians were eager to prove
their country’s worth as a breeder of men. Aus¬
tralians have been very sensitive to the criticism
of Old World visitors — that we were a pleasure-
loving people, who only thought of sport — that
in our country no one took life seriously, and
even the making of money was secondary to foot¬
ball, and that we would all rather win a hundred
pounds on a horse-race than make a thousand by
personal exertion. Practically every book written
on Australia by an Englishman or an American
has said the same thing, that we were a lovable,
easy-going race, but did not work very hard, and
in a serious crisis would be found wanting.

The whole nation brooded over these young
men, guardians of Australia’s honor, and waited
anxiously for them to wipe out this slur. That
explains Australia’s pride in “Anzac.” It meant
for us not merely our baptism in blood — it was
more even than a victory — for there, with the
fierce search-light of every nation turned upon it,
our representative manhood showed no faltering
— but proved it was of the true British breed,
having nevertheless a bearing in battle that was
uniquely its own. In this age of bravest men the
Australian has an abandon in fight which on

1 14 “OVER THERE”

every battlefield marks him as different from any
other soldier.

There is an insidious German propaganda sug¬
gesting that the Australians are very sore at the
failure on Gallipoli and that we blame the British
Government and staff for having sent us to perish
in an impossible task. I want to say, that while
in the Australian army, as private, N. C. O. and
officer, I never heard a single criticism of the
government for the Gallipoli business. There is
no man who was on the Peninsula who does not
admire General Sir Ian Hamilton, and most of the
officers believe that Britain has never produced
a more brilliant general. That the expedition
failed was not the fault of the commander-in¬
chief nor of the troops. And, anyway, we Aus¬
tralians are good enough sports to realize that
there must be blunders here and there, and we’re
quite ready to bear our share of the occasional
inevitable disaster.

But Gallipoli was not the failure many people
think. Some people seem to have the idea that a
hundred thousand troops were intended to beat a
couple of million, and take one of the strongest
cities in the world. There never was a time
when the Turks did not outnumber us five to
one, when they did not have an enormous re¬
serve, in men, equipment, and munitions, imme¬
diately at their back, while our base was five
hundred miles away in Egypt. The Turks had

THE ADVENTURE OF YOUTH 115

a Krupp factory at Constantinople within a
few hours of them, turning out more ammuni¬
tion per day than they were using, while ours
had to come thousands of miles from England.
Of course, we were never intended to take Con¬
stantinople. The expedition was a purely naval
one, and we were a small military force, auxiliary
to the navy, that was to seize the Narrows and
enable the ships to get within range of Constan¬
tinople, and so compel its surrender. We failed
in this final objective, but we accomplished a
great deal, nevertheless. We held back probably
a million Turks from the Russians, and we left,
in actual counted dead Turkish bodies, more than
double our own casualties (killed, wounded, and
missing). But, above all, we definitely impressed
the German mind with the fact that Great Britain
did not only mean the British Isles but the equally
loyal and brave fighters from Britain overseas.

Here is no history of Gallipoli, but let me try
to sketch four pictures that will show you the
type of men that there joked with death and
made curses sound to angel ears sweeter than the
hymns of the soft-souled churchgoer.

CHAPTER XIII

THE LANDING THAT COULD NOT SUCCEED

—BUT DID

Picture yourself on a ship that was more
crowded with men than ever ship had been be¬
fore, in a harbor more crowded with ships than
ever harbor had been crowded before, with more
fears in your mind than had ever crowded into it
before, knowing that in a few hours you would
see battle for the first time. Having comrades
crowding round, bidding you good-bye and in¬
forming you that as your regimental number
added up to thirteen, you would be the first to
die, remembering that you hadn’t said your pray¬
ers for years, and then comforting yourself with
the realization that what is going to happen will
happen, and that an appeal to the general will not
stop the battle, anyway, and you may as well
die like a man, and you will feel as did many of
those young lads, on the eve of the 25th of April,
1915. There was some premonition of death in
those congregations of khaki-clad men who gath¬
ered round the padres on each ship and sang
“God be with you till we meet again.” You
could see in men’s faces that they knew they were
“going west” on the morrow — but it was a swan-

THE LANDING

ii 7

song that could not paralyze the arm or daunt the
heart of these young Greathearts, who intended
that on this morrow they would do deeds that
would make their mothers proud of them.

“For if you ’as to die,

As it sometimes ’appens, why,

Far better die a ’ero than a skunk;

A’ doin’ of yer bit.” *

As soon as church-parade was dismissed, an¬
other song was on the boards, no hymn, maybe
not fine poetry, but the song that will be always
associated with the story of Australia’s doings in
the great war, Australia’s battle-song — “Australia
Will Be There” — immortalized on the Southland
and Ballarat , as it was sung by the soldiers
thereon, when they stood in the sea-water that
was covering the decks of those torpedoed
troop-ships. It was now sung by every Australian
voice, and as those crowded troop-ships moved
out from Lemnos they truly carried “Australia,”
eager, untried Australia — where ?

The next day showed to the world that “Aus¬
tralia would always be there /” where the fight
raged thickest. Her sons might sometimes pene¬
trate the enemy’s territory too far, but hereafter,
and till the war’s end, they would always be in the
front line, storming with the foremost for free¬
dom and democracy.

* Robert W. Service.

Ii8

“ OVER THERE”

The landing could not possibly be a surprise
to the Turks; the British and French warships
had advertised our coming by a preliminary bom¬
bardment weeks previously — the Greeks knew
all about our concentration in their waters — and
wasn’t the Queen of Greece sister to the Kaiser?

There were only about two places where we
could possibly land, and the Turks were not merely
warned of our intentions, but they were warned in
plenty of time for them to prepare for us a warm
reception. The schooling and method of the Ger¬
mans had united with the ingenuity of the Turks
to make those beaches the unhealthiest spots on
the globe. The Germans plainly believed that a
landing was impossible.

Think of those beaches, with land and sea
mines, densely strewn with barbed wire (even
into deep water), with machine-guns arranged
so that every yard of sand and water would be
swept, by direct, indirect, and cross fire, with
a hose-like stream of bullets; think of thousands
of field-pieces and howitzers ready, ranged, and
set, so that they would spray the sand and whip
the sea, merely by the pulling of triggers. Think
of a force larger than the intended landing-party
entrenched, with their rifles loaded and their
range known, behind all manner of overhead
cover and wire entanglements, and then remem¬
ber that you are one of a party that has to step
ashore there from an open boat, and kill, or drive

From a photograph by U nderwood Underwood

THE LANDING 1 19

far enough inland, these enemy soldiers to en¬
able your stores to be landed so that when you
have defeated him, you may not perish of starva¬
tion. Far more than at Balaclava did these
young men from “down under” walk “right into
the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell!”
And the Turks waited till they were well within
the jaws before they opened fire. No one in
the landing force knew where the Turks were,
and the Turks did not fire on us until we got to
the zone which they had so prepared that all
might perish that entered there. They could see
us clearly, the crowded open boats were targets
of naked flesh that could not be missed. Was
there ever a more favorable setting for a massacre ?
The Turks in burning Armenian villages with
their women and children had not easier tasks
than that entrenched army. Our men in the
boats were too crowded to use their rifles, and the
boats were too close in for the supporting war¬
ships to keep down the fire from those trenches.
How was any one left alive ? By calculation of the
odds not one man should have set foot on that
shore. Make a successful landing, enabling us to
occupy a portion of that soil ! What an impossi¬
ble task!

To the men in those boats and the men watching
from the ships, it appeared as if not merely the
expedition had failed, but that not a man of the
landing force would survive. Boats were riddled

120

“ OVER THERE”

with bullets and sunk — other boats drifted help¬
lessly as there were not enough alive to row them —
men jumped into the bullet-formed spray to swim
ashore but were caught in the barbed wire and
drowned. Who could expect success, but it nev¬
ertheless happened ! The Turks were sure that
we could not land, yet we did. Not only did those
boys set foot on those beaches, but the remnant
of that landing-party drove the Turks out of their
entrenchments up cliffs five hundred feet high,
and entrenched themselves on the summit. How
did they do it ? No one knows ; the men who were
there don’t know themselves. Did heaven inter¬
vene ? Perhaps spiritual forces may sometimes
paralyze material. It must be that right has
physical might, else why didn’t the Kaiser get to
Paris ? Mathematics and preparedness were on
his side; by all reasoning Germany ought to have
overwhelmed the world in a few months, with
the superiority of her armament, but she didn’t.
The Turks ought to have kept us off the Peninsula,
by all laws of logic and arithmetic, and they
didn't. I really think the landing succeeded be¬
cause those boys thought they had failed.

They must have believed themselves doomed —
they could see that there were too few to accom¬
plish what was even doubtful when the force was
intact. When they were on the shore they must
have felt that it was impossible that they could
be taken off again. All the time more were fall¬
ing, and soon it seemed that every last man must

THE LANDING

121

be massacred. They made up their minds that,
at any rate, they would get a few of the swine
before they went. Every man believed that in
the end he must be killed, but determined to sell
his life as dearly as possible, and that made them
the supermen that could not be “held back.”
A whole platoon would be cut down, but some¬
how one or two would manage to get into the
trench, where, of necessity, it was hand-to-hand
work, and with laughing disregard of the odds
would lay out a score of the enemy and send the
others fleeing before them, who would yell out that
they were fighting demons from hell. After the
confusion in the boats, and from the fact that in
most cases companies were entirely without offi¬
cers, there was no forming up for charges — indeed,
there were no orders at all, but every man knew
that he could not but be doing the right thing
every time he killed a Turk, so they just took
their rifle and bayonet in their naked hands and
went to it. There was no line of battle, it was
just here, there, and everywhere, khaki-clad,
laughing demons, seeking Turks to kill.

Never was there fighting like this. All that day
it went on. On the beach, up the cliff, in the
gullies, miles inland were men fighting. It was not
a battle; it would have made a master of tactics
weep and tear his hair, but these man-to-man
fights kept on. Many were shot from behind,
many were wounded and fell in places where no
one would find them — some, fighting on, went in

122

“OVER THERE”

a circle and found themselves back on the beach
again. However, at nightfall some had begun to
dig a shallow line of trenches, well inland across
the cliff. Single men and small groups of them,
not finding any more Turks where they were,
fell back into this ditch and helped deepen it.

Fresh Turks were massing for counter-attack,
and soon came on with fury, but we were some¬
thing like an army now, and although the line
had to be shortened it never broke. The landing
had been made good, the impossible had been
achieved. But there were many who died strange
deaths, many left way in, helpless, who could not
be succored — many whom the fighting lust led
so far that when they thought of seeking their
comrades they found the barrier of a Turkish
army now intervening. Strange, unknown duels
and combats were fought that day. Unknown
are the “Bill- Jims” who killed scores with naked
hand — there were many such. Though we beat
the Turk with the odds in his favor, yet this day
and afterward he earned our respect as a fighting
man.

“East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall

meet

Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judg¬
ment Seat.

But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor
Birth,

When two strong men stand face to face, tho’ they come
from the ends of the Earth.”

THE LANDING

123

The Australian had proved himself the fiercest
fighter of the world. ... As one naval officer re¬
marked, they fought not as men but devils. Many
have said that much of the loss of life was need¬
less, that had the Australians kept together and
waited for orders not so many would have been
cut off in the bush. It was true that the im¬
petuosity of many took them too far to return,
but it was that very quality that won the day.
They did not return, but they drove the Turk be¬
fore them and enabled others to dig in before he
could re-form. You would have to go back to
mediaeval times to parallel this fighting. There
were impetuosity, dash, initiative, berserker rage,
fierce hand-to-hand fighting, every man his own
general.

These were not the only qualities of the Aus¬
tralian fighting men, but these alone could have
succeeded on that day. When the time came for
evacuation of those hardly won and held trenches,
these same troops gave evidence of the posses¬
sion of the opposite attributes of coolness, silence,
patience, co-ordination; every man acting as part
of a single unit, under control of a single will —
which is discipline !

CHAPTER XIV

HOLDING ON AND NIBBLING

There are people who think that the Australian
dash petered out with that one supreme effort of
landing. We had achieved the impossible in
landing — why did we not in the many months
we were there, do the comparatively easy thing
and advance? Surely, now that we had stores
and equipment and artillery, we could more
easily drive the Turks out of their trenches.
So many seem to think that so much was done
on that first day, and so little thereafter.

But the Peninsula is not a story of mere impetu¬
osity and dash, it is a story of endurance as well.
As a matter of fact, those eight months of holding
on were as great a miracle as the landing. There
is a limit to the physical powers even of supermen.
These men were not content with the small strip
of ground that they held, and they did attack and
defeat the Turks opposing them again and again,
but as soon as a Turkish army was beaten there
was ever another fresh one to take its place. The
Turks could not attack us at one time with an
army outnumbering us by ten to one, not because
they had not the troops, but because there was
not room enough. As a matter of fact, that little

124

HOLDING ON AND NIBBLING 125

army (only reinforced enough to fill up the gaps)
defeated five Turkish armies, each one larger than
its own. Remember, too, that the Turks were
always better equipped and supplied — it was so
easy with their chief city of Constantinople just
within “coo-ee.” Our little army had to be sup¬
plied with every single thing over thousands of
miles of water. General Hamilton said the navy
was father and mother to us, and when it is remem¬
bered that every cartridge, every ounce of food,
every drop of water, every splinter of firewood
had to be brought by the ships, it will be seen that
we could not have existed a single day without
their aid. The Turks said often enough that
they would push us into the sea — they continually
called on Allah to aid them — we were only a
handful after all; we only held a few hundred
acres of their filthy soil, but onto that we clung,
sometimes by the skin of our teeth. And it was
the weather, not the Turks, that made us leave in
the end.

Ever and anon we alarmed the Turk by nib¬
bling a piece nearer to his sacred city. Never
did men live under worse conditions than in
those eight months of hell, yet never was an
army so cheerful. “ Bill-Jim, ” which is Australia’s
name for her soldier-boy, always makes the best
of things, and soon made himself at home on
that inhospitable shore.

The first thing he decided needed alteration

126

“OVER THERE”

was his uniform. Breeches and puttees were not
only too hot but they closed in the leg and af¬
forded cover to the lively little fellow who lives
indiscriminately on the soldiers of both sides.
As each soldier began to trim his uniform to his
own idea of comfort, it was soon, in very reality,
a “ragtime” army. Some felt that puttees were
a nuisance — everybody realized that the breeches
were too long, but differed on the point as to
how much too long. Some would clip off six
inches from the end, others a foot, and others
would have been as well covered without the
article at all. Almost everybody decided that
a tunic was useless, but some extremists threw
away shirt and singlet as well. A Turkish army
order was captured which stated that the Aus¬
tralians were running short of supplies, as they
made one pair of trousers do for three men.
Evidently Johnny Turk could not understand
the Australian disregard for conventionality and
his taking to nakedness when it meant comfort
and there were no women within hundreds of
miles to make him conscious of indecency.
Clothes that couldn’t be washed wouldn’t keep
one’s body clean and became the home of an
army that had no interest in the fight for de¬
mocracy. The Australian showed his practical
common sense in discarding as much as possible —
but, say, those boys would have caused some
amusement if drawn up for review !

HOLDING ON AND NIBBLING 127

Water was certainly the most precious thing.
There never was enough to drink, but even then
there are always men who would rather wash than
drink, and to see these men having their bath in
a jam-tin just showed how habit is, in many of us,
stronger than common sense, for there was never
water enough to more than spread out the dirt or
liquefy it so that it would fill up the pores. Others
who must bathe adopted a more effective but more
dangerous proceeding. Of course, the sea was
there — surely plenty of water for washing ! Just
so, but this bath was pretty unhealthy, for it was
practically always whipped by shrapnel and
you went in at the risk of your life. Some of the
best swimmers used to say it was all right so
long as you dived whenever you heard the screech
of a shell — that the shrapnel pellets did not pene¬
trate the water more than a few inches. Most
men did without either of this choice of baths,
and used a scraper. It was evidenced on the
Peninsula that one of the greatest of civilizers is
a razor. By necessity few could shave, and you
soon could not recognize the face of your best
chum as it hid itself beneath a growth of some
reddish fungus. Really handsome features were
quite blotted out, and it is now evident to me
why, in civilized life, we all so gladly go through
the conventional daily torture of face-scraping.

Thirst is not a thing to joke about, however,
and there were times when the allowance of water

128

“ OVER THERE”

was not enough to wash down a half-dozen bites,
and the food would stick in one’s throat.

There was generally enough food but mighty
little variety except just before the evacuation
when stores had to be eaten to save them being
taken away or destroyed. It is all very well to
say a man will eat anything when he is hungry,
but you can get so tired of bully-beef and biscuits
and marmalade- jam that your stomach simply
will not digest it. Machonochie’s, which was a
sort of canned Irish stew, wasn’t bad, but there
wasn’t always more than enough of that to sup¬
ply the quartermasters. Still there were some
great chefs on the Peninsula, men who had got
their training as cooks in shearers’ camps, where
anything badly cooked would be thrown at their
heads. It was marvellous how some of them could
disguise a bully-beef stew, and I have been told
of men coming to blows over the merits of their
respective “company cooks.”

There were more flies on the Peninsula than
there was sand on the shore, and they fought us
persistently for every atom of food. Getting a
meal was a hard day’s work, for all the time you
had to fight away the swarms, and no matter how
quick you were with your fork, you rarely got a
mouthful that hadn’t been well walked over, and
it didn’t do to think where those flies might have
been walking just previously. No army ever had
a better directed sanitary department, but, no

HOLDING ON AND NIBBLING 129

matter how clean we kept our trenches, the Turks
just “loved” dirt and “worshipped” flies, and
their trenches were only ten yards away in one
place, and in no place were they far enough to
make it a record-breaking aerial flight for a fly.
Perhaps it was because they were all Turkish-
bred that the flies did us so much harm, for they
certainly accounted for more deaths than the shells
or bullets. Dysentery was rife all the time and
there were times when not one man was well.
If the doctors had known enough they would
have put a barrage of disinfectant in front of our
trenches. We put up sandbags to stop the bullets,
but no one had devised a method to stop those
winged emissaries of death. Those who died
from lead-poisoning were but a score to the hun¬
dreds who died of fly-poisoning.

This is but a little of what holding on meant to
that little force. The Turk was not only a brave,
but a “wily” fighter — snipers were always giv¬
ing trouble, and one never knew from which di¬
rection the next shot was coming. Men with
“nerves” declared that our line must be full of
spies — sometimes a shot would come through the
door of a dugout facing out to sea. These snipers
were certainly brave fellows — some were found
covered with leaves — one was found in a cleft in
the rock where he must have been lowered by his
comrades and he could not get out without their
help. In the early days some of the Turk-

130

“OVER THERE”

ish officers who could talk English even took
the extreme risk of mixing among the troops and
passing false orders. One of these spies was only
discovered through misuse of a well-known Aus¬
tralian slang- word. No one in the Australian
army but knows the meaning of “dinkum.” Its
meaning is something the same as the American
“on the level !” and is probably the commonest
word in the Australian soldier’s vocabulary. He
will ask: “Is that dinkum news?” State that,
“He’s a dinkum fellow!” and so on. Well, one
day a man in an Australian officer’s uniform
spoke to some officers in a certain sector of
trench, and said he brought a message from head¬
quarters. He was getting a lot of information
and seemed to know several officers’ names, but
he bungled over one of them, and on the officer
he was speaking to inquiring, “Is that dinkum?”
he answered: “Yes, that's his name!” There
was no further investigation, he was shot dead
on the spot. The officer who did it may have been
hasty, but there can be no doubt that justice was
done, for he must have been either a Turk or a
German and had already found out too much.

CHAPTER XV

THE EVACUATION

Without warning, winter came down upon us.
No one guessed he was so near. We were still
in our summer lack of clothing, and were not
prepared for cold weather, when like a wolf on
the fold the blizzard came down upon us. This
was the worst enemy those battered troops had
yet encountered. Hardly any of those boys had
ever seen snow and now they were naked in the
bitterest cold. There were more cases of frost¬
bite than there were of wounds in the whole
campaign. More had their toes and fingers eaten
off by Jack Frost than shells had amputated.
In those open, unprotected trenches, in misery
such as they had never dreamed could be, the
lads from sunny Australia stood to their posts.
When the snow melted the trenches fell in and
Turk and Anzac stood exposed to each other’s
fire, but both were fighting a common enemy and
so hard went this battle with them as to com¬
pel a truce in the fight of man against man.

Soon it was evident that our final objective of
capturing the Narrows could not be accomplished
with the forces we had. Directly the winter gales
would arrive and on those exposed beaches no

132 “OVER THERE”

stores could be landed. We had to leave and leave
quickly, or starve to death. So the evacuation
was planned.

No achievement in military history was better
conceived or more faithfully carried out. Here
was scope for inventive genius and many were the
devices used to bluff the Turk. We schooled him
in getting used to long periods of silence. At first
he was pretty jumpy and could not understand
the change, when the men who had always given
him two for one now received his fire without
retaliating. After a while he decided that as we
were quite mad there was no accounting for our
behavior. Then we scared him some more by
appearing to land fresh troops. As a matter of
fact, a thousand or so would leave the beach at
night and a few hundred return in the daylight
under the eyes of the Turkish aeroplanes, causing
them to report concentration of more troops.
Stores were taken out to the ships by night, and
the empty boxes brought back and stacked on the
beaches during the day. It must have appeared
as if we were laying in for the winter.

There were many inventive brains of high qual¬
ity working at great pressure during all the days
of holding on, but one of the cleverest ideas put
into operation was the arrangement devised by an
engineer whereby rifles were firing automatically
in the front-line trenches after every man had
left. There is no doubt the Turks were com-

THE EVACUATION

133

pletely bluffed. When the remaining stores were
fired after being well soaked with gasolene, the
Turkish artillery evidently thought they had made
a lucky hit and they poured shells into the flames
and completed for us the work of destruction.
I doubt if they even found the name of a Chicago
packing-house on a bully-beef case, when next
day they wandered curiously through the aban¬
doned settlement that for many months had been
peopled by the bronzed giants from farthest south.

The last men to leave the actual trenches were
the remnant of the heroic band that were the first
to land. They requested the honor of this post
of danger and it could not be refused them. They
must have expected that their small company
would be still further thinned; but this place of
miracles still had another in store, as the evacua¬
tion was accomplished from Anzac itself without
a casualty.

The last party to leave the beach was a hospital
unit — chaplain, doctors, and orderlies. It was in¬
tended that they should remain to care for the
wounded, though they would necessarily fall into
the hands of the Turks. It was not feared that
they would be ill-treated, for all the reports we
had of prisoners in the hands of the Turks went to
show that they were well cared for. In this as in
other respects the Turk showed himself to be
much more civilized than the German. It was a
pleasant surprise to be able to greet again these

134

“OVER THERE ”

comrades, who but a few minutes before we had
commiserated on their hard luck; for they came
off in the last boats, there being no wounded to
require their services. The padre, who was a
Roman Catholic priest, said that he missed the
chance of a lifetime and would now probably
never know what the inside of a harem was like !

They were sad hearts that looked back to those
fading shores. It almost seemed as if we were
giving up a bit of Australia to the enemy. Those
acres had been taken possession of by Australian
courage, baptized with the best of the country’s
blood, and now held the sacred dust of the great¬
est of our citizens, whose title to suffrage had
been purchased by the last supreme sacrifice.
Never were men asked to do a harder thing than
this — to leave the bones of their comrades to fall
into alien hands. These were men white of face
and with clenched fists that filed past those wooden
crosses and few who did not feel shame at the
desertion. Some there were who whispered to
the spirits hovering near an appeal for under¬
standing and forgiveness. They wondered how
the worshippers of the Crescent would treat the
dead resting beneath the symbols that to them
represented an accursed infidel faith. There are
cravens in Australia who suggest that she has done
more than her share in this struggle, but while one
foot of soil that has been hallowed by Australian
blood remains in the hands of the enemy the man

THE EVACUATION

I3S

who would withhold one man or one shilling is
not only no true Australian but no true man — a
dastard and a traitor.

When peace shall dawn and the Turk shall heed
the voice of United Democracy as it proclaims
with force, “Thou shalt not oppress, nor shalt
thou close the gates of these straits again !” then
shall visitors from many lands wander through
these trenches and marvel what kind of men were
they that held them for so long against such
odds, and gaze at the honeycombed cliff where
twentieth-century men lived like cave-dwellers,
and sang and joked more than the abiders in
halls of luxury.

To-day the name Anzac is the envy of all other
soldiers, and while none would want to live that
life again, every man who was there rejoices in
the memory of the association and comradeship
of those days. Read the “Anzac Book” and you
will see that there was much talent and many
a spark of genius in that army. But only those
who were there know of the many busy brains
that worked overtime devising improvements in
the weapons that were available, and ever seeking
to invent contrivances that added to comfort.
Many of the inventions are forgotten, but some are
in use in France to-day, notably the “periscope
rifle ” or “ sniperscope ’ ’ and the * * thumb periscope’ ’
which is no thicker than a man’s finger. It was
found that our box-periscopes were always being

“OVER THERE”

136

smashed by the Turkish snipers; so one ingenious
brain collared an officer’s cane and scooped
out the centre. With tiny mirrors top and bot¬
tom, it was a very effective periscope, and soon
most officers were minus their canes. Some very
good bombs were made from jam-tins with a wad
of guncotton, and filled up with all manner of
missiles. These improvised bombs were risky to
handle, and some men lost their lives through
carelessness, though probably there were nearly
as many accidents through overcaution. They
would generally be provided with a five-second
fuse, and you were supposed to swing three times
before throwing. Some men who had not much
faith in the time-fuse threw the bombs as soon as
the spark struck, which gave the Turks time to
return them. Both sides played this game of
catch, but I think we were the better at it. The
way of lighting the fuse was to hold the head of a
match on the powder stream, drawing the friction-
paper across it. This generally caught imme¬
diately, but after a while some one introduced
the idea of having burning sticks in the trench,
and a “torchman” would pass down the trench
lighting each fuse. One man was not sure that
the spark had caught and began blowing on it
and was surprised when it blew his hand off. We
would drop on top of the Turks’ bombs a coat or
sand-bag, and it was surprising how little damage
was done. If you put a sheet of iron on top of

THE EVACUATION

137

one, or a sand-bag full of earth, it would make
the explosion very much worse, but loose cloth
would spread out and make a spring-cushion by
compression of the air above.

There was another use made of empty jam-tins :
they were tied to our barbed wire so that if any
Turk tried to get through he would make a noise
like the cowbells at milking- time. Talking about
barbed wire, Johnny Turk played a huge joke on
us on one occasion. As the staking down of wire
was too risky, we prepared some “ knife-rests”
(hedges of wire shaped like a knife rest) and
rolled them over our parapet, but opened our eyes
in amazement to find in the morning that they had
only stopped a few feet from the Turkish trenches.
The Turks had sneaked out and tied ropes to
them and hauled them over to protect them¬
selves. Thereafter we took care to let Abdul do
his own wiring.

CHAPTER XVI

“SHIPS THAT PASS . .

Although we did not capture the Narrows
(that narrow stream of water through which a
current runs so swiftly that floating mines are
carried down into it faster than the mine-sweepers
could gather them up), this did not prevent at
least one representative of the navy from passing
that barrier. This was the Australian submarine,
A2 . It may not be generally known that Australia
had two submarines at the outbreak of war.
These would appear antediluvian alongside the
latest underwater monster, but, nevertheless, one
of these accomplished a feat such as no German
submarine has ever approached. The first of
our submarines met an unknown fate as it dis¬
appeared somewhere near New Guinea. There
has been much speculation as to what happened
to it, but its size can be guessed at when I mention
that a naval officer told me he thought it probable
that a shark had eaten it. A2 was the same type,
but it achieved lasting fame in that it passed
under the mine-field, through the Narrows, across
the Sea of Marmora, and into the port of Constan¬
tinople. Right between the teeth of the Turkish

138

“ SHIPS THAT PASS . .

139

forts and fleet it sank seven Turkish troop-ships
and returned safely. A certain town in Australia
that was called “Germanton” has been re¬
christened “Holbrook” in honor of the commander
of this gallant little craft.

Every one has heard the story of the destruc¬
tion of the Emden by the Australian cruiser
Sydney , but it is worth bringing to notice that
the captain of the Emden was of a different type
from the pirates who have made the German sailor
the most loathed creature that breathes. It is
hard to believe that he was a German, for it seems
incredible that a German sailor would refrain
from sinking a ship because there was a woman
on board. One can imagine that he would be
ostracized by his brother officers of the ward¬
room, for he actually had accompanying him a
spare ship on which to put the crews of the ships
he sank. One can hardly imagine him sitting at
mess with the much-decorated murderer of the
women and children on the Lusitania, and it is the
latter who is the popular hero in Germany. There
are none more ready than the Australian soldiers
to show chivalry to an honorable foe, and when
the Sydney brought Captain Mueller and the crew
of the Emden among the troop-ships these pris¬
oners were cheered again and again. They could
not understand their reception, but the lads from

140

“OVER THERE”

Australia admired these brave men for their
plucky fight and clever exploits. Would they,
had they not been captured early in the war,
have changed and become like the vile, cowardly
sharks that infest the seas in U-boats ?

«•••••••

The Great War is writing history on such a
large scale that the old classic stories of heroism
and devotion to duty will be forgotten by the
next generation. The story of the Birkenhead
has always been considered the highest illustra¬
tion of discipline and steadiness in the face of
death evinced by any troops, but the citizen-
soldiers from the young Australian democracy
have in this war given on two occasions proof that
they possessed the same qualities. The South¬
land has been written in letters of gold on the
pages of Australia’s history. When the sneaking
U-boat delivered its deadly blow in the entrails of
this crowded troop-ship, there was no more ex¬
citement than if the alarm-bugles had summoned
them to an ordinary parade. Some of the boys
fell in on deck without their life-belts, but were
sent below to get them. They had to go, many of
them, to the fourth deck, but they scorned to
show anxiety by proceeding at any other pace
than a walk. It was soon evident that there were
not enough boats left to take all off and so none
would enter them and leave their comrades to go

• ft ft

“SHIPS THAT PASS

»»

141

down with the ship. They began to sing “Aus¬
tralia Will Be There”—

“ Rally round the banner of your country,
Take the field with brothers o’er the foam,
On land or sea, wherever you be,

Keep your eye on Germany.

For England home and beauty
Have no cause to fear —

Should old acquaintance be forgot—

No — no — no, no, no —

Australia will be the-re-re-re !

Australia will be there ! ”

Some one called out, “Where?” and the answer
came from many throats — “In hell, in five min¬
utes!” and it looked like it. But nothing in a
future life could hold any terrors for the man who
had campaigned during a summer in Egypt.
In the end volunteers were taken into the stoke¬
hole and the Southland was beached. The colonel
was drowned and there were a few other casualties,
but most escaped without a wetting, so what
looked like an adventure turned out to be a pretty
tame affair after all. But Australia will ever re¬
member how those boys stood fast with the dark
waters of death washing their feet and, like Stoics,
waited calmly for whatever Fate would send them.
This epic of Australian fortitude was written in
September, 1915, and is part of the Dardanelles
story.

But the latest troops from Australia are of the
same heroic stuff as those who wrote the name

“OVER THERE ”

142

“Anzac” with their blood on the Gallipoli beach.
For the Southland incident was duplicated in al¬
most every particular on the Ballarat in April,
1917. This story was enacted in the waters of
the English Channel, and there were no casualties,
for the work of rescue by torpedo-boats was made
easy as each man calmly waited his turn and
enlivened the monotony meanwhile with ragtime,
and again and again did the strains of “Australia
Will Be There!” ring out over the waters. As
they sang “So Long, Letty,” many substituted
other Christian names, and it looked as if it might
be “so long” in reality. But they knew that to
an Australian girl there would be no “sadness of
farewell” when she realized that her lover had
been carried heavenward by the guardian angel
that waits to bear upward the soul of a hero.

*•••••••

“Big Lizzie” (the Queen Elizabeth ) was for
many months queen of the waters round Gallipoli.
Her tongue boomed louder than any other, and it
was always known when she spoke. She was the
latest thing in dreadnoughts then, just commis¬
sioned, and the largest ship afloat. Though since
that time the British navy has added several
giants that dwarf even her immense proportions.
The boys in the trenches and on the beach at
Anzac never failed to thrill with pride as they
heard her baying forth her iron hate against the
oppressor. We knew that wherever her ton-

“ SHIPS THAT PASS . . 143

weight shells fell there would be much weeping
and gnashing of teeth among the enemy. We
readily believed all the stories told of her prowess,
no matter how impossible they seemed. No one
doubted even when we heard that she had sunk
a boat in the Sea of Marmora twenty-seven miles
away, firing right over a mountain. She was
there before our eyes an epitome of the might
and power of the British navy that had policed
the seas of the world, sweeping them clear of the
surface pirate and also confining the depredations
of the underwater assassin, so that all nations ex¬
cept the robber ones, might trade in safety. How
true it is that the British navy has been the guar¬
antor of the freedom of the seas, so that even in
British ports over the whole wide world all nations
should have equality of trade ! Never has this
power been used selfishly: take for instance, the
British dominions of the South Seas, where Amer¬
ican goods can be sold cheaper than those of
Britain, for the shorter distance more than com¬
pensates for the small preference in tariff. The
almost unprotected coast of the American con¬
tinent has been kept free of invaders; its large
helpless cities are unshelled, because “out there”
in the North Sea the British navy maintains an
eternal vigilance.

After some valuable battleships were sent to
the bottom by the German submarines it was real-

“OVER THERE”

144

ized that “Big Lizzie” was too vulnerable and
valuable to be kept in these waters ; so in the later
months her place was taken by some weird craft
that excited great curiosity among the sailormen.
These were the “ monitors*’ which were just
floating platforms for big guns. They were built
originally for the rivers of South America, but it
was discovered that their shallow draft made
them impervious to torpedo attack; and as they
were able to get close in shore, their big guns made
havoc of the Turkish defenses. They do not
travel at high speed and appear to waddle a good
deal, but they have been most invaluable right
along, and were of great assistance lately to the
Italians in holding up the German drive. They
have been used also around Ostend and are of
prime importance wherever the flank of an army
rests on the sea. I have picked up portions of
their shells and seen the shrapnel lying like hail
on sand-hills in Arabia (more than twenty miles
from the Suez Canal, which was the nearest
waterway).

We also passed some other amazing-looking
craft which were being towed down the Red Sea.
They looked like armored houseboats, and were
for use up the Tigris. I should not like to have
been boxed up in one, for it looked as if they would
have to use a can-opener to get you out, and it did
not appear to me as though the sides were bullet-

“ SHIPS THAT PASS . . 145

proof. But trust the Admiralty to know what
they are doing ! Pages could be filled with the
mere cataloguing of the various kinds of ships
used by the navy in this war, and I am told that
these river “tanks” were the prime factor in the
advance in Mesopotamia.

A marine court would decide that the River
Clyde was not a ship at all but a fortress. There
was a naval engagement in this war when two
ships were refused their share of the prize money
for the capture of German ships because they
were anchored, the sea lawyers decreeing that
they were forts.

But the old, sea-beaten collier River Clyde de¬
serves to be remembered as a ship that has passed,
for before she grounded on the beach she carried
in her womb as brave a company of heroes as
have ever emblazoned their deeds on a nation’s
roll of honor. The wooden horse that carried
Ulysses and the heroic Greeks into the heart of
ancient Troy did not enclose a braver band than
were these modem youths shut within the iron¬
sides of the old tramp steamer which bore them
into the camp of their enemies somewhere near
the supposed site of the Homeric city.

Doors had been cut in the sides of the old
steamer, and lighters were moored alongside with
launches. When she ran aground these lighters
were towed round so as to form a gangway to

“OVER THERE ”

146

the shore, and the troops poured down onto them.
The Turks were as prepared in this case to repel
an attack as at Anzac, and held their fire until
the ship was hard and fast. They tljen had a
huge target at pointblank range on which to con¬
centrate leaden hail from machine-guns and rifles
aided by the shells from the Asiatic forts. Few
lived in that eager first rush — some jumped into
the sea to wade or swim, but were shot in the
water or drowned under weight of their equipment.
Again and again the lighters broke from their
moorings, and many brave swimmers defied death
to secure them. One boy won the Victoria Cross
for repeatedly attempting to carry a rope in his
teeth to the shore. But the crosses earned that
day if they were awarded would give to the glorious
Twenty- Ninth Division a distinction that none
would begrudge them. The regiments of the
Hampshires, Dublin, and Munster Fusiliers added
in a few hours more glory to their colors than
past achievements had given even such proud
historic names as theirs.

The landing at Cape Helles and the wooden
horse are beacons of the Gallipoli campaign that
shine undimmed alongside the Australian-New
Zealand landing at Anzac which, as a rising sun,
proclaimed the dawn of the day of their nation¬
hood.

Another “ship that passed” and in its pass-

“SHIPS THAT PASS

in g wrought havoc on the enemy was one too
small to support a man. It was a tiny raft, and
it was propelled by one-man power, who swam
ashore from a destroyer, towing this craft which
was to bluff the Turks into believing that a whole
army was descending upon them. The man was
Lieutenant Freyberg, and on the raft he carried
the armament that was to keep a large Turkish
force standing to arms at Bulair (the northern¬
most neck of the Peninsula) when they might
have been preventing the landing on the other
beaches. The weapons this gallant young officer
used were merely some flares which he lit at
intervals along the beach, and then went naked
inland to overlook the army he was attacking.
Leaving them to endure for the rest of that night
the continual strain of a momentarily expected
attack, he then swam out to sea, for five miles,
searching anxiously for the destroyer that was
to pick him up. After several more hours of float¬
ing he was sighted by the rescuing ship and taken
on board, exhausted and half dead. The Turkish
papers stated that “the strong attack at Bulair
was repulsed with heavy losses by our brave de¬
fenders.”

This hero, who is a New Zealander, and now
Brigadier-General Freyberg, V.C., is well-known
in California and was at Leland-Stanford Uni¬
versity.

PART IV

THE WESTERN FRONT

CHAPTER XVII

FERRY POST AND THE SUEZ CANAL DEFENSES

The first attack on the Suez Canal caused the
authorities to realize the need of protecting the
canal by having a line of defense in Arabia far
enough east to prevent the enemy reaching the
waterway itself. For if the Turks should again
appear on the banks of the canal, they might
easily put enough explosives in it to blow it up.
So vital is this artery of the British Empire that
a German general stated that if they struck a
blow there they would sever the empire’s neck.
The Turkish attempt to cross the canal was easily
frustrated, and of the Anzacs only a few New
Zealanders had a part in the scrap; but the iron
boats that they carried across the desert are in
the museum in Cairo and will be for generations
* ‘souvenirs” of this enterprise.

After the evacuation of Gallipoli there were
constant rumors of another attack being con¬
templated, and for several months the Australians
and New Zealanders were kept in Egypt for the
defense of the canal. Before we dug the trenches
in Arabia (which were about ten miles east of
the canal) passengers on steamers passing through
it had some lively experiences, as the Bedouins of

152 “OVER THERE ”

the desert would sometimes amuse themselves by
sniping at those on board, and the wheel-house
and bridge had to be protected by sand-bags.

We were camped first at Tel-el-Kebir and then
at Ferry Post, near Ismailia (where the canal
enters the Bitter Lake). Those who took part
in the march from Tel-el-Kebir will not forget
it in a hurry. The camels bolted with our water
and we only had our water-bottles in a hundred
miles across the desert. By the time we reached
the Sweet Water Canal we were panting like
dogs, our tongues swollen and hanging out, our
lips cracked and bleeding. There were many poor
fellows just crazed for need of a drink, under
that awful sun that was like the open furnace-
door of hell, with the sand filling every orifice
in our faces and parching our throats till they
were inflamed. We were warned that the Sweet
(or fresh) Water Canal was full of germs and
that to drink it might possibly mean death, but
most of us were too far gone in the agony of
thirst to care whether the drink were our last, and
we threw ourselves down at the water’s edge
and lapped it up like dogs. Fortunately, there
were few ill effects, and the medical staff was
not overworked because of it. There might have
been many casualties, though, if it had not been
for the New Zealanders, who, hearing of our plight,
came out with water-carts and ambulances and
picked up those who had fallen by the way.

FERRY POST AND SUEZ CANAL 153

At Ferry Post there was a reorganization of
the Australian battalions and we lost many of
our old pals — alas! never to meet again this side
of eternity.

This was the concentration camp whence bri¬
gades were despatched for a spell of trench¬
digging and guard duty at the outpost line. There
was a good deal of rivalry between us and an¬
other brigade known as “The Chocolate Soldiers.”
They received this nickname because they were
the most completely equipped unit that ever left
Australia. They were commanded by a well-
known public man, and the womenfolk had seen
that they lacked nothing in sweaters or bed-
socks. They had a band for every battalion,
while we had to tramp along without the aid of
music to enliven our lagging steps. Maybe we
were a bit jealous, because they on several occa¬
sions went by train when we had to hoof it. When
we went to relieve them in the trenches we met
on a narrow concrete roadway where there was
only room for one set of fours. The proper way
to pass would have been for each to form two deep,
but our boys spontaneously called out, “Give the
gentlemen the road!” and we stepped aside into
the sand. It took us about half an hour to
pass, and all the time there was a running fire
of comment. To no one in particular our fel¬
lows would remark, “Why, look! Some of them
even shave!” “What a nice figure that captain

“OVER THERE”

154

has !” “They let them have real guns, too !” and
as the transport passed piled high with officers’
kits, there was a shout of ‘ ‘ There go their feather
beds!”

We had a sports meeting in the desert, and
everybody in our brigade from the brigadier down
to the cook’s off-sider was delirious with joy when
we carried off the “championship cup,” beating
the “Chocolates” by two or three points. We
might not have been so elated had not the
“Chocs.” been such “nuts” on themselves, for
they had been offering ten to one on their chances.

The part of the trenches that we occupied was
known as “Hog’s Back.” On our left was “Dun-
troon” (named after the Australian West Point).
In front of us was a peculiarly shaped hill called
“Whale Back.” We did not live in the trenches
themselves, as they were continually falling in and
had to be cleaned out again practically every day.
Our supplies were brought within about three
miles on a light tramway. Sometimes we went
short, as this train had a habit of turning over
when rounding a corner and emptying our much-
needed tucker in the bottom of the gully.

From the rail-head, which was also the end of
the pipe-line, food and water were loaded onto
camels ; and as I had seen something of camel trans¬
port in western Queensland, I was for a few weeks
put in charge of the camel-loading. Camels are
curious beasts and know to an oimce the weight

FERRY POST AND SUEZ CANAL 15$

they carried yesterday, and if you attempt to put
on them one jam-tin more they will curse you
long and loud, end up with some very sarcastic
and personal remarks, and then submit to the
injustice under protest. They are very revenge¬
ful and will harbor a grudge for days, waiting
their chance to bite your arm off when they can
catch you unawares. A camel’s load has to be
equal weight on each side, and it was some problem
making a ham and a side of beef balance a case
of canned goods. These camels were a mongrel
breed, anyway, and poor weight-carriers. We
usually put an eight-hundred-pound load on a
camel in Queensland — I have seen one carrying
two pianos — but these beasts would not carry
more than two hundred pounds. A camel has
never really been tamed and they protest against
everything they are asked to do. They growl
and swear when made to kneel, and make as much
fuss again when urged to get up. Their skin
never heals from a cut or sore, but they can have
no feeling in it, for the Arabs simply stitch a piece
of leather over the place. An old camel is all
shreds and patches. They have to be provided
with separate drinking-places from the horses,
for they put germs in the water that give the
horses some kind of disease. They are unsociable
brutes and ought to be segregated, anyway. No
wonder every high-bred horse is terrified at the
smell of a camel; the first time you meet one it is

“OVER THERE”

156

like a blow in the face and remains a weight on your
mind until the camel is a long way to leeward.
They had a special objection to carrying fresh
water, and nearly always bolted when they dis¬
covered it was “Adam’s ale” that was swishing
about on the outside of their hump. Perhaps it
reminded them of their last week’s drink. The
result for us was that when the transport arrived
there would be no water, and Mr. Ishmail and his
camel would have to beat a hasty retreat from the
rage of the boys, for water was our chief need, and
it seems to me that there never was a time in
those trenches that I wasn’t thirsty.

I had some fun scouting in the desert, but on
several occasions was very nearly lost when there
were no stars, and hills had been altered in shape
by the wind since I last passed them. We were
expecting an attack by the Turks, and some camel
patrols we sent out reported signs of camps but
no sight of the enemy. As a consequence of
these rumors our sentries were very nervous, and
we scouts ran considerable risk returning to our
lines before daylight. I was very nearly shot
on several occasions, and once was within an ace
of firing on one of my best pals. I saw a figure
in the dark and, sneaking up to it, called out:
“Put up your hands!” He did so, but then
foolishly dropped them again. If he had not
called out, “Who the hell are you?” at the same
moment, he would have been a dead man.

An Australian Camel Corps.

FERRY POST AND SUEZ CANAL 157

A squadron of our Light Horse discovered a
Turkish well-boring party in the desert. They
were under command of an Austrian engineer,
but soon surrendered when they saw that they were
surrounded. This made us sure that the Turkish
army could not be far away, but our aeroplanes
reported no signs of it. A few weeks later an
attack was made by about twenty thousand
Turks on the Scottish regiment holding the line
to the north of us and we had a bit of a skir¬
mish with their flank guard. They surprised us
completely; the fight was fought mostly in py¬
jamas on our part, but we had little difficulty in
driving them off. This raid was some achieve¬
ment and I take off my hat to the man who
planned it. They came across those many miles
of desert without being seen, bringing with them
even six-inch guns. They bluffed our aeroplanes
by only travelling at night and hiding under
sand-colored canvas in the daytime. Their heavy
transport was moved by laying a track in front
of it, taking it up behind as it passed on and put- ,
ting it down in front again.

We captured a lone Turk soldier nursing his
blistered feet in the desert and he was delighted
to join us. We also brought in at the same time
a Bedouin who evidently thought we were some
species of game, for although he fired on us he
had no love for his Turkish companion and could
not be persuaded to keep him company. The

“OVER THERE”

158

only request I heard this Turk make was for one
of our uniforms. He kept pointing out the filth
of his own clothes, so I had some water given to
him to wash them, but this did not satisfy him at
all. It was not the cleanliness of our uniforms
he admired, but the cut and material. Perhaps
this was policy, for generally the Turkish prisoners
would remark: “Englisher very good — German
damn bad !”

After this we returned to Ferry Post again and
it was almost like going home for we had daily
swims in the canal and plenty of liquid refresh¬
ment, the wet canteen doing a roaring trade. We
were also able to buy luxuries, such as biscuits and
canned puddings; and even relieve the monotony
of marmalade jam with “bullocky’s joy.” This
last is merely molasses or “golden syrup” called
“bullocky’s joy,” sometimes “cocky’s delight”
because it is the chief covering for slices of bread
with the bullock-driver or cocky farmer in Aus¬
tralia.

When a steamer was passing through the canal
during our bathing-parades we had to get in up
to the neck as we were warmly clad with merely a
tin identity-disk hung round our necks on a piece
of dirty string. Some of the passengers would
throw into the water tins of tobacco and cigarettes ;
and there were some sprints for these made in
record time, I tell you. Sometimes we would
receive messages from home and it was surpris-

FERRY POST AND SUEZ CANAL 159

ing how often the man whose name was called
out would chance to be present. There were
occasions, however, when some one would call
out from the ships: “D’you know Private Brown
of the Yorkshires?” and we would have to ex¬
plain that we were Australians. I suppose we
could not expect them to recognize us dressed as
we were, though our language should have given
them a hint. On our part we would inquire if
the war was still on, and tell them to give our
regards to King George.

One morning the camp was all agog and the
air thick with “furphies.” We were ordered to
get ready for embarkation, and speculation was
rife as to out destination. Some said we were
going to Mesopotamia. Others had it from a
reliable source that we were bound for Salonika.
Some one said , that some one told them, that they had
heard , that a sentry outside the general’s tent had
overheard the general talking in his sleep and we
were to make another attack on the Dardanelles !
There were few who guessed we were going to
France, such being too good to be true, and only
the bold ones dared to whisper “that it might be
so,” but they were immediately told to “Shut
up ! Don’t be an ass ! Hasn’t our luck been out
ever since we left Australia?” I really think we
were afraid to voice our hopes aloud lest Fate
should overhear us, and if the word “France”
was mentioned by accident we all immediately

160 “ OVER THERE”

touched wood, a handy pal’s head serving the
purpose.

When we took train for Alexandria our hearts
beat almost to suffocation and it was only when the
troop-ship cleared the harbor, and eager eyes
watching the compass saw her course was set N.W.,
that we gave a cheer, feeling that at last we might
have a chance to show our mettle with the Cana¬
dians and Tommies, where the biggest fight was
raging.

Before we left the wharf our kits were inspected
and cut down to absolutely the minimum weight.
Transport space was limited, but it broke many of
our hearts to part with the sweater “Phyllis”
made. We could only keep two pairs of socks;
some boys had at least fifty. In one boy’s pack
there was a red pair and he was thereafter always
known as “Coldfeet.” No one wept at leaving
Egypt, and France held all the fruit of our dreams.

CHAPTER XVIII

FIRST DAYS IN FRANCE . . .

We had some excitement crossing from Alex¬
andria to Marseilles, and the troop-ship" ahead of
us was torpedoed, though no lives were lost. But
it was great to see our watch-dog of a destroyer
chase after the submarine. The transport I was
on was going over twenty- two knots, but the
destroyer passed us as though we were standing
still. The captain of our ship said she was doing
forty-seven knots. At any rate, she rammed the
submarine and must have appeared, through their
periscope, just as a huge wave.

How excited those French people were over us
Australians! They pelted us with flowers and
sweets, and, while no one objected to the embraces
of the girls, we thought it a bit too much when the
men as well threw their arms around us and kissed
us on both cheeks. French customs were new to
us, and some of the boys thought the men were
crazy.

We weren’t allowed much time to enjoy the
gayeties of this lovely French seaport, but were
marched off to the train and sent north to the big
show. We thought we had never seen such
lovely scenery as the south of France. I am not

161

162

“OVER THERE”

going to say that we have not just as good in
Australia, but the wonderful greenness and the
trees were such a change to us after Egypt that
the boys just hung from the carriage- windows,
and as there was a good number that could not
get these vantage-points, they scrambled onto
the roofs of the carriages, so as not to miss any
of that wonderful panorama of ever-changing
beauty.

We did not leave that train until we were well
within sound of the guns, and then disen trained at
a small village named Morbecque. We went into
tents in a farmyard, and the very first evening be¬
gan to make acquaintances among the villagers.

The Huns had only been there a day or two in
their march on Paris, and during that time the
inhabitants had made themselves scarce. But
enough damage had been done in the houses dur¬
ing those two days to make every man, woman,
and child speak with disgust of the filthy “boche.”

Everybody was very willing to make friends with
us Australians, but the difficulties of language pre¬
vented a very rapid growth in knowledge of each
other. All were on the hunt for souvenirs, and on
the second day hardly a man had a button left on
his coat. Orders were issued that the buttons
be replaced before the next parade, and it was
amusing to hear the boys trying to explain to the
village shop-mistress what they wanted. It ended
in their ransacking the stock themselves, but I

FIRST DAYS IN FRANCE ... 163

do not think any one found many buttons of the
same kind, and our uniforms did not look as smart
as usual, as somehow blouse-buttons do not seem
to go well with a uniform.

These people were simple and religious, as I
found most of the French people to be, at least
the country-folk. I received no less than six cruci¬
fixes that I was assured by the charming donors
would protect me from all danger, as they had been
blessed by certain archbishops, the favorite being
the archbishop of Amiens. I was mean enough
to remark to one of them that it was a wonder
any of the Frenchmen ever were killed. After I
had been in the trenches I met again the daughter
of the mayor, who had given me one of these cruci¬
fixes to wear around my neck. I informed her
how a bullet had passed between my eye and the
telescope I was using, laying open my cheek.
She was quite sure that the bullet was going
through my temple but had been diverted by the
power of the charm, and fourteen “aves” she said
for me every day.

While at this village I saw both a wedding and
a funeral, but the funeral was by far the most
spectacular of the two. The whole of the out¬
side of the house was covered with black cloth
— it must have taken a hundred yards — and pro¬
cessions of boys and girls went back and forth
from church to house for several days, singing the
most doleful music. Every one in the village

1 64 “OVER THERE”

attended the burial, and I really think enjoyed the
show.

For six days we lay snug in this village, every
day going for route-marches of fifteen to twenty
miles to harden us up again after the soft days on
the transport. We knew we were on the lip of the
caldron of war, for day and night we heard the
rumbling of the guns.

Then on the seventh day I was chosen as one
of a party to go up to the trenches and find out
the positions we were to take over. We went
by train a few miles nearer the line, and the guns
grew ever louder. Then, after a ten-mile walk,
we came suddenly to a barrier across the road,
and a notice telling us that from this point parties
of not more than six must proceed in single file,
walking at the side of the road. Our flesh began
to creep a little as we thought on the sinister need
for these precautions.

After about five miles of this, on stepping
through a hedge we suddenly found ourselves in a
communication- trench. This trench was not very
deep, and a tall man’s head would project over the
top. It was surprising how many of us thought
we were six-footers and acquired a stoop, lest the
tops of our hats show.

You are always nervous the first time in a new
trench, as you do not know the danger-spots and
are not even quite sure in which direction the
enemy lies, for the communication-trench zigzags

FIRST DAYS IN FRANCE ... 165

so. However, you generally acquire a bravado
which you do not feel, for you see the old residents
walking unconcernedly about, and you dare not
let them see your nervousness. I remember on
this morning we stepped right into hell. The
“boche” evidently caught sight of one of our
parties, and may have thought that a “change
over” was taking place, for we had hardly got to
the front line when he started to pour shells upon
it. Gaps were tom in the communication- trench
behind us, and shells were falling so thick when we
turned into the trench that we soon saw we had
not chosen a favorable time to “talk dispositions”
with the battalion in the line. When they real¬
ized, however, that we would most likely relieve
them in a day or two, they almost fell on our necks
with joy, for they had been five weeks in these
trenches, and thought that they were there for
good. There was little rejoicing among us, how¬
ever, for, of our party of sixteen, seven were killed
and four wounded in that visit of a few hours.
Two sergeants (who had just been chosen for
commissions) were blown to pieces as I was talk¬
ing to them. As I turned to reply to a question
addressed to me by one of them the shell came,
and in a second there was not enough left of
either for identification. I picked myself up un¬
hurt. Shells seem to have a way with them — one
man being taken, and the other left. And it is not
always the man nearest the shell that is taken.

i66

“OVER THERE”

They told me to go back to the support-trenches
for tea; about three hundred yards, and the com¬
munication-trench that I had to travel down was
as unhealthy as any place I have ever been in. I
was told the reason the enemy had its range so
accurately was that it was of their own building.
The support -trenches seemed to be getting more
shells, even than the front line, and it looked as
if I was walking out of the frying-pan into the
fire.

Tea was the last thing I was wanting, but, as
others were eating, I had to put up a bluff,
though I felt it would be a sinful waste if I were
to be killed immediately afterward.

That first day, however, took away most of my
fears, and thereafter I got to fancy I possessed a
charmed life and the bullet or shell was not made
that would harm me.

The most surprising thing of the life over there
is the narrow escapes one has. There are scores
of men who have been in almost every battle from
the beginning, and are still there, and that day it
seemed truly as if I walked in a zone of safety, as
shells would fall in front of me and behind, and
even pushed in the parapet against which I was
leaning, and I did not even get shell-shock.

I sat with my “dixie” of stew and lid of tea in
the open doorway of a dugout, and the whiz-bangs
passed within twenty yards of me and pelted me
with pieces of dirt, but nothing hard enough to

FIRST DAYS IN FRANCE ... 167

break the skin struck me. We did not learn much
about those trenches on this visit, and were a sad
little party that went back to our companions with
the news of what had befallen our comrades and
the perils awaiting them. The two remaining
days spent in that little village were full of fore¬
boding. Those who had “gone west” were well
loved, and but yesterday so full of the joy of
life.

Nearly every one wrote home those nights, as
it might be for the last time.

Under fire men are affected in different ways,
but as for myself, I must admit that after that
first day I felt I was not to die on the battle¬
field, and this gave me a confidence that many
of my comrades thought was due to lack of fear.
Strange to say, this feeling of security left me
only on the night I was wounded, many months
later. But of that in its proper place.

When we left Morbecque, the whole of the in¬
habitants turned out to bid us farewell. Many
* of the women wept, and though we had only
been there a week, we felt we were leaving old
friends.

We knew something of what these French people
had already paid in defending that in which we
were as much concerned. There was not a young
man in the whole neighborhood, and it was the
old grandfathers and grandmothers that worked
the farms.

i68

“OVER THERE ”

Our hearts had warmed to France, before we
knew the lovable French people themselves, be¬
cause she had borne the brunt in the first years
of the war, and her soil had been ravaged, and
her women so unspeakably maltreated. And
it seemed that the French people took especial
interest in us Australians who had come twelve
thousand miles to join in this fight in defense of
the world’s liberty.

This war has done more to make known to each
other the people of the world than any other event
in history. Many of the French people had hardly
heard of Australia, but hereafter they will never
forget the name of the land whence came those
stalwart boys who marched singing through their
country; who went to war with laughter, and
when out of the trenches were ever ready to give
a hand with the crops.

To their poverty it seemed as if we Australians
were all millionaires, and our ready cash was a
godsend wherever we went. Although we did
not receive on the field our full six shillings a
day, we always had more money to spend than
the “Tommies.” In fact, frequently within a
few horns after our arrival in a village we would
buy out all of its stores. The temptation must
have been great, yet I never knew a French farmer
or storekeeper attempt to overcharge us. All we
had, we spent, and though we grumbled enough
that we were not able to draw our full pay, the

FIRST DAYS IN FRANCE ... 169

French people thought that we were simply roll¬
ing in money.

The brigade did not go by train any of the dis¬
tance, but marched the whole way to the trenches,
taking two days. This part of the country was
just on the edge of the Hun advance and, being
only visited by some scouting-parties of Uhlans,
had escaped most of war’s ravages. We marched
through beautiful woods, passed peaceful villages,
and over sleepy canals that we saw not again in
France in many long months — most of us, alas,
never.

I do not know whether they wanted to show
what Australians could do, but we did a forced
march that day of eighteen miles with full packs
up — eight of them without a “breather.” This
may not sound much, but our boys were as nearly
physically perfect as it was possible for men to be,
and yet when we arrived at camp we left a third
of them on the road.

We went into billets at Sailly, within five miles
of the firing-line, where we found the civilian pop¬
ulation going about their avocations as though
war were a thousand miles away. There were
plenty of ruins and even great holes in the streets
that showed the Him had not only the power,
but the will, to send these death-dealing missiles
among the women and children still living there.
I thought the boys were too tired from their
march to want to look ’round the town, but after

170 “OVER THERE”

“hot tea” had been served out, they were like
new men, and went out to explore the place, as
though they merely had had a morning stroll.
Hot tea is to the Australian what whiskey is to
the Scotchman, his best “pick me up.”

CHAPTER XIX

THE BATTLE OF FLEURBAIX . . .

Next morning it was “going in” with a ven¬
geance. We did not enter the same trenches
where I had been a few days previously, but about
a mile farther south. These trenches were our
“home” for over three months, so let me try and
describe how they were built and looked to us
on that day of entry. In this part of the line,
near the borders of Belgium, you cannot dig down,
the soil is so marshy, so the trenches are what
is known as breastwork. They are built up about
six feet from the level of the ground, a solid wall
of sand-bags, ten to twenty feet thick. This will
stand the hit of all but the heaviest shells, but is
an unmistakable target if the enemy artillery have
observation at all. The support and front line
trenches were divided every two hundred yards,
by communication- trenches, built in the same
way, except that the communication-trench had
two sides. These communication-trenches were
distinguished by such names as “Pinney’s Ave.,”
“V. C. Ave.,” which latter was supposed to be
built on the spot where Michael O’Leary won the
first Victoria Cross of the war. Others were called

172 “OVER THERE”

“Bond Street,” “Brompton Ave.,” and “Mine
Ave.”

Later on my brigade held the length of trench
that included all these, from Mine Ave. to Bond
Street, over one thousand yards; but for the bat¬
tle and the first ten days we only held about
three hundred yards, using the three communica¬
tion-trenches — Pinney’s, Brompton, and V. C.

I had a good deal of apprehension as the bri¬
gade marched in, remembering the reception our
reconnoitring party had received. If “Fritz” had
spotted a score of us he could not well avoid
noticing a thousand, though we were broken into
little parties of six, that moved along the gutter
in single file. But he must have been asleep this
day, for the “change over” was completed with
little attention from him in the way of shells.

Leading up to “Pinney’s Ave.,” there was a
short length of communication-trench very ap¬
propriately called “Impertinence Sap,” for it was
merely a ditch, three feet deep, floored with
“duck boards.” I could never get the reason
why this trench was built. It only afforded pro¬
tection for one’s legs, which is the part of the
body one would rather be hit in if one must be
hit at all. The goose-flesh always crept around
my head when I walked along this sap, for, strange
to say, my head seemed to be the most valuable
part of me, and at night the machine-gun bullets
used to whistle through the low hedge that ran

“Us — Going In.”

BATTLE OF FLEURBAIX ... 173

alongside it and frequently struck sparks from
the flints on the old road just a yard or two away.

1 suppose I used that sap two hundred times,
always with misgivings, for I have seen more than
a score of men punctured along its length.

All these parts were unhealthy. The Rue de
Bois, the street that ran parallel to the firing-
trench, about a thousand yards behind the front
line, was always under indirect machine-gun fire,
yet was, nevertheless, used regularly every night
by our transports. It was surprising how few
mules were killed. Many times have I skipped,
as the bullets struck sparks around my feet.

After a while we got to know that “Fritz” had
a regular cut-and-dried system in the shelling of
these trenches. He always took Mine Ave.,
Brompton Ave., and Pinney’s Ave. alternately,
and we later on saved a number of lives by having
a sentry at the entrance to these communication-
trenches to give warning to use the other trench
while this one was being shelled. Weeks later I
worked out the enemy’s bombardment system
more thoroughly, and had such notices as this
posted: “Pinney’s Ave. dangerous on Mondays,

2 to 6 p. m.,” “V. C. unhealthy Tuesday after¬
noons,” and so on. I know I saved my own life
several times by watching “Fritz’s” times and
seasons. I am quite sure that each battery “over
yonder” had a book that laid down a certain
number of rounds to be fired at a certain range

“OVER THERE”

174

on Mondays, and so on for every day in the
week. And every relieving battery would take
over this “book of instruct! ons.” Of course
there were times when “Fritz” “got the wind
up” (lost his nerve), and then he would shell any¬
thing indiscriminately. The god of the German
is Method , and his goddess System , and it hurt
his gunners sorely when we tried something new,
and made him depart from some long-predevised
plan.

However, these were discoveries of a later date
than the battle which wiped out about 70 per
cent of our strength.

We had not been two days in the trenches be¬
fore we knew that we were destined for an at¬
tack on the trenches opposite, and we had not
had time even to know the way about our own
lines. Few of us had even had a glimpse of No
Man’s Land, or sight of the fellow across the
street whom we were to fight.

Our guns immediately began to get busy. In
fact, too busy for our liking, for they had not yet
got the correct range. This was before the days
of total aeroplane supremacy, and the battery
commander in those days had not an observer
flying above where his shells were falling, inform¬
ing him of the slightest error.

At any rate, we soon began to discover that
the shells that were bursting among us were
many of them coming from behind. This made

BATTLE OF FLEURBAIX ... 175

us very uncomfortable, for we were not protected
against our own artillery-fire; and accidents will
sometimes happen, do what you can to avoid
them. Our first message over the ’phone was
very polite. “We preferred to be killed by the
Germans, thank you,” was all we said to the bat¬
tery commander. But as his remarks continued
to come to us through the air, accompanied by a
charge of explosive, and two of our officers being
killed, our next message was worded very differ¬
ently, and we told him that “if he fired again we
would turn the machine-guns on to them.” I
was sent back to make sure that he got the mes¬
sage. I took the precaution to take back with
me one of his “duds” (unexploded shells) as evi¬
dence. At first he told me I was crazy — that we
were getting German cross-fire, and that his shells
were falling two hundred yards in front of us. I
brought out my souvenir, and asked him if he
had ever seen that before. He said: “For God’s
sake, bury it,” but I told him it was going to
divisional headquarters, and that his little mis¬
take had already cost several lives. This battery
did not belong to our division.

Our company commanders gathered us in
small groups and carefully explained the plan
of attack. We were to take the three lines of
German trenches that were clearly discernible on
the aeroplane photograph which was shown us;
the first wave was to take the first trench, the

“OVER THERE”

176

second jumping over their heads and attacking
the second German line, the third wave going
on to the third German line. When all the Ger¬
mans had been killed in the first trench, those
left of the first wave were to follow to the third
line. Unfortunately this photograph misled us,
as one of the supposed trenches proved to be a
ditch, and a great number of men were lost
by going too far into enemy territory, seeking
the supposed third line.

I have seen an actual photograph taken by an
aeroplane during this battle, that shows a fight
going on five miles behind the German lines.
Many of the boys had sworn not to be taken
prisoners, and though they knew they were cut
off, they fought on until every last one of them
was killed.

The Germans were thoroughly aware of our in¬
tentions to attack. Bad weather made a post¬
ponement for a couple of days advisable, and
there had been so much artillery preparation that
the enemy had time to get ready for us.

Considering the short time that our own artil¬
lery had been in their positions, and that they
did not know a few days previously the range of
the enemy’s positions, their work was very thor¬
oughly done. In most cases the wire had been
well cut, and the enemy's front-line trenches were
badly smashed about.

The Germans must have had some spies behind

BATTLE OF FLEURBAIX ... 177

our lines, for they knew the actual moment of
attack, and our feints failed to deceive them.
Before the real attack the bombardment would
cease for a moment or two, whistles being blown,
orders shouted, and bayonets shown above the
top of the parapet. The idea was that the Ger¬
mans would then man their parapet to meet our
attack, the artillery again opening fire on the
trench. They failed to appear, however, until
we actually went over the top, then the machine-
guns and rifles swept a hail of bullets in our faces,
like a veritable blizzard.

Nothing could exceed the bravery of those boys.
The first wave went down like “wheat before
the reaper.” When the time came for the second
wave to go over there was not a man standing of
the first wave, yet not a lad faltered. Each
gazed at his watch and on the arranged tick of
the clock leaped over. In many cases they did
not get any farther than the first wave. The
last wave, though they knew each had to do the
work of three, were in their places and started on
their forlorn hope at the appointed moment.

This battle was a disaster. We failed to take
the German trenches, but it was like two other
failures, the defense of Belgium and the attack
of the Dardanelles — a failure so glorious as to fill
a man with pride that he was enabled to play a
part in it. In this battle we so smashed five
divisions of Bavarian guards that it was months

“OVER THERE”

178

before they got back into the trenches. Had they
gone to Verdun at that time it might have meant
its fall, as they were the flower of the German
army.

In places both first and second German lines
were taken, but in others we did not get across
No Man’s Land.

It was not that certain companies fought better
than others, but here and there were unexpected
obstacles. In one place No Man’s Land was
only fifty yards across, while elsewhere it was
three hundred yards. There was a creek running
diagonally across in one section, too wide to leap,
too deep to ford, and the only place where it was
bridged was so marked by the German machine-
guns that the dead were piled in heaps about it.

Those who actually reached the German
trenches were too few to consolidate, and the
German artillery soon began to take a heavy toll
of them, knowing the range of their own trenches
to a yard. So these had to come back again, and
when night fell we were back in our old trenches
— rather a few of us were; most of our division
lay out in No Man’s Land.

All were not dead, but we had no men to help
the wounded. We had no stretchers, and those
that were alive, unwounded, were so fatigued as
to be hardly able to stand upright. But we could
not stand the thought of the fellows out there
without help, and we crawled among them, tak-

BATTLE OF FLEURBAIX

• • •

179

ing the biscuits and water from the dead and giv¬
ing them to the wounded. We could only reach
a few of them, and we crawled back at daylight,
cursing our impotence, and fearing what the day
might bring to these our comrades, lying helpless
in full view of the brutal enemy.

The sight of our trenches that next morning is
burned into my brain. Here and there a man
could stand upright, but in most places if you did
not wish to be exposed to a sniper’s bullet you
had to progress on your hands and knees. In
places the parapet was repaired with bodies —
bodies that but yesterday had housed the per¬
sonality of a friend by whom we had warmed
ourselves. If you had gathered the stock of a
thousand butcher-shops, cut it into small pieces
and strewn it about, it would give you a faint con¬
ception of the shambles those trenches were.

One did not ask the whereabouts of brother or
chum. If we did not see him, then it were best
to hope that he were of the dead.

It were folly to look over the parapet, for nearly
every shell-hole contained a wounded man, and,
poor fellow, he would wave to show his where¬
abouts; and though we could not help him, it
would attract the attention of the Huns, who
still had shells to spare — so that the wounded
might not fight again.

I have found the Bavarian even worse than the
Prussian, and this day, and the next, and again,

i8o

“OVER THERE”

did they sweep No Man’s Land with machine-
guns and shrapnel, so as to kill the wounded.

When darkness came the second night, we had
organized parties of rescue, but we still had prac¬
tically no stretchers, and the most of the men
had to be carried in on our backs.

I went out to the bridge, and in between
machine-gun bursts began to pull down that
heap of dead. Not all were dead, for in some
of the bodies that formed that pyramid life was
breathing. Some were conscious but too weak
to struggle from out that weight of flesh. Ma¬
chine-guns were still playing on this spot, and
after we had lost half of our rescuing party, we
were forbidden to go here again, as live men
were too scarce.

But the work of rescue did not cease. Two
hundred men were carried in from a space less in
area than an acre.

One lad, who looked about fifteen, called to me :
4 ‘Don’t leave me, sir.” I said, “I will come back
for you, sonny,” as I had a man on my back at
the time. In that waste of dead one wounded
man was like a gem in sawdust — just as hard to
find. Four trips I made before I found him, then
it was as if I had found my own young brother.
Both his legs were broken, and he was only a
schoolboy, one of those overgrown lads who had
added a couple of years in declaring his age to
get into the army. But the circumstances brought

BATTLE OF FLEURBAIX

• • •

181

out his youth, and he clung to me as though I
were his father. Nothing I have ever done has
given me the joy that the rescuing of that lad did,
and I do not even know his name. He was the
only one who did not say: “Take the other fellow
first.”

There were men who were forty-eight hours
without food or drink, without having their
wounds dressed, knowing that the best they had
to hope for was a bullet. That the chances were
they would die of starvation or exposure, and yet
again and again would they refuse to be taken
until we should look to see if there was not some
one alive in a neighboring shell-hole. They would
tell us to “look in the drain, or among those
bushes over there.” During the day they had
heard a groan. A groan, mind you, and there
were men there with legs off, and arms hanging
by a skin, and men sightless, with half their face
gone, with bowels exposed, and every kind of un¬
mentionable wounds, yet some one had groaned.
Why, some had gritted teeth on bayonets, others
had stuffed their tunics in their mouths, lest they
should groan. Some one had written of the Aus¬
tralian soldier in the early part of the war, “ that
they never groan” and these men who had read
that would rather die than not live up to the repu¬
tation that some newspaper correspondent had
given them.

I lay for half an hour with my arms around the

182

“OVER THERE”

neck of a boy within a few yards of a German
“listening post,” while the man who was with me
went back to try and find a stretcher. He told
me he had neither mother nor friend, was brought
up in an orphanage, and that no one cared whether
he lived or died. But our hearts rubbed as we
lay there, and we vowed lifelong friendship. It
does not take long to make a friend under those
circumstances, but he died in my arms and I do
not know his name.

There was another man who was anxious about
his money-belt; perhaps it contained something
more valuable than money. I went back for it,
stuffing it in my pocket, and then forgot all about
it. When I thought of it again the belt was gone,
and the owner had gone off to hospital. I do not
know who he was, and maybe he thinks I have
his belt still.

One of the most self-forgetful actions ever
performed was by Sergeant Ross. We found a
man on the German barbed wire, who was so
badly wounded that when we tried to pick him
up, one by the shoulders and the other by the
feet, it almost seemed that we would pull him
apart. The blood was gushing from his mouth,
where he had bitten through lips and tongue, so
that he might not jeopardize, by groaning, the
chances of some other man who was less badly
wounded than he. He begged us to put him out
of his misery, but we were determined we would

BATTLE OF FLEURBAIX

• • •

183

get him his chance, though we did not expect
him to live. But the sergeant threw himself
down on the ground and made of his body a
human sledge. Some others joined us, and we
put the wounded man on his back and dragged
them thus across two hundred yards of No Man’s
Land, through the broken barbed wire and shell-
tom ground, where every few inches there was a
piece of jagged shell, and in and out of the shell-
holes. So anxious were we to get to safety that
we did not notice the condition of the man under¬
neath until we got into our trenches; then it was
hard to see which was the worst wounded of the
two. The sergeant had his hands, face, and body
tom to ribbons, and we had never guessed it, for
never once did he ask us to “go slow” or “wait
a bit.” Such is the stuff that men are made of.

It sounds incredible, but we got a wounded
man, still alive, eight days after the attack. It
was reported to me that some one was heard call¬
ing from No Man’s Land for a stretcher-bearer,
but I suspected a German trap, for I did not think
it possible that any man could be out there alive
when it was more than a week after the battle and
there had been no men missing since. However,
we had to make sure, and I took a man out with
me named Private Mahoney; also a ball of
string. We still heard the call, and as it came
from nearer the German trenches than ours we
knew they must hear as well. When we got near

1 84 “OVER THERE”

the shell-hole from which the sound came I told
Mahoney to wait, while I crawled round to ap¬
proach it from the German side. I took the end
of the ball of string in my hand, so as to be able
to signal back, and from a shell-hole just a few
yards away I asked the man who he was and to
tell me the names of some of his officers. As he
seemed to know the names of all the officers I
crawled into the hole alongside him, though I
was still suspicious, and signalled back to my
companion to go and get a stretcher.

As soon as I had a good look at the poor fellow
I knew he was one of ours. His hands and face
were as black as a negro’s, and all of him from
the waist down was beneath the mud. He had
not strength to move his hands, but his 11 voice
was a good deal too strong , ” for he started to talk
to me in a shout: ‘‘It’s so good, matey, to see a
real live man again. I’ve been talking to dead
men for days. There was two men came up to
speak to me who carried their heads under their
arms !”

I whispered to him to shut up, but he would
only be quiet for a second or two, and soon the
Germans knew that we were trying to rescue
him, for the machine-gun bullets chipped the
edge of the hole and showered us with dirt. In
about half an hour Mahoney returned with the
stretcher, but we had to dig the poor fellow’s
limbs out, and only just managed to get into the

BATTLE OF FLEURBAIX

• • •

1 85

next hole during a pause in the machine-gun
bursts. To cap all, our passenger broke into song,
and we just dropped in time as the bullets pinged
over us. These did not worry our friend on the
stretcher, nor did the bump hurt him, for he
cheerfully shouted “Down go my horses!” We
gagged him after that and got him safely in, but the
poor fellow only lived a couple of days, for blood-
poisoning had got too strong a hold of his frail
body for medical skill to avail. His name I have
forgotten, and the hospital records would only state :
“Private So-and-so received [a certain date];
died [such a date]. Cause of death — tetanus.”

CHAPTER XX

DAYS AND NIGHTS OF STRAFE

We had only been a few days in the trenches
in France when I was sent for by the General.
I went in fear and trembling, wondering what
offense I had committed ; but I soon did not know
whether I was standing on my heels or my head, for
he said to me: “I have recommended you for a
commission, and you are immediately to take
over the duties of intelligence or scouting officer.”
This was a big step up, as I was only a corporal,
though I had been acting in charge of a position
over the heads of many who were my seniors in
rank.

Now began for me many adventurous and
happy days, for my job afforded me a great deal
of independence and scope for initiative, and I
was able to plan and execute many little stunts
that must have irritated Fritz a good deal. When
I was returning at dawn from my night’s pere¬
grinations, I would generally meet the brigadier
on his round of inspection, and no matter in what
mood he was in I always had some story of strafe
to tell him that would crease his face in smiles,
and I saved many another officer from the bully¬
ing that was coming his way.

1 86

DAYS AND NIGHTS OF STRAFE 187

Our brigadier was very popular because of his
personal bravery. One morning I was showing
him the remains of some Germans I had blown
up, and in his eagerness he stuck his head and
shoulders, red tabs and all, over the trenches,
when — ping ! — a sniper’s bullet struck the bag
within an inch of his head and covered him with
dirt. “Pompey” roared with laughter and was
in good humor for the rest of the day. On one
occasion in Egypt this same General issued orders
that no men were to wear caps. He said he didn’t
care where we got hats from, but that we were
all old enough soldiers to obtain one somehow.
He would punish any soldier who appeared on
parade next day without a hat, and the only one
whose head was minus a hat next morning was
the brigadier himself ! He laughed and said that
the man who pinched his hat had better not get
caught, that’s all !

My chief business as intelligence officer was to
keep an eye on Fritz and find out what he was
up to. I had a squad of trained observers who
were posted in certain vantage-points called O.
Pips (O. P. — Observation Post). These O. Pips
were mostly on top of tall trees or the top of some
old ruined farmhouse. From these “pozzies”
(positions) a good deal of the country behind
the enemy lines could be seen, and the observers,
who were given frequent reliefs so that they would
not become stale, had their eyes glued to it through

i88

“OVER THERE”

a telescope. Every single thing that happened
was written down, including the velocity and
direction of the wind; the information from all
these and other sources being summarized by
myself into a daily report for G. H. Q.

There was one O. Pip on top of a crazy ruin
that was used for many months without the Ger¬
mans suspecting. It really hardly looked as if
it would support the weight of a sparrow. I used
to wonder oftentimes how I was going to get up
there, and then by force of habit would find my¬
self lying alongside the observer sheltering be¬
hind two or three bricks. From this pozzie one
of my boys saw a German Staff car pass Crucifix
Corner. This was a stretch of a hundred yards
of road which we could plainly see where a crucifix
was standing, though the church that once cov¬
ered it had been entirely destroyed. The car was
judged to contain some officers of very high rank,
both from the style of the car and the colors of
the uniforms. When I got this information I
prepared to make that road unhealthy in case
they should return. I called up our sniping bat¬
tery, and got them to range a shell to be sure
they would not miss. At five o’clock in the after¬
noon my waiting was rewarded, and just by the
pressing of a button eight shells landed on that
car, and sent its occupants “down to the father¬
land.” We received news about that time that
one of the Kaiser’s sons was killed, and though

DAYS AND NIGHTS OF STRAFE 189

it was denied later, in my dreams I often fancy
that he might have been in that car.

There was a landmark behind the German
lines in this sector known as “the hole in the
wall.” It was marked on all our maps used by
the artillery for ranging, and was the object on
which we set our zero lines to get bearings of
other objects. One day “the hole in the wall”
disappeared, and there was much wailing and
gnashing of teeth. Did the Germans destroy it
or was it the rats that undermined its founda¬
tions ? I fancy it was like the celebrated ‘ ‘ One
Horse Shay” — every brick in the wall that sur¬
rounded the hole had been wearing away for
years, and at the stroke of Fate all crumbled into
dust. We were able to do without our old friend,
as Fritz very kindly built up in the churchyard
at Fromelles a large red earthwork that could
be seen for miles, and which our big guns sought
unsuccessfully to destroy but made the entrance
to it very unhealthy.

We had some crack sharpshooters or snipers in
trees and also on top of ruins, but took care never
to have them near our observation posts lest they
should draw fire. I had one man who was a King’s
prize-winner, and he must have accounted for
well over a hundred of the enemy, some of whom
may have thought themselves quite secure when
they exposed but a portion of their body eight
hundred or a thousand yards from our trenches.

190

“OVER THERE”

Through the wasting of skilled men in unsuitable
work which is prevalent in all our armies, this
man was sent forward in a bayonet charge and
killed. In his own job he was worth a battalion
but in a charge of no more value than any other
man. The snipers and observers make effective use
of camouflage, and have uniforms and rifle-covers
to blend with their background — spotted for
work among trees with foliage, a la Mr. Leopard
— striped when in long grass or crops like Stripes
of the jungle. We have suits resembling the bark
of a tree, and some earth-colored for ploughed
ground, also one made from sand-bags for the top
of the parapet.

I could fill a volume with the happenings dur¬
ing our many months in these trenches.

We had great sport through the use of a dummy
trench. This was a ditch which we dug about
seventy-five yards behind our front line running
parallel to it. We would light fires in this about
meal- times, and now and again during the day
send a file of men along it who would occasionally
expose their bayonets to view above the top.
This ditch would appear to the German aero¬
planes exactly like a trench, and as they used
their second line for a supervision and living trench
they probably thought we did the same. Our
boys laughed to see most of the German shells
exploding on the dummy trench.

There were one or two occasions in which Fritz

DAYS AND NIGHTS OF STRAFE 191

broke the unwritten law that there should be an
armistice during meal-times. We soon cured him
of this, however, as we systematically for a week
put out his cook’s fires with rifle-grenades. There¬
after both sides were able to have their meals
in peace though we took care to change our hour
from one to two instead of twelve to one.

Fritz’s system now and again got on our nerves.
It was deadly monotonous, always knowing when
his severest shelling would start and I have known
the boys run races with the shells, driven to take
foolish risks by sheer ennui. We always expected
some shells on “V. C. House” at 4 p. m., and were
rarely disappointed. The men off duty would
assemble in front of the old house and at the sound
of the first shell race for the shelter of a dugout
about a hundred yards away. Generally they
would all tumble in together and in their excite¬
ment could not decide who won the race, and so
would have it all over again. The officers were
ordered to stop these “races with death” for there
were some killed, but they would break out now
and again when the last man who was killed had
been forgotten.

The bombing officer had a good deal of sport
with his rifle-grenades, and as I was hand in
glove with him I enjoyed some of his fun. A
favorite place for the firing of our rifle-grenades
was at Devon Avenue, for most of Fritz’s retalia¬
tion came to the Tommies whose flank joined

“OVER THERE”

192

ours at this point. One day their major came
along to us in a great rage, and wanted to know
why we were always stirring up trouble — couldn’t
we let well enough alone ? He complained in
the end to our brigadier, but the answer he got
was: “What are you there for? What’s your
business?” After this, whenever we had our
strafe on this flank, they would squeeze up to
their centre leaving fifty yards unmanned be¬
tween us. These men were brave enough, and
in a raid the same major held the trench with
great bravery under a severe bombardment and
attack by a strong force.

We also had an armored train that we were
very proud of. At least, that is what we called
it, but it was only a little truck with six rifles fast¬
ened on it for firing grenades. We ran this along
rails down the trench, and would fire a salvo from
one place and then move to another by the time
Fritz had waked up and was replying with “pine¬
apples and flying-fish,” as his rifle-grenades were
dubbed.

One day I was ordered to locate the enemy’s
“minenwerfer” positions, as his “minnies” were
getting on our nerves. These huge shells, al¬
though they very seldom caused casualties, for
they are very inaccurate, would nevertheless
make the ground tremble for miles as they buried
themselves sometimes fifty feet deep in the soft
ground before they exploded. When these were

DAYS AND NIGHTS OF STRAFE 193

about our boys would watch for them as they
could plainly be seen in the air. We would watch
their ascent, sometimes partly through a cloud,
and, as the shell wabbled a good deal, we could
not be exactly sure where it was going to land
until it was on the downward curve, then we
would scatter like sheep, and as it would gen¬
erally be two or three seconds before it went off,
we had time to reach a safe distance. The real
trouble was that no one could sleep when they
were coming over, as each of them had all the
force of an earthquake. I have picked up pieces
of the shell two feet long by a foot wide, jagged
like a piece of galvanized iron that had been cut
off with an axe.

Well, I had to locate the position of these
mine-throwers, and the easiest way to do it was
to make them fire and have observers at different
points to get bearings on the exact position from
which the shells were thrown. They were easy
to see, as they were accompanied for the first
fifty yards with showers of sparks like sky¬
rockets. But Fritz can be very obstinate on
occasions, and all our teasing with rifle-grenades
failed to make him retaliate with anything larger
than “ pineapples” (light trench -mortars). In
desperation, I sent to the brigade bombing officer
for some smoke and gas-bombs. Even these
failed to rouse his anger sufficiently when — Eu¬
reka! — we discovered some “ lachrymose” or

“OVER THERE ”

194

“tear” bombs. These did the trick and over
came a “rum- jar” as the “minnie” shells are
generally called. I had eight batteries on the
wire, and we gave that “minnie” position a
pretty warm time. By the same methods I
located nine of these German trench-mortars on
that front. Later on we captured one of them
and I was surprised to see what a primitive affair
it was. It consisted of a huge pipe made of
wooden staves bound round and round with wire.
The charge is in a can like an oil-drum and
dropped in the pipe, and then the shell dropped
in on top of it. A fuse is attached, burning
several seconds so as to allow the crew to get
well out of the way, as their risk is as great as
those they fire it at. When I had seen the gun,
I was not surprised that rarely did they know
within a hundred yards of where the shell was
going to land, only expecting to get it somewhere
behind our lines.

While I am talking of trench-mortars, I must
tell you about the “blind pig.” This was a huge
shell with which we frequently got on Fritz’s
nerves. When it was first used there was some
doubt about its accuracy and the infantry were
cleared out of the trenches in its immediate front
before it was fired. The first shot landed on our
support trenches, the next in No Man’s Land,
and the third on Fritz’s front line. Each time
it seemed as if a double-powered Vesuvius were

DAYS AND NIGHTS OF STRAFE 195

in eruption, and when the artillery got to know
its pranks there was no need for us to get out
from under. The aeroplanes reported that when
the “blind pigs” went over, some Fritzes could
be seen running half an hour afterward. Fritz
does not like anything new; for example, they ap¬
pealed to the world against our brutality in using
“tanks.” Christmas Day, 1916, one of our avia¬
tors, with total disregard of the rules of war,
dropped a football on which was painted “A
Merry Xmas” into a French town infested by
Germans. As it struck the street and bounced
up higher than the roofs they could be seen scut¬
tling like rats, and maybe, to-day, that airman
is haunted by the ghosts of those who died of
heart-failure as a result of his fiendishness.

This airman is a well-known character among
the troops in Flanders, known to all as “the mad
major.” His evening recreation consists in fly¬
ing but a few hundred feet above the enemy’s
trenches, and raking them with his machine-gun
to show his absolute contempt for their marks¬
manship. I have seen them in impotent fury
fire at him every missile they had, including “pine¬
apples” and “minnies”; but he bears a charmed
life, for, though he returned and repeated his per¬
formance four times for our benefit, he did not
receive a scratch. I went over the German lines
with him for instruction in aerial observation.

t

He said to me: “Do you see that battery down

“OVER THERE”

196

there ?” I replied “No !” His next remark was,
“Ill take you down,” and he shot down about
five hundred feet nearer. We were getting pasted
by “archies” much more than was pleasant, so
when he next shut off his engine, to speak to me,
I did not wait for his question but assured him
that I could see the German battery quite plainly.
I hope the recording angel will take into account
the extenuating circumstances of that lie.

We had a ‘ ‘ spring gun ” or “ catapult ” that came
very near preventing this book ever being written.
On one occasion we placed a bomb in the cup,
but instead of taking the spring and lever out,
which was the correct way, we tried a new ex¬
periment of holding the lever down with two nails
which would release the spring as soon as it was
let off. Unfortunately, the bomb rolled off at
our feet, and we had four seconds to get to a safe
distance. Some of us got bad bruises on our fore¬
heads as we dived for an open dugout as though
we ourselves had been thrown from a catapult.
On another occasion we used Mills grenades with
a grooved base plug. To our alarm, the first
one exploded with a beautiful shrapnel effect
just above our heads. I am sure a piece passed
through my hair but I could not wear a gold braid
for a wound because, not even with a candle,
could the doctor find a mark.

Our tunnellers were always mining and we
would see them by day and night disappearing

DAYS AND NIGHTS OF STRAFE 197

into mysterious holes in the ground, and it was
only when Messines Ridge disappeared in fine
dust that we understood that their groping in
underground passages was not in vain. They
would sometimes tell us exciting tales of fights
in the dark with picks against enemy miners;
and now and again we would be roused by ex¬
plosions when one side blew in on the other and
formed a new crater in No Man’s Land. With
their instruments our miners discovered that
the head of one of the enemy galleries was under
the headquarters dugout of the English regiment
on our right. I went along to inform them. With
excitement in my voice I said to the officer in
charge: “Do you know that there is a mine under
here?” “Bai Jove, how jolly interesting ! Come
and have a drink.” I said: “Not in here, thank
you.” “Why? It won’t go off to-day,” he said.
“Anyway, we are being relieved to-morrow, so it
won’t worry us, but we’ll be sure and leave word
for the other blighters.”

There was a dugout in our own sector in which
were heard mysterious tappings, but though we
had an experienced miner sleep in it he reported
that the sounds were not those of mining opera¬
tions. Maybe it was the rats, but we gave that
dugout a wide berth, as some one suggested that
it was haunted, and even in the trenches, better
the devil you know than the devil you don’t
know !

“OVER THERE”

198

We managed to have a good deal of comfort
in these trenches, all things considered. We even
rigged up hot baths in our second line. The men
were able every second day to have a hot bath,
get clean underclothing, and have a red-hot iron
passed over their uniforms, which was the only
effective method I have known of keeping us
reasonably free from body-vermin. These baths
turned us out like new men, as the Australian
craves his daily shower. I doubt if there are
any troops in the world who take such pains for
cleanliness. Wherever we camp we rig up our
shower-baths as a first essential, and in some of
the French villages the natives would gather round
these Hessian enclosed booths staring at the bare
legs showing beneath and jabbering excitedly
about the madness of these people who were so
dirty that they needed a bath every day.

Although this sector of trench was during eight
months known as “a quiet front,” as no actual
offensive took place, yet there was never a day
or night free from peril, and all the time our
strength in numbers was being sapped — men
left us “going west” or said good-bye as they
went to hospital, and sometimes would disappear
in No Man’s Land — gone, none knew where. We
received reinforcements that did not keep pace
with our losses and during all the time were never
once up to half strength. Always we were on
the watch to worst our enemy, and he was by

DAYS AND NIGHTS OF STRAFE 199

no means napping. Gas was often used and sen¬
tries were posted with gas alarm-signals not only-
in the trenches but in the streets of the villages
behind the lines. If by night or day the whitish
vapor was seen ascending from the trenches op¬
posite, then such a hullabaloo of noises would
pass along the trenches and through the streets
of the towns as to make the spirits of the bravest
quail, and woe betide even the little child who
at that signal did not instantly cover his face
with the hideous gas-mask. These noises were
made chiefly with klaxon horns, though an empty
shell-case struck by iron was found to give out
a ringing sound that could plainly be heard above
even the screech and crump of the shells.

Our gas-masks are quite efficient protection,
and I have been a whole day under gas without
injury, by keeping the cloth in my mask damp
all the time. Men sometimes lose their lives
through lack of confidence in their masks. The
chemical causes an irritation of the mucous mem¬
brane, and they fancy they are being gassed, and
in desperation tear them off. It is the duty of
an officer to decide when the danger has passed
and test the air. I remember on one occasion
I warned some men who were opening their coats
that the danger had not passed, but when I re¬
turned I found they had removed their masks and
three of them were very severely gassed. We are
always on the lookout for gas, and when the wind

200

“OVER THERE 99

is dangerous a “ gas-alert” signal is given, when
every man wears his mask in a ready position so
that it can be donned without a second’s delay.

I was really sorry to leave those trenches. So
many months was I there that they were some¬
thing like a home to me, and who knew what
was awaiting one in another and an unknown
section ? I knew every shell-hole in No Man’s
Land, and constant observation of the enemy
methods enabled me to anticipate his moves.
I felt that nowhere else would I be so successful.
I even parted with a rat that I had tamed in
my dugout with a feeling of regret, though on
all his kin I waged a bitter war, spending many
hours when I ought to have been sleeping in shoot¬
ing them with my automatic as they came into
the light of the dugout doorway. It was there,
too, that I experimented with the enemy grenades,
and I remember once nearly scaring an Austra¬
lian nigger white. He was the only colored man
in our brigade, and was just passing in front of
the dugout as I threw a detonator on to the hard
metal of an old road a few yards away. Evidently
he was surprised at being bombed when he thought
he was among friends ! He, however, received
nothing worse than the fright.

CHAPTER XXI

THE VILLAGE OF SLEEP

There was little element of surprise about
the “Somme” offensive. Although there must
have been some uncertainty in the mind of the
German Staff as to just where the blow would
be struck, for our papers were filled with rumors
of a drive in the north, and troops and big guns
were moved north every day and withdrawn at
night, yet the intensity of the artillery bombard¬
ment around Albert, which day by day waxed
ever greater, proclaimed in a shout that here was
the point on which our punch would strike.

The selection of this place for an offensive was
an indication that it was not the policy of the
Allies to attempt to drive the German army out
of France, but that their evident intention was
to defeat the enemy practically in the present
trenches. The German line in France and Bel¬
gium is shaped like the letter L, and the Somme
battle was waged at the angle of the letter just
where the line was farthest from Germany. Of
course it would be madness to attempt to finish
the war on German soil, if to do it we should
have to devastate one-eighth of France and its

fairest and richest province.

201

202

“OVER THERE”

These smashes are rapidly destroying the mo¬
rale of the enemy, as well as killing many of
them, and will lead to the collapse of the army
pretty much where they are now. If they at¬
tempt an offensive on the western front, where
our armament is now so strong, it will hasten
the end. The British artillery had at the end
of 1917 a reserve of fifty million of shells, and
pity help the German army if they bump into
them. The British offensive of 1916 was hast¬
ened somewhat by the need of relieving the
pressure on Verdun, and though the first blow
was not as powerful as it would have been if de¬
layed a few months, it accomplished much more
than was expected.

Up the British line there crept news of big
doings down south. There was a new sound in
the air — a distant continued thunder that was
different from any previous sound — the big drums
of the devil’s orchestra were booming an accom¬
paniment that was the motif of hell’s cantata.
Up the line ran the rumor of a battle intenser
than any yet fought — more guns being massed
in a few miles than the world had ever seen be¬
fore. Into every heart crept the dread of what
might await us down there, and to every mind
came the question: “When are we going?”

Close behind rumor came marching orders, and
as we left our old trenches south of Armentieres
we said good-bye to scenes that had become

THE VILLAGE OF SLEEP 203

homelike, and turned our faces south to make
that “rendezvous with death” in the dread un¬
known to which duty called us.

But there were weeks of peaceful scenes that
seemed to us like a forgotten melody of love and
home and peace, and the train that bore us out
of the war zone seemed to carry us into another
world, but though the feast to our eyes was pleas¬
ant and like “far-off forgotten things and pleasures
long ago,” we were not borne thither on downy
couches. Never were there seats more uncom¬
fortable than the floors of those French trucks,
and we occupied them for days. When now and
again the train stopped and we could unbend
ourselves for a short stroll, it was like the interval
in a dull play. We had taken our cookers with
us on the train, but the French railway authori¬
ties would not allow us to have a fire burning
while the train was moving, so we would have to
draw onto a siding that our meals might be cooked.
Now and again at these stops there would be
canteens run by English and American women,
and the home-cooking and delicacies they smil-
ingly gave us were a reminder of the barracking
of the womenfolk that makes courage and en¬
durance of men possible. These are the untir¬
ing heroines that uphold our hands till victory
shall come, and so the women fight on. There
were French women, too, who brought us fruit
and gingerbread, and with eyes and strange

204 “OVER THERE”

tongue unburdened hearts full of gratitude and
prayer.

How glad we were to gaze on the earth, smiling
through fields of waving com and laughing with
peaceful homes, with the church-spires still point¬
ing heavenward, after so many months of as¬
sociating with the scars of blackened fields and
the running sores festering on earth’s bosom, once
so fair, where churches had swooned and in lost
hope laid their finger in the dust.

But all journeys end in time, and one night
instead of eating we loaded ourselves like the
donkeys in Egypt and tramped off to the village
of our sojourning. The billeting officer and guide
were several days ahead of us and they met us
at the train and told us it was only three miles
to the village, but after we had tramped five we
lost all faith in their knowledge of distance. It
was “tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are march¬
ing, ” for three miles more, and when we had given
up all hope of eating or resting again we saw, at
the bottom of a hill, silhouetted against the violet
sky the spire of a church, but we did not breathe
our hopes lest it might vanish like a dream. Soon
we came to a house, and instinctively the column
halted, but it was “On, on, ye brave !” yet aflittle
longer, then suddenly a company was snatched
up by the darkness. Lucky dogs ! They had
found some comer in which to curl up and sleep,
which was all we longed for, as we were now too

THE VILLAGE OF SLEEP 205

tired to even care about eating. Chunk after
chunk was broken off the column and almost
all were swallowed by stables and bams, or houses
that were not much superior, when there loomed
ahead some iron gates, and like the promise of a
legacy came the news that this was the head¬
quarters billet; and never did the sight of four
walls offer to weary man such a fortune of rest
and shelter.

In the morning we discovered we were in the
village of Ailly-sous-Ailly, the sleepiest place on
earth. It nestled at the bottom of a cup and
was hidden by trees ; no passer in the skies would
glimpse roof or street. No vehicle entered it
from outside and the war was only hearsay. I
think the hum of its labor can only be heard by
the bees, and its drowsy evening prayers are
barely audible to the angels. Its atmosphere
crept over our spirits like ether and we did little
else but sleep for the week that we were there.
Parades would be ordered, but after a short time
of drilling in the only field of the village, we would
realize the sacrilege of our exertion, and the parade
would be dismissed. Thereafter the only prepa¬
ration for the day ahead that was persisted in
consisted of lectures, when the droning voice of
the officer would frequently be accompanied by
snores from his men. My duties were to give in¬
struction in scouting, but I seemed to be sounding
a motor-horn in slumberland when I counselled

206

“OVER THERE ”

my boys to “always keep their eyes skinned” as
the genie of the village was weighting their eye¬
lids with lead. I spoke in the language of different
worlds when I said: “A scout’s body should never
be seen to move” (and the village hummed its
applause), “but his eyes should be never still — ”
(and there was almost a hiss that came through
the trees).

For the first day or two we did not see the in¬
habitants of the village at all. Much puzzled
at this we questioned the maire, and he told us
that they were very much afraid because we were
Australians — that there had been much alarm
when they heard we were coming. Perhaps they
thought we were black, and into their dulled ears
had crept a whisper of the fierceness in battle
of these giants called “Anzac.” It was not long,
however, before curiosity drew them from their
hiding-places and our laughing good nature won
their confidence. It was not surprising that our
lavish spending of money should have roused
their cupidity, for never had they seen so much
wealth before, and never had we seen such poverty.
Any of our privates was able to buy out the stock
of a whole store, which was not worth more than a
pound or two. One of them, to satisfy his hunger,
on the first night walked into one of these stores,
but when he saw the stock his face was a picture
of blank disappointment. “I want something to
eat,” he said, “and I think I’ll take all you’ve

THE VILLAGE OF SLEEP 207

got. It may make a fruit salad or something.’ 1
There were only one or two that could converse
with us in anything but a language of signs, but
the old maire spoke English of the kind that
Queen Elizabeth used, and he acted as interpreter
for the whole village.

When they understood that we were willing
to pay for any damage done, the bills came in in
sheaves. Some boys, in ignorance, cut up for
firewood an old cedar log that was an heirloom.
You would have thought it was made of gold
from the value put upon it by its owner. Fifteen
francs was asked for a bundle of straw that some
boys made a bed of, and some of our Australian
horses did not know any better than to eat the
thatch off one old lady’s bedroom, which not only
cost us the price of the thatch when it was new
but also damages for fright. There was a gap
in the hedge that I had noticed when we entered
the town, but it cost us ten francs all the same.
These people were not unpatriotic, but to them
it looked like the chance of a lifetime to acquire
wealth, and I have no doubt we pensioned sev¬
eral of them for life.

The war was to them like a catastrophe in an¬
other world, and Australians did not travel farther
to fight than in their imagination did the sons
of this village when they went to the trenches
less than a hundred miles away. I discovered
one day how deep the knife of war had cut when

208

“OVER THERE”

I spoke to a grandmother and daughter working
a large farm, as with dumb, uncomprehending
pain in their eyes they showed me the picture of
son-in-law and husband who would never return.
Rights of peoples and the things for which na¬
tions strive had no meaning to these two, but
from out the dark had come a hand and dragged
from them the fulness of life, leaving only its
empty shell.

Our headquarters billet was in the vacated
house of the village squire. He was a major in
the French army, and had taken with him the
young men of the village committed to his charge.
His wife had gone to nurse in a hospital and they
had put their children in a convent. He then
left the key in his door, saying that his house and
its contents were at the service of the officers of
any British regiment that should come that way.
This house was a baronial castle, but in its furnish¬
ing knew as little of modem conveniences as
Hampden Court of William IV. We did not
smile, however, at the antimacassars, wax flowers,
and samplers, nor the scattered toys of the
nursery, for we were guests of a kindly host who,
though absent himself, had intrusted to our care
his household gods and was a comrade in arms.

Houses, especially old houses, absorbed the per¬
sonality of the dwellers therein, and I fancy that
our host is not unknown to me. Were I to meet
him I would recognize him at once, for his spirit

THE VILLAGE OF SLEEP 209

dwelt with us in his home, and my prayer is that
when he returns he will not find that temple tainted
by the spirit of any alien who occupied it in his
absence.

The village church slumbered in the centre of
the village, and was its sluggish heart. No dis¬
cord or schism of sect or creed ever disturbed its
atmosphere. Unquestioned was its hold on the
faith of men, women, and children. Not more
quietly did the dead rest beneath the stones of
the churchyard than did the worshippers who
knelt before the carved wooden images of the
saints, trusting in their protection and receiving
from their placid immobility a benediction of
peace. The cure from a neighboring town only vis¬
ited the village once a quarter, and the old lady
who kept the key was very reluctant to let us in;
but when the maire knew of our desire, he brought
us the key that we might view it at our leisure.
Its pews were tbick with dust, the images were
chipped and broken, some saints were minus
nose or arm, the vestments in the open cupboard
were moth-eaten and tawdry, dried flowers lay
on tombs of the village great ; but its atmosphere
was one of peace, and it was not difficult to realize
that many had carried therein their burden of
grief and unrest and left it behind them, soothed
on the bosom of Mother Church, like a fretting
child.

But it is not the business of soldiers to sleep,

210

“OVER THERE”

and suddenly came the awakening with the
sound of the hundreds of motor-buses that were
to carry us into the noise and devastation of
hell ! We marched up to the rim of the village,
and amid the smell of gasolene, the tooting of
the horns, and the roar of the engines we boarded
these, thirty to a bus, and rumbled on toward
the greatest noise and flame and fire that has
ever tom the atmosphere asunder, outdoing any
earthquake, thunderstorm, or tornado that nature
has ever visited upon humanity.

On this journey we saw more of the tremendous
organization needed to equip and feed an army
than we had been able to visualize before. For
thirty miles we were a part of a stream of motor
vehicles flowing in one direction passing a never-
ending stream going the other way. Through the
city of Amiens we went without stopping. With
longing eyes we gazed from the buses which
hours of bumping and rolling on poor roads had
made to us torture-chambers. How gladly would
we have strolled through its streets gazing on
the pretty girls and gaping at the novelty of its
quaint buildings and the unusual ware in its
shop- windows.

Later on I was a week in the hospital here
with a sprained ankle, and I had a chance to
explore this lovely city of Picardy. Its cathedral
was a never-ending source of interest, and not
a day passed during my stay that I did not hob-

My Own Comrades Waiting for Buses.

THE VILLAGE OF SLEEP

21 1

ble on crutches through its dim aisles and wor¬
ship the beauty of its statues. There is one
statue called “The Weeping Angel” which is
world-famous, and I have gazed at it for hours,
feeling its beauty steal over me like a psalm. There
was always music stealing gently through the air,
but like a blow in the face were the walls of sand¬
bags protecting the carving on the choir-stalls
and the thousands of statues on the huge doors.
The grotesque hideousness of the gargoyles gave
a touch of humor that was not incongruous to
religion, but these sand-bags were such an eye¬
sore against the beauty of the carved poems that
suggested what an intrusion into God’s fair world
is the horror of war.

Several times while I was in Amiens the Ger¬
man aeroplanes came over and bombed the city.
Opposite the hospital a three-story house col¬
lapsed like a pack of cards, burying seventeen
people in its ruins. I saw a French airman bring
down one boche by a clever feat. He evidently
could not aim upward to his satisfaction, so
he turned upside down, and while flying thus,
brought down his opponent.

Through Amiens the buses carried us within
a few miles of Albert, which was within range of
the German artillery. It is in Albert that the
remarkable “hanging Virgin” is to be seen. The
cathedral and tower have been almost practically
destroyed, but still on top of the tower remains

212

“OVER THERE”

• uninjured the figure of the Virgin and Child. A
shell has struck its base, and over the town at
right angles to the tower leans the Virgin im¬
ploringly holding the babe outstretched as though
she were supplicating its protection. The French
people say that the statue will fall when the war
ends, but some materialistic British engineers,
fearing the danger to life in its fall, have shored
and braced it up.

This is similar to the miracles of the crucifixes
that are found standing unharmed amid scenes
of desolation. I have seen several of them with¬
out a bullet mark upon them when every building
in the vicinity has been laid in ruins. I know
two cases in which there is not one stone remain¬
ing of the church, yet the crucifix that was inside
stands in untouched security. There are always
those who see in these things a supernatural agency
as some saw “angels at Mons,” and as for me I do
not seek to explain them, knowing that there are
more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed
of in our philosophy.

I am reluctant to leave this chapter with its
peaceful memories, for it is the antechamber of
hell. There is little here that hints of the brim¬
stone and fire just through the door. But our
path lies that way and we must pass on.

CHAPTER XXII

THE SOMME

The battle of the Somme lasted eight months,
and never since the days of chaos and darkness
has a portion of the earth been under the sway
of such forces of destruction. Not even the Flood
itself so completely destroyed the habitations of
man. Flourishing towns were powdered into brick-
dust, thousands of acres of forest were reduced
to a few blackened stumps, and every foot of
ground was blasted and churned and battered
again, while every yard was sown thick with bullets
more malignant than the seeds planted by Jason.
To-day nature is busy trying to hide the evidence
of the hate of man, and long grass and poppies
cover the blackened soil and grow in the shell-
holes, until only in the memory of the men who
strove nakedly in its desolation and death will
the knowledge of that area as it was for those
eight long months remain. If he visits it again
the poppies and the grass will fade, and it will
appear to him once more as the ploughed land of
demons, and grinning at him in every yard will
be the skulls of the countless unburied that there
lie. The other birds will shun it, for there are
no trees, but the lark will still sing on, as this

213

214 “OVER THERE”

brave-hearted bird continues to do even when the
guns are booming.

Australian blood has sanctified much of that
soil, and Australian bravery has monopolized
some of its names. As surely as Gallipoli will
Pozieres and Thiepval and Bapaume be asso¬
ciated with the name and achievement of Aus¬
tralians in the minds of readers of the history of
the great war. These are places that will ever
be names of honor and glory in the thought of
the Australian people as will be Flers to New
Zealand and Delville Wood to South Africa.

At Pozieres the First and Second Divisions
demonstrated that the abandon and tenacity
against odds that secured a footing on the Gal¬
lipoli Peninsula was still the special prerogative
of the care-free lads from these South Sea nations.
Our own artillery was unable effectively to silence
the fire of the German batteries, and wave after
wave melted like snow in the sun, yet the uncon¬
querable spirit drove the remainder on until the
positions were taken and held. There were
wounded men who dragged themselves, not back
to their own lines for attention, but forward toward
the enemy so that they might be able to strike
at least one blow ere they died. There were others
that had their wounds dressed and then returned
to the fighting. No one left the line that day
who could help it, or his name would have been
remembered as an outstanding exception among

THE SOMME

. 2IS

the many who, wounded again and again, and
faint from loss of blood, still fought on. This
engagement carved a line in my own heart, for
therein died three comrades who enlisted with
me, and our souls were grappled together by
many common dangers shared and mutual sacri¬
fices cheerfully made. There is no life in the
world that tries out friendship like a soldier’s
in active service, and when it has endured that,
it is stronger than the love of twin for twin, like
the love of David and Jonathan, of Damon and
Pythias, a love that passeth knowledge.

The Germans had one ally on the Somme that
wrought us more havoc than all his armament.
How we cursed that mud ! We cursed it sleeping,
we cursed it waking, we cursed it riding, we cursed
it walking. We ate it and cursed; we drank it
and cursed; we swallowed it and spat it; we
snuffed it and wept it; it filled our nails and our
ears ; it caked and lined our clothing ; we wallowed
in it, we waded through it, we swam in it, and
splashed it about — it stuck our helmets to our
hair, it plastered our wounds, and there were
men drowned in it. Oh, mud, thou daughter of
the devil, thou offspring of evil, back to your
infernal regions, and invade the lowest circle of
the inferno that you may make a fit abiding-place
for the slacker and pacifist ! I take back all I said
about the sand of Egypt. It was a mere irritant
compared with this mud. I am sorry for the

21 6

“OVER THERE”

times I have been out of temper with the mud
back in Australia, when it clung to my boots in
tons, when I have been bogged in a sulky in the
“black soil” country. Australia, you have no
mud, just a little surface stickiness that I will
never growl at again as long as I live:

“It isn’t the foe that we fear;

It isn’t the bullets that whine;

It isn’t the business career
Of a shell, or the bust of a mine;

It isn’t the snipers who seek
To nip our young hopes in the bud;

No, it isn’t the guns,

And it isn’t the Huns —

It’s the MUD,

MUD,

MUD.” *

Official reports of the later battles in 1918
tell us that the shell-fire on the Somme was a
mere popgun show to these battles, but it is diffi¬
cult for the imagination to grasp this fact, as it
did not seem then that the air had any room
for more shells. In fact, I have seen shells meet
in the air, both exploding together. It seemed
to us at times as if there was not a foot of air
that did not have a shell in it. In one battle
there were four thousand guns firing over a five
hundred yards front, the heavies being seventeen
and a half miles behind the lines, and the field-

* Robt. W. Service.

THE SOMME

217

guns massed wheel to wheel a hundred and fifty
to the five hundred yards, and row after row like
infantry drawn up for review. Shells not merely
whistled and screamed overhead, they leaped from
the ground beneath one’s feet with a flame that
burned, a roar that deafened, and a displacement
of air that swept one away. At artillery practice
in peace times there is great excitement if one
lone man happens to be in front of the gun, but
on the Somme we walked about among them,
over them, and round them, and we were never
warned even when they fired but a couple of yards
away. One day a red-hot shell from a gun about
fifty yards away landed at my feet, but, fortunate¬
ly, did not explode. For four months our artillery
expended an average of half a million shells a
day. The increase in artillery last year may be
judged from the fact that in the last six months
of' 1917 one million tons of shells were used by
the British on the western front. By day the
drum-fire of the guns beat on one’s ears like a
devil’s tattoo until one felt that in another week
reason would be unseated. But at night was
added the horror of flame that drove away the
darkness with a ruddy glare. It seemed as if
thousands of Bessemer furnaces were refining
metal for the paving of hell. Into this caldron
of man’s making that outdid the fury of the ele¬
ments young lads from farms and shops walked
uprightly. Like ants impotent in their strife

218

“OVER THERE”

they swarmed, and to a watcher from another
world they must have appeared like insects in
the crater of Vesuvius in eruption. Yet the mind
of man, so much greater than his body, had or¬
ganized and planned this monstrous scene, and
from his method it deviated not a hair’s breadth.

We were encouraged and supported by the
knowledge that the German was having a far
worse time than we were, that the hell of flame
and fire and smoke was for our protection and
his annihilation. His shells came over blindly
in most cases, and though we were so thick that
they could not but get some of us, yet we knew
that our shells were being directed by thousands
of aeroplanes on top of the earth beneath which
he huddled, with the sweat of fear pouring from
him. There were many indications of the terror
our shell-fire wrought and days when the prisoners
could be counted in thousands, on one occasion
sixteen men bringing back as many as four hun¬
dred. These men were imbeciles, crazed by the
sound of the shells, and obsessed by one idea, the
necessity of getting away. When we took their
trenches we found that in most cases they were
completely obliterated, and in some cases the en¬
trances to the deep dugouts were blown in,
smothering the men sheltering in them.

The wastage of man-power on the Somme was
not a little due to the nervous strain. I think
everybody’s nerves were more or less on edge, and

Ammunition Going Through a Somme City.

THE SOMME

219

now and again a hurricane of fire would sweep
the trenches because some man’s nerve got past
breaking-point. He would see an imaginary
enemy bearing down upon his sentry-post and
fire wildly, giving alarm to the whole line. A
German sentry would reply to him, more of our
men would fire back, more Germans join in, star-
shells make the night as brighjt as day ; then Fritz
would “get the wind up” thoroughly and call
for artillery support — our guns would blaze into
reply and there would be many casualties just be¬
cause one man lost his nerve and “saw things.”

Nerves are queer things, for frequently the man
of a nervous, highly strung temperament is the
coolest in action. Some men, too, get shell-shock
a hundred yards from a bursting shell, while others
are knocked down and buried and never even
tremble. Men have the power of speech taken
from them for months and as suddenly have it
restored. I know of one case in which a boy did
not speak a word for twelve months, and when
viewing the play “Under Fire” in Sydney sud¬
denly found his speech return at the sound of a
shot. Another man had just been pronounced
by the medical officer as cured when the back¬
fire of a motor-car heard in the streets of Mel¬
bourne brought back all the symptoms of shell¬
shock again. Once a man has had shell-shock
he is never of any use under shell-fire again,
although he might be quite brave under any other

220

“OVER THERE”

fire and suffer no ill effects in civil life. Where
there is so much shell-fire the observation of the
German sentries is very poor and surprise raids
are easily carried out. Fritz is very reluctant to
put his head up and periscopes are always being
smashed.

There was only one place in the Somme where
drinking-water could be obtained, and this was
in the ruins of the town of Flers. The Germans
had been driven out of this place too quickly to
give them time to poison the water, but they
made it very difficult for us to get at it by shelling
continually. They had the exact range, and it
was only in the hour before dawn that one could
get near the wells without meeting with certain
death. It was amusing to see the scamper of
the water-carriers out of the ruins as the first
shell announced that the relief of Fritz’s batteries
had been completed and the “hate” had recom¬
menced. They were severely handicapped running
with a fifty-six pound can of water, but it was a
point of honor not to leave this behind. Of course,
there was plenty of other water filling every hole
around, but this was not only thick with mud
but had the germs of gas-gangrene, and one knows
not how many other diseases besides.

When the line had advanced a few miles “going
in” was as tiring a day’s journey as though one
had walked twenty miles. I will never forget
having to chase after my brigade to Becordel-

THE SOMME

221

Becourt. I left Albert just at dark and had to
trust to my instinct for direction in finding the
place, for no one could tell me the way, and the
old road on the map was non-existent. It was
only about three miles, but seemed like thirty as
I wound in and out of the traffic that jammed
the new road, defying the passage of even a dog.
When I arrived at the place where the town of
Becordel had once been I found there were about
five hundred thousand troops camped about the
area, and in the dark to find the whereabout of
my own unit of five thousand was about as hope¬
less a task as I have ever attempted. I inquired
of more than a score, but no one had seen anything
of the Australians. I wandered about for hours
and was hungry and thirsty and half dead when
I stumbled on a Y. M. C. A. hut. They could
not guide me in the right way, but they gave me
a cup of hot tea, and no nectar of the gods could
be as welcome. The Y. M. C. A. is welcome
to all the boosting I can give, for they were my
salvation that night, and at other times were
a comfort and resting-place. When I found our
camp at two o’clock in the morning I found the
men in a worse plight than I was, for their trans¬
port had not arrived, and none had had anything
to eat or drink.

In this huge camp which was within range
of the German guns there were tens of thou¬
sands of camp-fires blazing in the open in utter

222

“OVER THERE”

contempt of Fritz and his works. We took
the road again that same morning for our posi¬
tion in reserve at Montauban. I said we took
the road — well, we were on it sometimes, when¬
ever we could shove the horses toward the centre
to enable us to squeeze past — otherwise we had
to plough along above our knees in the soft mud.
Even on the road the slush was up to our ankles,
but it was metalled underneath. We discovered
our transport in the jam of the traffic — they had
taken twenty-four hours to go the four miles but
our tongues blistered with the names we called
them, and we threatened them with eternal dam¬
nation if they were not at the next camp with a
hot meal when we arrived.

Where Montauban had once been we went
into camp. We had no tents, but made our¬
selves comfortable in shell-holes, with a bitter-cold
rain falling, by stretching tarpaulins over them.
The engineers were putting up Nissen huts at
the rate of twenty a day, but as soon as the last
bolt was screwed home, forty shelterless men
crowded each one to capacity. It was some days
before our turn came and we waited lying half-
covered with mud and slush. When we did get
a hut allotted to us it was as if we had been trans¬
ferred to a palace. These huts look like half of
a round galvanized-iron tank, and were floored
and lined. They were carried in numbered sec¬
tions and could be put together in a few minutes.

THE SOMME

223

They were very comfortable. You could stand
up in the centre, and there was plenty of room
to sleep along the sides. I believe the inventor,
Mr. Nissen, is an American and here’s my hand
to him as an ally who maybe saved me from
rheumatism, and I am sure thousands of boys
from the other side of the world bless his name
continually.

The whole brigade was practically bogged when
we came to move forward. The weight of our
equipment sank us into the soft mud and the
only way we got onto the road again was by hang¬
ing to the stirrups of the horses as they ploughed
a way through. We also passed ropes back for
the men to grasp and harnessed them to mules,
and thus dragged them to firm ground. The
road did not carry us far, and we soon had to
struggle across the open toward the support
trenches. This was not as bad as round the camp,
not being churned up by the tramping about of
men and horses. We could not use the communi¬
cation-trenches as they were rivers of liquid mud,
but had to wait till dark and go over the top in
relieving the front line. On this occasion we took
over from the Grenadier Guards, which numbers
among its officers many of the English nobility.
We “bushies” and “outbackers” from the Land
of the Kangaroo stepped down into the mud-
holes just vacated by an earl, several lords, and
as noble and proud a regiment as ever won glory

224 “OVER THERE”

on a battle-field. The Prince of Wales was a
staff-captain in the army of the Somme doing
his bit in the mud and misery like the rest of us.
There is no “sacred privilege that doth hedge
about a king” in the British Empire, and King
George is respected among us for his manliness,
and we cheered him sincerely when he twice visited
us in the trenches, for we do not believe to-day in
the divine right of kings, neither do we believe
in the divine right of majorities.

In another chapter that tells of my wounding
I have pictured our days and weeks as lived in
these trenches, so I will bring this chapter to a
close by summarizing some of the things that the
great push on the Somme accomplished.

(1) It relieved the pressure on Verdun.

(2) It accounted for several hundred thousand
German casualties.

(3) It demonstrated our ability to break
through.

(4) It led to the perfecting of barrage-fire where¬
by casualties were reduced in our infantry to an
astonishing degree.

(5) It gave confidence to our troops by en¬
abling them to get to hand-grips with the Ger¬
man, and discover that he was individually no
fighter.

(6) It weakened the morale of the German
army enormously, and convinced the German
soldier that his cause was lost.

THE SOMME

225

(7) It gave to us possession of the high ground.

(8) It definitely established our supremacy of
the air, and was the turning-point of the whole
war.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE ARMY’S PAIR OF EYES

The aeroplane has become so much a necessity
to the army that it is difficult to imagine how
wars were ever fought without them. I remember
reading a statement by a military observer with
the Japanese army that, if the Russians had had
a single aeroplane, they could have annihilated
the Japs more than once. Of the army’s pair
of eyes the airman is the sharper, but the old-
time scout is not by any means superseded, though
his methods have changed. Just as there is much
behind the enemy lines that only the aeroplanes
can see, there are some things that cannot be dis¬
covered except from the level of the ground along
which the scout crawls. The airman makes the
enemy’s plans an open book, for he observes him
1 as soon as he moves, but the airman travels on a
different plane from the infantry soldier, and it is
the infantry man who fights out the final phase
of the battle. The ground has an altogether dif¬
ferent aspect from the air, and aeroplane photo¬
graphs sometimes mislead. The scout, however,
goes ahead on the same ground that the infantry
have to travel, and he can bring back news of

226

THE ARMY’S PAIR OF EYES 227

exactly what is there. The airmen do not help
us much in determining the condition of the
enemy’s barbed wire, and nothing is so fatal for an
attack as being held up on the wire. “Streamer”
wire cannot be seen a few yards away, and only
by sending out advance scouting-parties can a
commander know whether the wire has been suf¬
ficiently destroyed to allow an easy passage for
his troops. As an attack is always planned to
take two or three of the enemy’s lines, these scouts
have to find out the condition of the wire in front
of the second or third line trenches as well.

Crawling in No Man’s Land and behind the Ger¬
man lines is not as dangerous as it sounds. The
greatest cause of casualties is shell-fire and the
scout is safe from this, for, naturally, no enemy
shells fall near him in enemy territory, and he
has previously arranged with his own artillery
to withhold fire from the sector in which he is
working. He runs little risk even from machine-
guns or rifles, for the ground is so honeycombed
with shell-holes that he is nearly all the time in
good cover. The only danger that he runs is
that of discovery, and for a properly trained scout
such is inexcusable.

The general idea the stay-at-home has of the
trenches is that every yard contains a man who is
watching out for signs of the enemy. But a
trench is serrated with bays containing half a
dozen men who are cut off from sight of their neigh-

228

“OVER THERE ”

bors. Of these half-dozen men one or, at most,
two are on the lookout while the others are sleep¬
ing, and a well-placed hand-grenade will put the
whole six of them out of action. Experience has
shown that where there has been much shell-fire
the sentry’s observation is very lax, as men will
not stick their heads above the trenches any more
than they can help and at night periscopes are not
much use. I have repeatedly come back into our
own trenches from a night’s excursion without
being seen by our own sentries, and on two oc¬
casions, in the daytime. There are some sectors
that are only held by battle outposts with gaps of
fifty and a hundred yards without them. Of
course, it is an easy matter to get past in these
places.

We have sometimes to get the artillery to make
a way for us. We will have them bombard a
hundred yards of German trench very heavily
for about ten minutes while we lie within fifty
yards waiting for the prearranged second when
we will scuttle across; the enemy having been
compelled to vacate that sector during the bom¬
bardment, it is some minutes before they realize
that the shelling has ceased and return.

Once behind the German front trench, the work
is easy, for they never look behind or imagine
that any of their enemies could be in their rear,
and there is no observation from the second or
third line trenches. On other occasions we do

THE ARMY’S PAIR OF EYES 229

without the help of the artillery, bombing a gap
for ourselves. We arrange to have rifle-grenades
fired along three hundred yards of trench except
for fifty yards where is our gateway. Here we
sneak up and carefully roll hand-grenades into
two or three bays. The Germans on either side
do not take any notice of these explosions as the
same thing is happening all along the line, and
the Germans in the bays are not in condition to
take much notice either. We may have to ad¬
minister the “coup-de-grace” with our hand-
bayonets.

Getting back is fairly easy, for the sentry’s
back is toward us, and a scout should never have
to strike twice. He may leave a Mills grenade
with the pin out as a gift to the sleeping men in
the bay. He only has a two or four-foot-wide
trench to cross, and even if the alarm be given
he is back among the million and two shell-holes
of No Man’s Land before any action can be taken:
even though they bomb their front thoroughly
the chances are in the scout’s favor; though
they make No Man’s Land bright as day with
star-shells and flares there are plenty of shell-
holes deep enough to completely hide him from
view.

There is other important information that only
the scout can obtain as when we once found a
dummy trench filled with barbed wire and con¬
trolled by machine-guns. Had our men gone

230

“OVER THERE ”

forward in the attack without the knowledge of
this they would have jumped down into it to
be massacred like rats in a trap. Machine-
gun positions are also generally indistinguishable
to the airman’s glass or camera. I used an in¬
strument of my own construction which would
give me the map reference of any object that I
observed in relation to any other two objects
the position of which I knew on the map. At
night I would have the two known positions
marked by distinguishing lights or have colored
flares sent up from them at regular intervals.

The training of our scouts is very severe. For
in this work men have to have complete con¬
fidence in their own superiority to the German
soldier, and must be able to depend entirely on
their own resources as they generally have to
work singly or in pairs. It is necessary that they
be picked men with unusual keenness of observa¬
tion. They are trained for work in the dark by
being made to go through the ordinary soldier’s
exercises blindfolded. In this way they get the
extra sense that a blind man has. A blind man
will not put his weight onto his foot until he has
felt if it is on firm ground; and by habit he does
this without hesitating. Our scouts are able after
a while to walk along using their eyes for observa¬
tion all the time not needing to watch where they
are stepping. We also train them to have com¬
plete control over their muscles and among the

THE ARMY’S PAIR OF EYES 231

final tests for first-class scouts are to remain an
hour without showing any movement whatsoever
and to take half an hour in getting from the prone
or lying position to standing upright on their feet.
These two last ideas were borrowed from the
Zulu who has no equal in the world in escaping
observation. They are also taught many methods
for finding directions as a compass is unreliable
where there is so much unidentified iron lying
about.

We have abundantly demonstrated in several
sectors on the western front that it is always pos¬
sible for properly trained men to surprise the
enemy. As a matter of fact the Germans have
carried out surprise raids on us, and I am quite
satisfied that it is never possible completely to
guard against surprise. In one sector I had trip
wires in No Man’s Land connected with buzzers
in our own trench so arranged that I would know
if there were any one out there and to within
fifty yards of where they were. But this was
only possible on a quiet front where there was
no actual offensive taking place, and not many
shells falling in No Man’s Land. I even placed
buttons in the German wire so as to be sure that
our patrols did not just go outside our own trench
and lie in a shell-hole until it was time to return,
for they had to signal by pressing these buttons
at intervals. They had to repair any of these
wires they found severed, and this somewhat

“OVER THERE 99

232

elaborate scheme was the means of our capturing
some German patrols and gave us entire control
of No Man’s Land.

We also took advantage of every possible means
to make Fritz’s sentries jumpy. We would have
our snipers on certain days smash all their peri¬
scopes. I myself have shot down sixty in an after¬
noon when the sun was shining on them. This
made them afraid that they would not have any
left for emergencies and gave them a wholesome
respect for our shooting so that they were very
shy of exposing themselves. We would also set
a rifle to fire exactly into a loophole so that when
it opened we had only to pull the trigger to send
a bullet through the brain of the man using it.
There were other dodges that it is not wise to
speak of just yet.

This may be a good place to describe the two
kinds of raids. In a raid with artillery support
the artillery cut out a sector of the enemy trench
with a “box barrage” which means that they
fire on three lines of a square leaving the open
side for our troops to enter. They also put a
barrage on this side until the prearranged mo¬
ment when the attackers go forward. This leaves
the raiders to deal with the troops within that
box preventing any others coming in to support
them. The weakness of this method is that it
lets the whole German line know what we are
doing, and the raiding-party frequently gets cut

THE ARMY’S PAIR OF EYES 233

up badly by the enemy’s artillery when they are
returning across No Man’s Land.

The most successful raid is always the silent
one if you have dependable troops. The chief ob¬
stacle is the enemy wire, but beforehand the artil¬
lery can cut this in many places, and machine-guns
can be ranged on these gaps to prevent their being
repaired. The enemy does not know, even if
he suspects a raid, exactly where it will come.
It is even a good idea if you only have a small
party to enter one of these gaps, crawl down fifty
yards inside the wire before attacking, and, when
finished, come out through another gap lower
down, but every man of the party needs to scout
over the ground beforehand so there will be no
confusion during the attack. We have carried out
successful raids in this manner when none but the
Germans who were attacked knew anything of
what was going on until we were back in our own
trenches, and rarely were there any of these who
could give evidence except by means of their dead
bodies. I remember that one of our men, who
was champion wood-chopper of Australia before
the war, drove his bayonet through a German
and six inches into a hardwood beam, and as
he could not withdraw it had to unship it, leav¬
ing the German stuck up there as a souvenir
of his visit. Probably not another man in the
army could have done it, but it no doubt added
to the reputation of the Australians, as these

234 “OVER THERE”

Fritzes must have thought us a race of Sam¬
sons.

There is a strong bond between us and the
airmen, and the army’s pair of eyes are focussed
together, for the information from both sources
is co-ordinated. Our trench maps are constructed
chiefly from aeroplane photographs, and it was
only occasionally that some object would be seen
in the photograph that could not be identified;
when we scouts would have to crawl over to it
and find out its family-tree.

All our intelligence officers are given schooling
in aerial observation, and I have been several
times over the German lines with a pilot, and
have a very high admiration for these birdmen
who are not merely the bravest of the brave
but princes of good fellows. I had some won¬
derful aeroplane photographs of some of our
attacks wherein I could recognize the stages
of our progress, and so expert has this work
become that a German soldier can hardly even
brush away a fly without a permanent record
of it being obtained. Probably the greater num¬
ber of our aeroplanes on the battle-front are en¬
gaged in ranging for the artillery, and in actual
offensive warfare, but their greatest value is in
reconnoissance, and so it will always be.

“Airman” and “scout” — one flies, the other
crawls, yet both seek information from the enemy,
and are the twin eyes of the army. There is a

THE ARMY’S PAIR OF EYES 235

romance about the work of both that attracts
adventurous youth, and neither is as dangerous
as it appears to a layman. In the element of
the airman he is a difficult target to hit, and
it is estimated that it takes thirty thousand anti¬
aircraft shells to bring him down. And his
machine is now so perfect that peace flying will
be much safer than motoring.

In No Man’s Land, the hunting-ground of the
scout, shells only fall by accident, and he is camou¬
flaged to defy detection. A black crawling suit
is used at night, with hood and mask, but the
most important thing is to break the outline of
the head, so the hood has several peaks and cor¬
ners. A human head on the sky-line cannot be
mistaken for anything else, except maybe a pump¬
kin or melon, but in these hoods it appears like
a large lump of dirt, and should the scout chance
to move suddenly while in such a position, the
likelihood is he would be dirt in a second or so.

“All day long when the shells sail over
I stand at the sand-bags and take my chance;

But at night, at night I’m a reckless rover,

And over the parapet gleams Romance.”*

* Robert W. Service.

CHAPTER XXIV

NIGHTS IN NO MAN’S LAND

“How little I thought that my time was coming
Sudden and splendid, supreme and soon;

' And here I am with the bullets humming
As I crawl and I curse the light of the moon.

Out alone, for adventure thirsting,

Out in mysterious No Man’s Land;

Prone with the dead when a star-shell, bursting,

Flares on the horrors on every hand.

Yet oh, it’s great to be here with danger,

Here in the weird, death-pregnant dark,

In the devil’s pasture a stealthy ranger,

When the moon is decently hiding. Hark !

What was that? Was it just the shiver
Of an eerie wind or a clammy hand?

The rustle of grass, or the passing quiver
Of one of the ghosts of No Man’s Land?” *

The first night “out there.” The memory of
it still quickens the pulse and makes the cheek
grow pale. How my teeth chattered, my heart
beat almost to suffocation, every splash of a rat
was an enemy scout, and every blade of grass
magnified itself into a post for their barbed wire.
I had but gone a few yards when I expected the
next instant to bump into the enemy trenches.

There are strange sounds in No Man’s Land;
not human sounds, for such carry far — the beat of

* Robert W. Service.

236

NIGHTS IN NO MAN’S LAND 237

a hammer on a post, the sharp twang of unrolling
barbed wire as it catches, and then springs away
— voices even come as through a megaphone in
the eerie silence — but these are long-drawn sighs
that penetrate the inner consciousness and hushed
murmurs that fall on the ear of the soul. I have
felt a touch on the shoulder as though one would
speak to me when there has been no one by.

It is the grave of ten thousand unburied dead,
but the grinning skulls and quivering jelly or the
few rags that flutter in the wind are not the com¬
rades that we knew. I think their spirits hover
near, for they cannot go to their abiding-place till
victory has been won. They are ever seeking to
pierce the veil of sense so that they may add their
strength to our arms, and these make for us of
No Man’s Land “no strange place,” and give
to our sentries encouragement until the land of
No Man vanishes and our possession reaches
to the barrier of the enemy barbed wire. My
nights in No Man’s Land if added together would
total many months, and I grew to feel that it was
one of the safest places on the whole front.

There was one night when I got a huge fright.
I was crawling alongside a ridge — it had been
an old irrigation farm, and this was a low levee
running across — I heard on the other side a splash
which I thought was made by one of the innumer¬
able rats, but I put up my head and looked over
— so did Fritz, not a yard away ! We both stared

“OVER THERE ”

238

blankly in each other’s face for a long second
and then both of us turned and bolted. This
was excusable for a German, but I have no de¬
fense. When I went back to look for him, after
a court martial by my own conscience, he was
nowhere to be seen.

There was another night when Fritz got the
better of me. In my explorations I came across
a path through his barbed wire which was evi¬
dently the place where his patrols came out.
I thought I would provide a surprise-party for
him, so I planted some percussion bombs and
put a small Union Jack in the centre. In the
morning the Union Jack was gone and a German
flag in its place. Everybody from the brigadier
down rubbed it in that Fritz was too smart for
me.

But after this the tide turned and came in in
a flood of ill luck for Fritz. It was a pitch-black
night and the occasional star-shells only served
to make the black more intense when they faded.
As we crawled out one behind the other each had
to keep a hand on the foot ahead so as not to
get separated. We made several ineffectual at¬
tempts to find the opening in our barbed wire
and then cut a new one. Was this like the dark¬
ness after Calvary ? The red signal-rockets ascend¬
ing from the enemy’s trenches gave no light, but
only burnt for a second or two as a ruddy star.
And the green lights turned the vaporous fog a

NIGHTS IN NO MAN’S LAND 239

sickly yellowish green as though it were some
new poison-gas of the devils over there. I led
the way straight across. It was too dark to pick
a path and we committed no sacrilege as we trod
on the bodies of forgotten comrades. It was
impossible to repress a shudder as the hand
met the clammy flesh, and the spilt light from
a rocket exposed the marble eyeballs and whitened
flesh of the cheek with the bared teeth gleaming
yet more white. Our mission was to wait for a
German patrol at the gap in their wire I had
previously discovered. We were seeking identi¬
fication of the regiments opposing us, and we de-
desired to take at least one of them alive.

We waited drawn-out minutes while the dark
smothered us and our thoughts haunted us. Min¬
ute piled on minute while we suffered the torture of
the heretic who was fastened so that the falling
drops of ice-water would follow each on the selfsame
spot. Home and ‘ ‘ Love of Life ’ ’ sought to drag us
back to the shelter of our trenches, but Duty like
an iron stake pinned us there. But the stake was
fast loosening in the soil of our resolution, when
we heard the guttural gruntings that announced
the approach of our quarry. We let them pass
us and get well away from their trenches, then
silently, like hunters stalking wild beasts, we fol¬
lowed them. When we were close enough to be
almost overpowered by the smell of sauerkraut
and sausage mingling with stale sweat, my voice

240

“OVER THERE”

rapped out, though muffled by the thick air:
“Hands up !” There was no hesitation in obey¬
ing, although there were eight of them and only
six of us. We pointed out the direction for them
to go, and reminded them with our boots that there
was no time to waste. We had only crossed a
couple of shell-holes, however, when we came to
a full stop. Presently I understood that they had
discovered we were Australians and were terri¬
fied. Probably they had been fed up with tales
about our savagery, that we tortured our prisoners.
Anyway, they would not budge, and we could not
carry eight hulking Germans and had no means of
tying them together. Presently, the disturbance
attracted notice from both trenches and there was
only one thing to do. My sergeant called out:
4 ‘ Look out, sir ! We’ll be seen in a minute. What
will we do?” The contest was short and sharp;
they outnumbered us, but we went to it with a will.
It was sheer butchery, but I had rather send a
thousand of the swine down to the fatherland than
lose one of my boys. And perhaps it was charity
to some wife and daughter who would now be
free from the brutality of her Teutonic lord and
master.

There is nothing so easy as to be lost in No
Man’s Land. A compass is useless, for you may
be lying on a fifteen-inch shell just covered with
a few inches of earth, and the stars refuse to look
down on its pain, and the sky is always thickly

NIGHTS IN NO MAN’S LAND 241

veiled. Turn round three times, and you don’t
know which trench to return to. It is an awkward
predicament, and many a time I went blindly
forward praying that it was in the right di¬
rection. The German’s hom-rimmed glasses but
bewilder him the more, and we have had several
of them walk into our arms without intention,
though they soon found that thereby they had
bettered themselves. There was one young Ba¬
varian officer who made this miscalculation. I
saw him moving near our wire in the early dawn.
I called to some men to draw a bead on him but
he came toward us and at the last with a run
jumped down into our trench. ‘ ‘ Good morning ! ”
I said to him, looking down my automatic, and
you never saw such a crestfallen countenance in
your life. It must have been some shock, expect¬
ing to join his own people and suddenly finding
himself in the camp of his enemies. I found out
afterward that he was a young cadet qualifying
for his commission, and this was his first night
in the trenches. He evidently was seeking an
iron cross very early in his career. I spat ques¬
tion after question at him: “What’s your regi¬
ment?” “How long have you been in the
trenches?” etc., but in English he replied: “I
won’t tell you anything. You can’t make me!”
“All right, old chap, don’t get excited! Come
along with me.” I took him to the dugout which
I shared with the medical officer in the support-

242

“OVER THERE”

trenches and sent Pat, my batman, to get to¬
gether the best meal he could. Pat was a genius
as a provider. None of the other officers liked
him, for they suspected he was the medium for
the loss of some of their luxuries, and I always
had a blind eye. On this occasion Pat got together
a real slap-up feed — some tinned sausages, mashed
potatoes, strawberry jam, preserved pears and
cream, not forgetting a bottle of champagne. I
sent for the doctor and we fell to with gusto, and
never offered his nibs a bite, though the eyes were
popping out of his head, and his mouth watering
with hunger. Toward the end of the meal I said
to him: “I can’t compel you to tell me anything,
but I am not compelled to feed you. But you
know how to earn something to eat.” He began
to tell me something I knew was all rubbish and
I swung at him with “You swine! If you tell
me those lies I’ll strip your badges off you and
send you in as a private.” I was surprised at
the effect this threat had on him, though I knew
that was the one thing that never failed in bring¬
ing a German officer to book. He trembled and
paled and gave me a lot of information that I
afterward proved to be correct.

Here’s a good story of Pat, my old batman,
who had been a shearer’s cook in Australia, and
looked after me like a father. He was really too
old for the trenches, but this job just suited him.
I was very surprised one day to see him with a

NIGHTS IN NO MAN’S LAND 243

German prisoner. He was never in a charge,
and had no business having this man. Probably
he had borrowed him from some other chap. I
said to him: “Pat, what on earth are you doing
with Fritz?” “To tell yer the truth, sorr-r, Oi
haven’t yet made up my moind !” “Let us have
no humbug, take him back to the cage !” “Very
well, sorr-r!” About ten minutes later I saw
Pat without his prisoner. “Here, Pat, what on
earth did you do with Fritz?” “Well, sorr-r,
he kept beggin’ and beggin’ to be let go, so Oi
just put a Mills in his pocket with the pin out,
and tould him to run for his loife!” He would
not get fifty yards before it went off !

The trained scout moves very cautiously in
No Man’s Land, with all his senses at high ten¬
sion. After moving from one shell-hole to the
next he lies and listens for a full minute. If
there are any human beings near they will likely
betray themselves by loud breathing, a muffled
sneeze, or some rattle of equipment. If satis¬
fied that the way is clear, he moves forward
into another hole. Should he suddenly come
into sight of the enemy, he is taught to freeze
instantly, and the chances are he will not be
noticed.

There was one night when I was making a way
through the German wire, and had my hand up
cutting a strand, when a sentry poked his head over
the top and looked straight at me not three yards

“OVER THERE”

244

away. I froze instantly in that attitude but he
fired a shot at me which, of course, went wide, be¬
ing aimed in the dark. He then sent up a flare,
but the firing of this dazzles a man for several sec¬
onds, and then so many shadows are thrown that
I was no more distinct than previously. He went
away, returning a minute or two later to have an¬
other look. By this time I was feeling quite stiff,
but he was quite satisfied that no live man could
be there. Had I jumped into a shell-hole, as fear
prompted me to do, he would have roused the
whole line, and a bomb would likely have got me.
However, I thought this would be a good oppor¬
tunity to take a look into the trench, for I reasoned
that this sentry must be alone or some one else
would have put up the flare while he fired the shot.
Probably the rest of his regiment were on a work¬
ing fatigue not far away. It was a breastwork
trench and I climbed up the sand-bags, but tripped
over a wire at the top and came down with a
clatter. A red flare went up and I heard the feet
of many soldiers running along the duck-boards.
I only had time to roll into the ditch at the foot
of the back of the parapet, where I was quite safe
from observation, when they manned their trench
to repel the “raid.” After several minutes when
about a hundred rifles, several machine-guns, and
a trench-mortar were pouring their fire into No
Man’s Land, I began to recover my nerve and
saw that it would be a good opportunity to mark

NIGHTS IN NO MAN’S LAND 245

the position of one of these machine-guns which
was firing just above my head. In fact, I could,
with ease, have had my hand drilled just by
holding it up. I tore a page out of my note-book
and placed it in a crevice between the sand-bags,
just under the gun. Hours afterward when all
was quiet I returned to our own trenches and
fastened another piece of white paper to a bush
half-way across No Man’s Land that I noticed
was in line with a dead tree close to our “sally¬
port,” and my first piece of paper. In the morn¬
ing the artillery observation officer could see
these two pieces of paper quite plainly with his
glasses, and that trench was levelled for fifty
yards.

No Man’s Land is a place of surprises where
death plucks its victims without warning. There
have been some strange deaths there when bodies
lay with unbroken skin, having neither mark of
bullet nor shell. Times when the spirit laid the
body down, fair and unmarred human flesh, but
other times when the flesh was rent to ribbons and
the bones smashed to splinters by the force impris¬
oned in a shell.

Such was the death meted out by justice to six
Germans in a listening post fifty yards in advance
of their trench. This party was in the way of
our raid. We could not enter their trench by
surprise without first removing it, and the job
fell on me. I prepared a mine of my own. I

“OVER THERE”

246

took two Stokes shells, changed the time-fuse for
instantaneous, took out the safety-pins holding
the lever down by means of an iron ring. I
crept out with these shells just a little before
dark so as to arrive at the position before the
Germans. I then put the shells, one on either
side, and connected them with a fine trip-wire
tied to each ring. I hurried from the spot as
though the pestilence were after me, and got
back safely — to the surprise of my brother officers
who very consolingly said that they all expected I
would blow myself up. At half past eight, how¬
ever, there was music in our ears of a loud explo¬
sion in the direction of my mine. Next morning,
through the telescope, could be seen what re¬
mained of several Hun carcasses. Pat, my bat¬
man, who was always a Job’s comforter, informed
me that the Germans would lie in wait for me to
revenge this outrage ; but if I had taken any notice
of him, I would never have been able to do my
job. He would come to me some mornings and
beg me not to go out in No Man’s Land that night
as he had dreamed that I was “kilt,” when I gen¬
erally consigned him to a place where the Eng¬
lish cease from troubling, and the Irish are at
rest.

The enemy did his share in surprises. There
was one occasion when I received word from the
Tommies on our right that a large German patrol
had been out on their front all night. As they

NIGHTS IN NO MAN’S LAND 247

did not attack I was considerably worried as to
what they were up to, knowing they would not
be there for the benefit of their health. I was
responsible that our portion of the line should
be guarded from surprise, and fear of some un¬
known calamity that might spring upon us from
the dark made me so concerned that I lay pretty
nearly all day on top of the parapet covered with
sand-bags searching every inch of No Man’s Land
for a sign of the cause of their nocturnal activity.
The setting sun revealed something shining that
looked like the barrel of a Lewis gun. I deter¬
mined to go out and get it after dark. When I
went out I found I could not get near the place,
for a machine-gun was playing round it to dis¬
courage curiosity, which it very effectively did.
I reported next morning that the only chance of
seeing what it was was to go out in the daytime,
and it was suspicious enough to justify the risk.
I donned a green suit and with a snail’s progress
crawled through the long grass and discovered
that the Germans had laid a five-inch pipe from
their trenches to within fifty yards of an indenta¬
tion in our own. They would be able to enfilade
us with gas before we could don our masks. We
looked on our dangerous wind being one that
blew across No Man’s Land, but with this pipe
we would be gassed when the wind blew down
the line from the Tommies to us. The engineer
officer wanted to blow up the pipe, but I thought

“OVER THERE ”

248

if we blocked it up the enemy might not discover
it, and put through gas which would come back
on himself. Some concrete dugouts were being
constructed at this time, and I took out a bucket
of concrete and dumped it over the end of the
pipe in broad daylight without having a shot
fired at me or being seen. Afterward I found
crawling in the daylight in No Man’s Land to
be less dangerous than at night. On a quiet front
there is very little rifle or machine-gun fire by day
for fear of betraying machine-gun and sniper posi¬
tions. Never once in two or three daylight ex¬
cursions into No Man’s Land was I seen by3he
enemy or our own sentries.

Darkness always holds fear for the human
heart, and it is the unknown danger that makes
the bravest quail, and not so many are cowards
in the daylight. But who can tell which holds the
more peril for the soldier ? He faces the terror that
cometh by night, the destruction that walketh by
day, and the pestilence that wasteth at noonday.
But night is often kindly — it brings the balm of
sleep to our tired bodies and covers coarseness
and filth with a softening veil. No Man’s Land
at night is more beautiful than by day, for we
need not know of the horror we do not see, and it
shuts us off from sight of our enemies, and lets
us feel that the wall is thick and strong that stands
between our homes and women kin, and the
savagery and bestiality of the monster who

NIGHTS IN NO MAN’S LAND 249

ravaged the homes and raped the women of Bel¬
gium and France.

“But if there’s horror, there’s beauty, wonder;

The trench lights gleam and the rockets play.
That flood of magnificent orange yonder
Is a battery blazing miles away.” *

* Robert W. Service.

CHAPTER XXV

SPY-HUNTING

Man is by instinct and tradition a hunter, and
there is no sport so thrilling as man-hunting, espe¬
cially if the hunted be a menace to society,
and more especially if he be a spy that threatens
the safety of yourself and comrades. There is
also in this branch of intelligence service an
appeal to the clash of wits that holds fascination
for the keen mind. The German spy system is not
more clever than our own, but has been more
carefully organized and much longer in opera¬
tion. He spies also on friend and neutral, while
we only use this back-door method of gleaning
information from an enemy. The word, too,
has associations that are ugly, and I fancy that
our spies do not boast of their service, but spy-
hunting is a service that has no taint, and there
is much satisfaction both to the conscience and
intellect in routing out the underground worker
who, for “filthy lucre,” would sell the blood of
his fellow man. The traitor and the spy have
in all ages been rightly considered as foul beings
who poison the air and whose touch contaminates.
In Germany alone is the spy given honor which
is fitting in a country which has substituted Ex -

250

SPY-HUNTING

25 1

pediency for Honor and Plausibility for Truth ,
on whose throne is a maniac , and where Conscience
has been unseated by Pride , and Reason displaced
by Method.

Germany’s espionage of her neighbors has been
in existence so long, and so much time and money
have been expended on it that we must prepare
for its reassertion after the war even in countries
where it has been for a time suppressed. Its hands
have been cut off, but the plotting brain and the
murderous heart of the system still persist and
will be used after the war to rehabilitate the trade
of Germany under many disguises, and will also
seek, through appeal to our pity for a fallen nation,
to lull us into slumber, until the claws and fangs
of militarism have grown again.

We are so new in the game that our methods
in spy-hunting are clumsy, and we frequently
give warning to the brains of the system to seek
cover when we strike at its puppets. By arrest¬
ing the agents of the German master spy we cut
off his activity for a time but allow him to spread
his ramifications in other directions, and the first
knowledge we have that he has sprung to life
again is by the destruction of property and loss
of life that ensue. It would sometimes pay us
to give these agents more and more rope, keeping
them under observation until we can strike at
the centre and heart of all this plotting. When
we have enough evidence against one of these

“OVER THERE ”

252

agents for a death penalty we should allow him
to purchase his life by betraying his master, and
as these agents only serve for hire and know not
what loyalty is, they are always ready to turn
king’s evidence if the price offered be high enough.
Of course, they should not be given their liberty
again, but segregated like the carrier of a conta¬
gious disease.

It should always be remembered that a man
who in war-time talks sedition and disloyalty in
public is not a spy. He is too big a fool to be ever
employed in a service that requires, above all
things, secrecy and the ability to avert suspicion.
The first thing a spy seeks to do is to find a suit¬
able cloak to cover his designs, and also to place
himself in a position where he will gain informa¬
tion. Among the first things he would do would
be to seek to join the Red Cross, and he would be
almost certain to enlist. In these days the man to
be suspicious of is the one who is always protest¬
ing his loyalty and showing what he is doing “to
help the cause.” The true patriot knows that
he has no need to proclaim his loyalty, and is
shy of boasting of service that is really a “privilege
and a duty.”

Among the most useful equipments for a secret-
service agent is lip-reading, and if he can signal
with his eyelids in Morse so much the better.
Dark goggles, one glass of which is a small mirror,
are also very useful, as one can sit with one’s back

SPY-HUNTING

253

to a party in a cafe or train, and read what they
are saying. Women are the most dangerous
spies, and trade on the instinctive chivalry that
men cannot help but extend to them. There are
many officers whose deaths at the front have
been suicides because they were betrayed by some
woman who had sucked valuable information from
them, and their chivalry would not let them
deliver her over to justice. Men in high place
in England and in France have betrayed the
public trust through faith in a woman who was
false and who sold their confidence to the enemy
for a price that was so strong to their hearts as
to be irresistible, more than love, honor, or
country.

Even in the army there are mysterious hap¬
penings — shots from behind and strange disap¬
pearances. There was one Australian general
whose death created many rumors, and other
officers who were supposed to have been shot
from within our lines.

Of course, in the war zone among a strange
peasantry there are many spy scares, and maybe
some of the things we were suspicious of were
quite innocent; but it was strange that when¬
ever a gray horse appeared near a battery that
battery was shelled, and when they painted all
the gray horses green their positions were not so
frequently spotted. Sometimes the old Flemish
farmers would certainly plough their fields in a

“OVER THERE”

254

strange fashion but, perhaps, zigzags and swas¬
tikas are common patterns in French fields. It
may have been our alarmed ears that fancied
the paper boy played a different tune on his horn
every day, but pigeons did certainly rise from
the middle of paddocks contrary to the habits
of these birds.

One of the hardest things I ever did was to
arrest a young Belgian girl nineteen years of
age who undoubtedly was the means of the death
of thousands of our boys. It was in this wise.
One night I observed a light a good way be¬
hind our trenches go out then come again. I
watched it very carefully, and found it was
signalling by the Morse code with dashes ten
seconds long and the dots five. If you were not
watching it very carefully you would never have
dreamt it was anything but a flicker of light. The
letters I read were — NRUDTVEAUAOILN,
which, when decoded, gave important informa¬
tion regarding the movement of troops. I took
a line through some trees of the direction from
which the light came and walked toward it. Just
off an old drain I found an overturned wagon
with a loophole cut through the backboard. There
were footprints in the drain, and the grass was
pressed down where a body had been lying. For
five nights I lay in wait, my hopes keyed up to
the highest point of expectation. At last to me
was to fall the good fortune of capturing a spy
— perhaps to end the leakage of information of our

SPY-HUNTING

255

plans that we knew the Germans were getting.
But on these five nights nothing happened.
The day afterward, some boys of a battery whom
I asked to watch this drain caught an old farmer
in it. This farmer, however, who lived next door
to our brigade headquarters had been carefully
watched, and the information had come from
outside the zone which he never left. Some one
must have brought the information to him.
Everybody using those roads had to have a pass¬
port issued by the French intelligence service,
and countersigned by the intelligence officer of
the area. Elimination narrowed suspicion to a
paper girl who, it was found, sold out her papers
round the batteries and billets at ten o’clock,
and did not return until after three. The excuse
she gave was that she was visiting her brother’s
grave, but on looking up her records we found
that she had never had a brother. One day I
kept her in sight on the road while I rode across the
fields. After she entered the house where she was
living at Estaires ITollowed and opened the door.
As soon as she saw me she fainted. I blew my
whistle, and on arrival of the picket we searched
the house and found the German code with some
maps and other incriminating documents. I
never did a harder task in my life than hand that
girl over to the French authorities for possible
execution. She was a very pretty, happy little
girl, red-haired and blue-eyed, and, although one
could show no pity because the safety and life

“OVER THERE”

256

of thousands were at stake, yet it wrung the heart
to think of the wastage of the young, bright life,
the victim of German gold, and the treachery
that is the handmaiden of war, and preys on the
weakness of the moral nature.

There was another occasion when I unearthed
a spy’s burrow. One night a man in D Company
stopped me on the road, and pointing out a lonely
farmhouse, told me he had seen some blue sparks
flashing from the chimney. We walked across
and, entering the flagged kitchen, asked for “cafe
au lait.” Sitting at the white table worn with
much scrubbing, and slowly sipping the coffee,
we engaged the old man and woman in conver¬
sation. They were very bitter in their denuncia¬
tion of “les boches,” and spoke of their sacrifices
as nothing. “Why, monsieur, it is for France!
It is not for us to complain if she ask much from
us.” My companion spoke French very fluently
(his name was Davies), and he acted as inter¬
preter. I noticed that they seemed anxious to
get rid of us, but we stayed for several hours
getting the old lady to cook us eggs and chipped
potatoes, and talking on almost every topic but
the war. One suspicious circumstance that had
caught my eye as soon as we entered the kitchen
was the fact that the flue of the stove did not
lead up the chimney, but out through a hole in
the wall.

At last, when we rose to go the old man in

SPY-HUNTING

257

an excess of hospitality accompanied us fifty
yards on our way. We promised to bring some
companions on another day. ‘‘But no, mon¬
sieur, that will not do — we cannot get more eggs,
and my wife she is a little afraid of the soldat
from Australie.”

After he left us and returned to the farm we
doubled back, and round to the other side.
Soon we heard the crackle of wireless. Ex¬
pecting that the door would be fast bolted, we
smashed-in a window, almost knocking over the
old woman as she barred our way. Looking up
the chimney, I found there as neat a small set of
wireless as was ever “made in Germany.” The
motor was in the cellar and well-muffled. The
old chap hesitated to come down, but a shot that
brought down some plaster hurried his decision.
In spite of the old woman’s pretended fear of
Australians, she evidently did not think we were
adamant to pity. On her knees with much weep¬
ing she begged us to let them go away, and shifted
rapidly from one ground of appeal to another.
She said her husband was crazy and his wires
and things did no harm; he was trying to talk
to “le President,” but no answer ever came.
She would have him locked up. “You would not
harm an old mother of France !” I told her she
wasn’t French, but German, of which I had had
suspicions all along. She then spat at us and
told us to do our worst, but the old man merely

“OVER THERE”

258

stood there and scowled, and as he stood upright,
with folded arms, we judged he was not as old
by twenty years as he appeared, though his make¬
up was perfect. We marched them through
the village under the curious eyes of many of
our own comrades, but the eager gesticulations
of the French people, and the fierce blaze of
rage in the eyes of the women showed us that
they had no friends among the neighbors, and
revealed to us the smouldering fires of hate
that the French people have for the brutal in¬
vader. I fancy the dastardly pair were glad
of our protection for all their looks of defiance.
They knew that a spy would meet short shrift
at the hands of these French women whose un¬
tamed spirit was the same as that of the Margots
of the Parisian gutters in the Reign of Terror.

CHAPTER XXVI

BAPAUME AND “A BLIGHTY”

How many weeks I lay under the shadow of
the church-tower of Bapaume I know not. But
every morning as the mist lifted the church- tower
would reappear through the trees, and now and
again the flash of a glass would show that it was
an observation-post of the enemy, and frequently
well-placed shells on our trenches and dumps
would show to what devilish uses our enemies
were putting the house of God as they directed
their shell-fire from a seat just under the cross
on the tower.

This is a very old, historic town of France,
and the sentiment of the French people would
not have it shelled. So we lay these weeks within
cooee of a nest of our enemies, who were per¬
mitted the safety and comfort of a peaceful home
almost within our lines. There are other places
along the line where we are under the same dis¬
advantage. There is the city of Lille with its
million or more of French inhabitants lying with¬
in five miles of our lines (such easy range), for
over three years, and not a shell fired into it.
How the Germans smile as their bases of opera¬
tion lie in such security, for, of course, sentiment

259

260 “OVER THERE”

has been erased from the German character for¬
ever.

The French made the mistake again in regard
to Bapaume of crediting the Germans with hu¬
man feelings — they vainly hoped that the Ger¬
mans would respect historic monuments when
they gained no military advantage by destroying
them. But every day that the war is prolonged
is but adding to the evidence already so colossal
that the German is a beast who wantonly de¬
stroys and takes sheer joy in slaying, burning,
and smashing, destroying for destruction’s sake,
and killing for the sight of blood. When we drove
the Germans from Bapaume they left it in ruins
as utter as though we had bombarded it, but
so much more systematic was their destruction !
In the market square there is a hole large enough
to hold a cathedral, made by the mine they ex¬
ploded as they left, which was so senseless as
almost to make it seem that, like children, they
wanted to hear how big a bang they could make.
But their devilish lack of humor is more plainly
shown in the system with which they destroyed
the orchards in the country further back. Every
tree was cut at exactly the same height from the
ground, and carefully laid in the selfsame way.
Not one of them deviated a hair’s breadth in its
position on the ground from the angle made
by its neighbor. They must have spent hours
in obtaining such hellish regularity. Wed Sys-

BAPAUME AND “A BLIGHTY” 261

tem to Lust, and you have an alliance of Satan
with the hag Sycorax, and their offspring is the
German Empire, the Caliban of nations.

The highest point of the church-tower, how¬
ever, before the days of our advance, was its cross,
and in our misery we could always see this symbol
of hope and salvation ; but it was a reminder too
of pain and suffering endured that man’s spirit
might be free, and as we also were suffering and
enduring in freedom’s cause, we knew that our
strife was religion and our accomplishment would
be salvation.

And what we endured in that bitter cold has
scarred our memories and added to our bodies
the aging of years. In the chronic agony of cold
the pain of wounds was an alleviation, and I have
seen men who had just had their arms blown off
wave the jagged stump and laugh as they called
out — “Got a ‘blighty’ at last, sir!” We were
standing up to our waists in liquid mud by day,
into which we would freeze at night. I have gone
along the trench and kicked and punched my boys
into sensibility, and said: “Is there anything I
can do for you, boys ? Can’t I get you any¬
thing?” “Oh, no sir. We’re all right, but don’t
we envy old Nick and his imps to-night !” Who
is there that is not abashed in the presence of a
spirit like that ? And had you been there and
these your men, wouldn’t you love them as I
do ? Never did the spirit of man rise more glorious

262

“OVER THERE ”

to the demand of hard occasion, than when those
boys of Australia laughed and joked in the tor¬
tures of hell. Eighty per cent of them had never
known a temperature lower than thirty above
zero, and here was a cold more biting than they
had ever dreamed of and they were without pro¬
tection, living in a filthy ditch, never dry, their
clothing unable to keep out wet or cold. Back
in camp every man had a complaint, where it is
the province of the soldier to grumble. In those
days the orderly officer would go round with his
question of ‘‘Any complaints ?” “Yes, look
here, sir. What do you think of that?” “Why,
dear me, man, it seems very good soup !” “Yes,
sir, but it is supposed to be stew !” Why, if the
Australian soldier did not complain, you might
well suspect a mutiny brewing ! Too much mar¬
malade, and not enough plum ! etc. I never
thought there was as much marmalade in the
world as I myself have consumed on active ser¬
vice ! Those days when we were well off, and
did not know it, with dry beds and a clean tent,
with good warm food, and plenty to eat and drink,
the boys were always “kicking” about something
or other, but now when things were hellish bad
under conditions when wounds were a luxury
and death a release you never heard a complaint.
There were days too when an enemy barrage cut
off our supplies and prevented relief, and we were
compelled to live on dry biscuits and cold water,

BAPAUME AND “A BLIGHTY” 263

taking our water from the shell-holes where the
dead were rotting. I remember when I was
wounded and being carried out of the trench
my brother officers saying to me: “Oh, Knyvett,
you lucky dog !” And I was lucky, and knew it,
though I had twenty wounds and trench feet.
Why, when I arrived at the hospital and lay in
a real bed, with real sheets, and warm blankets,
with a roof over my head that didn’t leak, and
a fire in the room, with the nurse now and again
to come along and smile on me, I tell you heaven
had no extra attractions to offer me. The man
who got wounded in those days was a lucky dog,
all right; in fact, he mostly is at all times, and
about the silliest thing the War Office ever did
was to issue an honor stripe for wounds. The
man deserving of the greatest credit is not the
man who gets wounded, but the man who stays
on in the trenches week after week, and month
after month enduring the nervous strain and
unnatural conditions, living like a rat in a hole
in the ground. There are none who have been
there for any length of time who do not welcome
the sharp pain of a wound as a relief.

The Germans opposite us in their trenches at
Bapaume were, of course, in as bad a plight as
we were. When I scouted down their trenches
at night I found equipment and stores lying on
top of the parapet. Evidently, the mud in the
bottom of their trenches was as bad as in ours,

“OVER THERE”

264

and anything dropped had to be fished for. Per¬
haps there were no deep dugouts just there. We
would not allow our men to use these deep dug-
outs as nothing so conduces to bad morale. Once
men get deep down out of range of the shells they
are very, very reluctant to leave their “funk-
holes.” A man has to be hardened to shell-fire
before he is of any value as a fighter, and these
deep dugouts take men out of reach of most of
the shells, and when they come in the open again
they have to be hardened anew.

It is not generally a wise plan to occupy the old
German trench, as he has the range of it very ac¬
curately, and anyway it is in most cases so badly
battered about after our artillery has done with
it as not to be at all superior as a residence to
the shell-holes in front of it, and it is mostly full
of dead Germans which are unearthed by the
shells as often as we bury them. God knows the
smell of a live German is not a pleasant thing
to live near, but as for dead ones ! . . . Our
method was to construct a new trench about
fifty yards in advance by linking up a chain of
shell-holes, and we felt the labor to be worth
while when we saw the shells falling behind us,
and it was not much harder than if we had had
to clean out the old German trench.

On our right flank there was a gap of a hun¬
dred yards that we patrolled two or three times
a night, and in our net we sometimes caught some

BAPAUME AND “A BLIGHTY” 265

Germans who were lost. On one occasion a Ger¬
man with a string of water-bottles round his neck,
and a “grunt” that may have been a password,
stepped down into our trench. He had evidently
been out to get water for himself and comrades
from their nearest supply, and taken the wrong
turning ! He made an attempt at a grin when
he found where he was, and evidently thought
the change could not be for the worse. He was
so thick in the head, however — I have known cows
with more intelligence — that I wonder any other
German being fool enough to trust him with such
a valuable article as a water-bottle.

We were planning to take a portion of the
trench opposite to straighten our line, and I had
scouted down a hundred yards of it from behind,
and got a good idea of the strength with which
it was held, taking bearings of its position. The
next night, as the attack was to take place at
daybreak, I thought I had better go over and
make sure that I had made no mistakes. I crossed
over the first trench without any difficulty. There
did not seem to be any one on guard. I then
went toward their support lines where there seemed
to be more men, mostly working parties. I passed
these and with unpardonable carelessness stood
up to have a look round, thinking that it was too
dark for me to be seen. But I got a shock to find
there was a sentry almost beside me — though he
was, if anything, more scared than myself. He

266

“OVER THERE”

pulled the trigger without taking aim and nat¬
urally missed me, but if he had been wTide-awake
he could with ease have punctured me with his
bayonet. I did not stop to pass the time of day
with him, for the place seemed suddenly alive
with Huns as he called “Heinz, Heinz!” — prob¬
ably the name of his corporal — but I dived into
a shell-hole and flattened myself as much as pos¬
sible. As I was lost to sight and to memory too
dear to be allowed to escape they began to cover
the ground with bombs. These all went well
beyond me, and had it not been for “Butter¬
fingers” I might have escaped. But a bomb
slipped from his hand, rolling into the hole in
front of him. He jumped back into the safety
of the trench, and did not know that the bomb
had fallen on me as it exploded. But I knew
it — my left leg was broken in three places, twelve
wounds in my right, and others on my back, twenty
that afterward had to be dressed, not counting
some other scratches. Then they came out to
look for me, my “friend” almost stepping on me,
but after half an hour’s fruitless search they
gave up. About two hours later I started home
on my long, painful crawl. It took me about
twenty minutes to pass the sentry near where
I was lying, but after that there was no danger
of discovery — the front line still appearing al¬
most unoccupied; but I was getting dizzy and
not sure of my direction. I knew, however, where

BAPAUME AND “ A BLIGHTY” 267

there was a derelict aeroplane in No Man’s Land,
and made toward it. When I sighted this I was
overcome with relief, and laid my face in the
mud for a while to recover. I had now crawled
about six hundred yards dragging my useless
legs. And my elbows were skinned through, being
used as grapples that I dug in the ground ahead,
in that way dragging myself a few inches at a
time. I knew our trenches were still about two
hundred yards away, and the sweat of fear broke
out on me as I remembered the two machine-
guns in front of me that would fire on anything
seen moving out there, no one expecting me
to return that way. So I crawled higher up the
line, where it was safer to enter, and a few yards
from our trenches gave our scouting call. Sev¬
eral of my boys came running out and tenderly
picked me up. I was all in and could not move
a muscle. My own boys would not allow the
stretcher-bearers to touch me, but six of them
put me on a stretcher and carried me over the
top just as day was breaking. They would not
go down into the communication-trench or shell-
holes because they thought it would be too rough
on me, and so carried me over the exposed ground ;
and when they got me to the dressing-station
they said: “You will come back to us, sir, won’t
you?” I said: “Yes, boys, you bet I will!”
And you may bet that I shall, as soon as ever I
am passed as fit again.

268

“OVER THERE ”

The pain of my wounds was soon altogether
forgotten, for each medical officer that examined
me finished up with the liquid melody of the
phrase: “Blighty for you !” My leave was long
past due, and the very next day I was to report
for transfer to the Australian wing of the Royal
Flying Corps, which would have meant several
weeks’ training in England, but “the best laid
schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft a-gley!” — and
there’s a science shapes our ends, rough-hack them
though Huns may !

PART V

HOSPITAL LIFE

CHAPTER XXVII

IN FRANCE

My hospital experiences in France were a pro¬
cession of five nights with intermissions of days
spent in travel. From the advance dressing-
station I was slid over the mud for three miles in
a sledge drawn by the Methuselah of horses bor¬
rowed from some French farmhouse. His anti¬
quarian gait suited me, and this was the smooth¬
est of the many torturous forms of travel I
endured before I was able once again to move up¬
rightly on my feet as a man should.

At Trones Wood I was swung into a horse am¬
bulance and thereafter swung and swayed for a
couple of hours until, closing my eyes, I could
fancy I was once again at sea. This was rougher
than the sledge, but endurable and certainly the
most comfortable of all the wheeled vehicles in

which I travelled. I bless the inventor of the

*

springs that kept it swaying gently on a road all
ruts and holes.

I was deposited on the table of the operating-
theatre in the field-ambulance, while a surgeon
overhauled me to see if there was any injury
necessitating an immediate operation. Satisfied

“OVER THERE”

272

that I was merely broken and punctured, I was
transferred to a cot and so began my first hospital
night. I was known personally to all the doctors
in our field-ambulance. I had on several occa¬
sions messed with them, and they were always
very keenly interested in my yams of No Man’s
Land, so when the news spread that I had been
brought in wounded I soon had a group round
my bed, some of them in pyjamas being roused
from their sleep to hear the news. One of them
very gleefully said: “Hullo, Knyvett, old man —
I’ve just won five pounds on you. We had a bet
that you would not last out another month.
You know you’ve had a pretty good innings and
mighty lucky only to get wounded.” But at that
moment I was not in the mood to appreciate
this form of humor, until one of them, seeing I
was pretty uncomfortable, gave me an injection
of morphia. But I was very glad to be resting
there and felt I could hardly have endured a
longer journey without a spell. I was given here
the first good hot meal I had had for weeks,
though I had been given a drink of steaming-hot
coffee in the ambulance. There was not much
sleep to be got, as a constant stream of men were
being brought in and taken away, and now and
again shells would fall quite close, but the ground
thereabouts was very soft, and I counted fifteen
shells that fell close by with a wouf and a squelch,
but did not explode. This hospital was all under

IN FRANCE

273

canvas, just three or four big marquees and a
score or so of tents for the medical officers and
orderlies, and any inclination that I had to com¬
plain was taken away by the sight of “walking
cases” strolling in with an arm gone, or a hole in
the cheek, or their jaw smashed, many far worse
than I was, who would sit there waiting then-
turn to be examined, and then walk out again to
the ambulance that carried them on to the next
hospital.

Next morning I was carried out to a motor-
ambulance and started on the most painful trip
of my life. The driver took reasonable care, but
could not go too slow, for another load was waiting
for him as soon as he could return, but I am sure
that I felt every stone in that road. I got the
attendant to wedge me in with pillows, but only
by holding myself off from the wall with both my
hands could I ease the bump, and then I would
wait with dread for the next one* I don’t know if
the other three fellows lying in the ambulance with
me were as sore as I was, but I picture to-day the
hours that those ambulances travel with wounded
men as being added together and totalling a cen¬
tury of pain. Perhaps after the war is ended,
when it is too late, some one may invent a motor
ambulance on easy springs that will not multiply
unnecessarily the pain of tom flesh and the grating
edges of bones.

“OVER THERE”

274

Now comes the night in the casualty clearing-
station at Heilly. Straight on to another operat¬
ing-table, but one in a sea of many — ten operations
going on at once. Then began the probing for
pieces of metal in my wounds. “Good God!”
remarked the surgeon, “the best thing we can
do is to run a magnet over you. We’ll never
find them all otherwise.” Nor did they, for I
carry some of them still in my body as permanent
souvenirs of the few words I had with Fritz.
There was a nurse in the theatre with smiling
face, laughing blue eyes, and tumbled curls fall¬
ing beneath her cap, and a brief acquaintance of
one day was formed on the spot. She was attend¬
ing another case, and a wink and a smile served
for introduction. She came and visited me in
the ward that night and we chatted a brief horn*,
then she was gone, and I know not even her name.
So ships meet, dip their flag, and pass into the
night.

In the bed opposite me in this hospital there was
a German officer and he bellowed like a bull all
night. We got pretty sick of his noise and told
the medical officer in charge of the ward when he
came on his rounds in the morning that if he did
not chloroform or do something to silence the
hound, we would. I suggested that he go and tell
him that if he did not shut up he would be sent
into the ward with his own privates. He did so
and there was not another squeak from him.

IN FRANCE

27s

After breakfast warm sweaters, helmets, scarfs,
and mitts were issued to each of us and we were
wrapped in warm blankets and carried out to a
hospital-train near by. Before I left, however, I
wrote out the report of my reconnoissance of the
German trenches and despatched it by orderly to
G. H. Q. All my possessions I carried in my hand
in a small bag not nearly as big as a lady’s knit¬
ting-bag. My kit was “somewhere in France”
and my uniform had been cut off me and was prob¬
ably ascending as incense from some incinerator,
in a ritual that was an appropriate end after much
service. Everything was supposed to be taken out
of my pockets (which I have no doubt happened)
and sent to me (which certainly did not happen).
I have no sympathy with the old sanitary sergeant
who superintended the last rites in the passing of
my much-lived-in clothes when he was slightly
wounded by a bullet from a cartridge that some¬
how or other dropped into the fire at the same
time. These incinerators frequently very nearly
caused shell-shock to the sanitary squad, and they
might just as well have been in the actual trenches,
for in the gathering up of rubbish around the
camp cartridges would frequently be thrown with
it into the fire and explosions would ensue like the
firing of a machine-gun, and bullets would whizz in
all directions. Once a mule got shot, but it’s a
wonder that other flesh less valuable was not oc¬
casionally punctured, for these incinerators were

“OVER THERE”

276

just on the edge of the camp and generally had
a group round them of those who preferred being
fire-tenders to ramrod-shovers.

The hospital-train bore us with many inter¬
ruptions and frequent side-trackings toward the
Channel and “Blighty.” In England hospital-
trains take precedence over all other traffic, but
here in France there were many other things more
important for the winning of the war than
wounded men, so hospital-trains had to step aside
and give the right of way to the shells, guns,
cartridges, and food for the men still facing the
foe. So my third night was spent on the rails
lying snugly in a car wrapped in many blankets,
and only disturbed by having to “smoke” a ther¬
mometer every two or three hours, and by the
nurse rousing me at six “ack emma” (a. m.) to have
my face and hands washed, which is a mania that
afflicts all nurses. A nurse has only one fear,
that of displeasing the doctor, and though all
should perish, everything must be spotless when
he makes his rounds. A doctor is the only man
who can awe a woman and obtain perfect obedi¬
ence. Of course I am referring to them pro¬
fessionally, and not in their domestic relations.
I knew a nurse in a military hospital who woke
up a patient, who was enjoying his first sound
sleep for weeks, to administer a sleeping-draft.
When she was remonstrated with she said “the

IN FRANCE 277

doctor ordered it.” In France there has been
since the war much “coal-saving,” and had it not
been that I had been careful to have with me emer¬
gency rations of blankets, I would have perished
with the cold. I was told that the engine-drivers
were given a commission on what coal they saved,
so all the steam we got through the warming-pipes
hardly took the frost off them. Only the men in
the bottom cots were able to see the scenery we
passed through, and we up-stairs could have
murdered them with pleasure as they kept call¬
ing out: “By George! You .should see this!”
“That’s the funniest sight I’ve seen in my life!”
“Isn’t that a lovely sight!” etc. But journeys,
even on French railways, come to an end even¬
tually, though it only be second-class traffic, and
with much joy did we welcome the news that we
were running into Rouen.

In the small hours of the morning with the
mist still trailing through the streets we were
driven to the Infirmary for Aged Women (which
they had vacated), and where was housed Number
Eight General Hospital. After our labels had
been examined and checked with our wounds,
and it was quite evident that we were “les hommes
blesses” and not baggage, we were carried up¬
stairs and allotted to our wards according to the
part of the body in which we were wounded.
They had some difficulty in my case, and as I

“OVER THERE”

278

feared that they might be carrying me from ward
to ward all day and night I asked them to look on
the other side of my tag to see if it was not marked
in red: “Fragile, With Care.” There was in the
ward where I eventually anchored a V. A. D.
(Voluntary Aid Detachment) nurse who will
ever live in my memory as the gentlest and most
attentive of all that I have known. You could
not raise your hand or turn in your sleep without
her gliding noiselessly to your bedside to see if
you wanted anything. A hundred times would
she straighten the pillows, if you fancied you
would get extra comfort another way, and she ever
had ready a hot glass of milk to make you sleep
the better. She was a Canadian, and if there are
many more like her among the Canadian women,
then the men of Canada are thrice blessed. Thus
passed my fourth night in French hospitals.

In the morning I saw through an open door in
another ward a friend of mine whom I had parted
with on landing in Egypt. I called an orderly
to carry me through to an empty bed alongside
him so that we might renew our friendship. He
was badly wounded in the arm and face, but it
was pleasant to meet again after many months.
That was many months ago and the other day I
met him again in New York. We have only been
a short time together on each occasion, yet have
continued our acquaintance on four continents,
many months intervening between each meeting.

IN FRANCE

279

There was a great hullabaloo in my ward when the
matron came in and found my bed empty. When
she discovered where I was, she said: “Who
gave you permission to come in here?” I re¬
plied: “No one said I was not to!” And any¬
way the pleasure was worth the commission of
the crime ! That morning I was again picked up
as a bundle and carried I knew not whither, leav¬
ing my friend behind.

I was carried on board a British hospital-ship
and lowered about three decks down. As plac¬
ards glared in one’s eyes on every side about what
to do in case of submarine attack, I did not like
very much the idea of going down so far, for I
always like to be able to depend upon myself in
an emergency, and I was now as helpless as a log.
They put me in a swinging cot, which was a great
idea to prevent seasickness. We went slowly out
the harbor to sea with our prow pointing toward
“Blighty,” the El Dorado of the wounded Tommy.
’Twas little I saw of river, harbor, or sea from my
berth in the nethermost depths of that vessel’s
hold. I was told we went across with all lights
out. The days had passed when, in our folly, we
painted our hospital-ships white with a green band
and marked them with a red cross, or at night
circled them with a row of green lights illuminat¬
ing a huge red cross near the funnel, for we had
found that we were only making them conspicuous

28o

“OVER THERE”

as targets for the “ human shark of the sea.”
There have been more hospital-ships sunk than
troop-ships, for the troop-ship is armed and con¬
voyed, but the hospital-ship is an easy victim.
The English port we entered was shrouded in fog,
and wharf buildings never at any time look invit¬
ing, but we could nevertheless understand the ex¬
citement of our English companions, for it was
Home to them, and to us “dear old England,” the
brave heart of the freest empire this earth has
seen, and after all where is the Britisher who does
not thrill with pride at landing on the soil of those
little islands which have produced a race so great,
and foot for foot of soil there is no land on the
earth that has produced so much wealth. We
could smile with appreciation and not much sur¬
prise at the Tommy who remarked: “Say, Bill,
don’t the gas-works smell lovely !”

CHAPTER XXVIII

IN LONDON

By hospital-train, the most comfortable ever
devised, did we run into Waterloo Station — doors
were opened, and men in gorgeous uniforms —
much gold braid and silver buttons — came aboard.
We thought that they were admirals and field-
marshals at the very least, but it turned out they
were only members of the Volunteer Ambulance
Corps, men unfit for military service, who had
provided their own cars and received not a penny
of pay. With the tenderness of women they put
us on stretchers and carried us out to their luxuri¬
ous ambulances. With each four men went a
lady to attend to all their wants. Like a mother
she hovered over us and you could see her heart
was bursting with love for us far-out sons of
empire. Through cheering crowds we drove and
our Australian hearts leaped as we heard many
cooees, which made us feel that we were not far
from Home, for twelve thousand miles were
bridged in thought by these homelike sounds
and the knowledge that we were in the land from
which our parents came and where we had many
kinsfolk. I was assigned to the Third London
General Hospital and out to Wandsworth Common

281

282

“OVER THERE”

was I taken, where alongside Queen Victoria’s
school for officers’ orphans had been built rows of
comfortable huts linked up with seven miles of
corridors, while the old orphanage itself contained
the administrative headquarters. I was allotted
to G ward, but did not know for days what a dis¬
tinction that was, for the sister in charge was none
other than the late Queen of Portugal, and among
the V. A. D.’s were several ladies and honorables.
They were camouflaged, however, under the titles
of “sister” and “nurse,” and we had become too
intimate to need ceremony before we discovered
who they were in social life. In dressing our
wounds, washing us, cleaning and scrubbing the
floors they were as adept as if to the manner born,
but you could not fail to see that they sprung
from generations of refinement. On one side of
me was an Australian who had been hit on the
side of the head by a shell, having therefrom a
stiff neck. On the other side was an Irish padre,
chaplain to an Australian battalion, and, of course,
the life of the ward, and he had a greater fund of
good stories than any other man, not excepting
other priests, I have known. In an opposite bed
was a Welshman with one leg who of necessity
answered to the name of “Taffy,” while next to
him was a Londoner who had a leg that he would
have been better without, for it had borne four¬
teen operations. In London we had the world’s
specialists for every bodily ill, and some of us who

IN LONDON

283

had complications were in the hands of ten doctors
at the one time. There were skin specialists and
bone specialists, nerve specialists and brain
specialists, separate authorities on the eye, ear,
nose, and throat, and it is a pity that a man is
tied up in one bag, otherwise they might all have
operated at the selfsame moment in separate
rooms on the same man.

There was one sister whom we all loved — I
don’t think; but she was only in our ward occa¬
sionally. Her real name was unknown to most
of us, but she will be remembered for long as
'‘Gentle Annie.” She was so gentle that I have
known only a few mules rougher, and never, after
the first occasion,' would I allow her to touch the
dressings on my wounds. With so many to be
done it was a painful performance even under
kindly, sympathetic hands. We expressed our
feelings toward her by giving her left-right every
time she came into the ward and she would get
mad at the second step. One day she called the
matron, so we left-righted her as well. Then the
doctor was brought in and we left-righted him,
but he enjoyed the joke, perhaps realizing his help¬
lessness, for you can’t very well punish wounded
men lying in bed except by depriving them of
food, and we were most of us on diets anyway !
The fact that we were Australians was held to be
accountable for our misbehavior.

There was a little nurse, mostly on night duty,

“OVER THERE”

284

who was dubbed “Choom, ” for she came from
Yorkshire and had a rich brogue. But her heart
was big enough for one twice her size, and she
would always tuck us in and attempt to supply
all our wants, however unreasonable.

After an operation which I tell about in another
chapter I was able to sit up and propel myself in
a wheel-chair, and soon was having races with the
champion chair-speeders of the other wards.
There was a long inclined plane that was the
cause of many accidents, for there was a sharp
turn at the bottom and our chariots would get
out of control. I have more than once turned a
double somersault and it is a wonder I did not
break my head, and several candid friends said
it was cracked anyway. We had concerts in the
hall every night, and as it was a couple of miles
from our ward, we cripples who brought our own
chairs with us would wait in the corridor for one
of the blind to propel us along while we would do
the guiding ourselves, giving directions to our
steeds in nautical terms, such as: “Starboard a
little!” “Steady, steady, you idiot!” “Hard
aport ! ” “ Quick ! ” “ N ow, you darned fool, you

jolly nearly smashed that window!” When we
got to the door of the hall, we would be piloted
into the area reserved for carriages, and so tightly
were we jammed that it took about twenty min¬
utes to empty the hall, or twice as long if we tried
to get out by ourselves. However, the concerts

IN LONDON

285

were worth while, and when Clara Butt or some
other world-famed artist came along, we did not
mind being late for dinner, the dishes of which
were never a surprise if you remembered the day
of the week.

In our ward there were mostly leg injuries, and
in the one next door arm cases, and hot and fast
flew the arguments as to which it were worse to
lose. We demonstrated our superiority one night
by raiding them for their milk, all the attackers
being on crutches, and they were unable to re¬
cover it; so we decided to our own satisfaction
that we were the most useful members of society,
though had we not drunk it so fast they might
have got it.

We had some very high talent in the hospital
and our monthly gazette was a very creditable
production. We had as one of the orderlies a
Punch artist and he was always caricaturing some
of us. The patients contributed drawings, poems,
and articles, and I imagine that in years to come
these little papers will be of some value, contain¬
ing the works of renowned artists and authors
from many parts of the world.

A good number from our ward were able to take
taxi-rides into the city and would return at late
hours, sometimes the merrier for the excursion.
I have in my memory as I write, recollections of
waking suddenly out of slumber to behold Taffy
and a mad Australian waltzing to the strains of a

286

“OVER THERE”

gramophone, each with only one leg, and then old
Piddington would persist in rousing the ward that
we might sing as a roundelay:

“And when I die,

Don’t bury me at all —

Just pickle my bones
In alcohol.

Put a bottle of RUM — ( much emphasis here)
At my head and feet,

And then I know
My bones will keep !”

My brothers are in different regiments. We en¬
listed from different states — one is in an English
regiment — yet we all met on Good Friday in this
hospital ward. They had seen in the paper my
name among the casualties and, inquiring, had
found out where I was and there we met, not hav¬
ing seen each other for many years.

One day, like a bolt from the blue, came the in¬
timation that I was to be sent back to Australia
in two days as being unfit for further service. I
argued the point, went before the Medical Board,
and gave each one separately a testimonial that
would be no advertisement, but it was of no avail,
and I realized that like a worn-out horse I was to
be sent out of the fun. But to add injury to in¬
sult, I had had no opportunity to see London.
What ! Go home to Australia and tell them I had
been in London and not seen St. Paul’s, or the

IN LONDON

287

Abbey, or anything ? So when I realized appeal
jtvas useless I got dressed and called a taxicab and
went to see the sights of London. Never was a
tourist trip conducted more systematically. On
crutches I hobbled round St. Paul’s and through
the Abbey. I saw the Tower, the Albert Me¬
morial, and all the sights that I could remember
or the taxi-driver think of sufficient importance to
need a visit. I even went down Petticoat Lane.
But most of all I did the theatres, four in one day,
returning to the hospital at 1.30 a. m. Next day
I repeated and enlarged the dose, returning a
little later, but the following morning I was sum¬
moned before the O. C. He said: “It is reported
to me that you have been returning after hours.
Why?” I said: “So would you, sir, if you were
returning to Australia in two days and had not
viewed London!” He said: “Well, it won’t
occur again, I hope.” To which I replied: “Only
to-night, sir!” But the boat was delayed, and
I had two more days of strenuous existence in
the metropolis of the world.

Once again I entered a hospital-train, but this
time I would have no mussing round me as if I
were a helpless child, but went upright, as a man
should, though on crutches.

When we journeyed to the port there was one
of our good old Australian coasters waiting to
bear us back again — Home. The old A. U. S. N.
steamer that I had so often travelled on from

288

“OVER THERE”

Brisbane to Sydney was now under command of
the Australian navy and had the proud designa¬
tion of “His Majesty’s Australian Hospital-Ship.”

CHAPTER XXIX

THE HOSPITAL-SHIP

Some people think that they have made a sea
journey when they cross the English Channel,
and Dover to Calais holds for many the memory
of an age of misery. I don’t suppose the pro¬
visions on these Channel steamers have very great
inroads made upon them by the passengers. The
soldiers have a song that well expresses experiences
on this narrow stretch of water.

u Sea, sea, why are you angry with me ?

Ever since I left Dover,

I thought the ship would go over - ” (etc.)

but on the longer journey across the Atlantic
from England to America there is more time to
get one’s sea-legs, and on the last day or two
passengers begin to enjoy the sea journey. But
this is quite enough of the sea for any one but
an amphibian. The three weeks journey from
America to Australia gets decidedly monotonous,
and long before sighting Sydney Heads and en¬
tering the world’s “pearl of ports” every one has
had his fill of the sea. But lengthen that jour¬
ney by three and you have had enough sea travel
for a lifetime.

289

290

“OVER THERE”

Well, we left England and for an eternity sailed
south, seeing land only on one day and smelling
it for a week. Then we clung to the end of
Africa for seven days and then sailed east for a
decade till Australia got in our way, and as it
could not be passed without a long detour, we
were deposited on its soil. In nine weeks we only
called at two ports, Freetown on the west coast of
Africa, and Durban on the east coast. Freetown
has the usual strong combination smell of nigger,
cinnamon, and decaying vegetation in an at¬
mosphere of heavy steam, that characterizes all
tropical towns inhabited by our ‘‘black brother.”
We were told that this place had but a few years
ago the pleasant subtitle of “The White Man’s
Grave.” If you served one year here in the
government service you were entitled to retire
for life on a pension, but the likelihood was that
long before your term was up you would retire
to a six-foot-by-two allotment near the beach,
in the company of countless predecessors. But
science had been at work here, as at Panama, and
wire gauze and the kerosene spray had captured
the first trenches of yellow fever and malaria, and
against these weapons of the medico all counter¬
attacks have been unavailing. Some strong hand
was ruling in this town, for the streets were spot¬
less and the dogs lean. And, oh, how the nigger
does hate cleanliness ! Evidently this town was
free in a real sense because well disciplined. We

THE HOSPITAL-SHIP

291

were told that all the white people lived up on
the hill that backed the town and many kind
invitations of hospitality were sent to us ; so those
whose wills were stronger than the enervating
hand of the weather-master boarded the toy
train and were carried up and up toward the sum¬
mit of the hills above the steam heat, where the
air seemed to be fanned from the very cooling-
house of God. I had the pleasure of being enter¬
tained by a French priest who had been on the
western front in the early days of the war, and he
added to our knowledge more first-hand stories of
the bestial Huns’ ravaging of convents and rap¬
ing of nuns. The bishop of this protectorate could
not do enough for us, and although we were not
of his faith, he looked on us as children who were
very dear to the heart of God because of our sacri¬
fices of blood and flesh for the right.

We loaded ourselves down with curios, buying
tiger-rugs, mats, bead-necklaces, tom-toms, and
assegais. We strung these chiefly round our
necks, as we had to have hands free to manipulate
our crutches, and some of us looked more like the
“oP clo’ man” than smart army officers. Of
course “Bertie Gloom” had to suggest that we
would have to pay more duty on the “old junk”
when we got it to Australia even than the price
that the dealers had already robbed us of.

At Durban the first thing we saw was a girl in
white semaphoring like mad from the rocks.

292

“OVER THERE”

As we spelled out that she was trying to tell us
that she was an Australian, we gave her three
times three. Our difficulty in reading her mes¬
sage was not through her bad signalling but
because of her speed. Doubt if we had a signaller
on board so quick ! This was not the last of our
indebtedness to her, for when we got into the
wharf she had a regiment of Kaffirs with sugar-
bags full of apples and oranges, and while we were
still fifty yards from the wharf she began throwing
them through the port-holes and into the hands
of the men on deck. Not a half of one per cent
fell short. She would have made a dandy

•s

bomber, and was a dandy all round.

In fact, the people of Durban were the most
hospitable and patriotic of any people we had
met. A delegation of citizens and ladies came
down to the boat to inform us that we were the
guests of the city and that everything was free
to us. And later on we found them not to have
exaggerated in the slightest. No one would ac¬
cept money from us, though I don’t think any of
us tried to get diamond rings on these terms, but
conductors on tram-cars and trains and motor-
drivers and ticket- collectors at theatres one and
all told us that our money was no good and gave
to us their best seats.

This did not apply to the rickshaws, for they
were run by Zulus and charged by the hour. You
would climb in, the shafts would go up in the air,

THE HOSPITAL-SHIP 293

until you thought you were going to be tipped out
at the back, and a herculean Zulu, decorated
with horns and red and white stripes so that he
might look like the devil, whom he, in reality,
outdevilled, would rest himself on the body of
the rick and trot along at a rate of six or seven
miles an hour, quite able to keep up the pace all
day. As a matter of fact, they never wanted to
know where you were going, and even if you told
them to take you to the post-office they would go
round and round the block, never stopping to let
you out unless you gave them a good poke in the
ribs with your stick. Somewhere in their brains
was an infernal taximeter adding up the dimes,
and like their first cousins with the leather caps,
they were determined to squeeze from you your
last cent.

Apart from the ordinary entertainments we
found that fetes and feasts had been arranged for
our delectation at the Y. M. C. A. and soldiers’
clubs, so that every minute of our stay was
crowded enjoyment. Even those of us who pre¬
ferred quieter pleasures were not without com¬
panions, and I know of no more delightful journey
in the whole world than a trip by tram-car to the
Zoo or out along the Berea. Durban has cer¬
tainly one of the most picturesque situations of
any city in the world, and the art of man has been
used with taste to reinforce nature: there are
no homes in more delightful surroundings with

“OVER THERE”

294

lovelier shrubbery and gardens than here. The
people of Durban have not only an eye for beauty
but they are very up to date and have a coaling
apparatus that holds the world’s record for speed
in the coaling of ships.

Besides these two ports we made two other
stops on the journey, but these were where there
was no land. The first one was wholly involun¬
tary, and not much to our liking, for through a
breakdown in our engines we drifted helplessly for
two days in the very centre of the danger zone of
submarines.

Our next stop had also some connection with
these sharks, for we sighted floating in mid-ocean
two life-boats and we went close to them but there
was no one on board — only oars and water-casks.
That’s all — just another mystery of the sea — no
name, no clew. Another day we sighted a steamer
hull down, evidently water-logged, and we were
going to her assistance when a cruiser came along
and told us to go about our business and get out
of harm’s way as quickly as we could. This
cruiser was just a little whiff of “scented gum”
and Australian air to us, for she was one of the
best known of the Australian squadron.

There is a lonely island in the mid-Indian Ocean
which is the only land for thousands of miles, and
it is an unwritten law of the sea that every ship
going that way should steam round it and watch
carefully for signal-fires or signs of human occu-

THE HOSPITAL-SHIP 295

pation, for it is the place that shipwrecked
sailors make for, and therefore there have been
placed on the island several casks of fresh water
and a supply of flour, and goats have been turned
loose until they now overrun it. If a ship should
find any one marooned thereon they are bound to
replace all the water and flour that has been used.
At one time there was a large fresh- water lake in
the extinct crater of a volcano, but the sea has
now broken through and made it salt. We
steamed very close in, blew the siren, and had
there been a pygmy there he would not have been
overlooked as hundreds of trained eyes searched
the rocks with glasses. We also got some fine
photographs of this romantic isle in its waste of
waters.

The officers’ ward was on the upper deck and our
nurse had a twin sister in another ward and there
was not a particle of difference between them. If
I was lying on the deck and should call out to our
nurse as she passed to get me something, she
would generally say, “I’ll ask my sister,” for,
of course, it was the wrong one. There was end¬
less confusion, for when we had a little tiff with
our nurse, her sister would be sent to Coventry
as well, and in a deck golf tournament there was
great dispute over who won the ladies’ prize,
for both sisters claimed it. This matter could
not be settled, as the umpire was not sure if he
had credited the scores to the right one. The

“OVER THERE”

296

prize was a set of brushes and we told them it
would have to do for both, which was all right, as
we were sure they wore each other’s clothes any¬
way. They told us they had made a vow when
they married not to live in the same town for the
husbands’ sake !

The routine of the days was deadly monotonous
with a break of a concert on Saturday and church
on Sunday. Unfortunately, we had on board only
two who could sing and one who thought he could
recite. And even of those whose performance
exceeded their own opinion we got tired before
the journey ended. There were others who at¬
tempted to entertain us who afflicted us so much
that after three performances we gave them the
choice of suicide or having their tonsils cut, so
the concerts petered out and the audience at the
last one did not pay for the moving of the piano.

The shipping company who had transferred the
ship to the Admiralty for the duration of the war
still kept on the catering, and retained the same
bill of fare as on their passenger trade. There
was a good deal of variety and we always were
able to get enjoyment with wondering what we
would have for the next meal. They even helped
us out a bit by calling the same dish by different
names on different days and the same curry tasted
differently under the names of “Madras,” “Ben¬
gal,” “Simla,” “Ceylon,” “Indian,” and “Bud-
geree,” and the cooking would even have satis-

THE HOSPITAL-SHIP 297

fied Americans. The nurses were seated at one
long table in the saloon and formed an island
completely surrounded by officers. The twins
were on opposite sides of the table, and of course
we always found after dinner that we had been
signalling to the wrong one. We observed a good
deal of ceremony and always stood to attention
until the nurses were seated, but the nurse who
came in late and made us interrupt an interesting
conversation with a tender chicken got plenty of
black looks. When the matron rose we stood
to attention again while they filed out and then
“carried on” with the meal.

One morning there was great excitement. Up
from the lower decks the electric current of ex¬
pectancy ran until every one’s steps quickened
and those of us who were on wooden legs beat a
constant tattoo on the decks. What means this
eager, anxious thrill ? To-morrow we would
sight Australia! Only 43,200 seconds — 720 min¬
utes — or 12 hours, and once again we would view
the fairest continent planted by God in the seas.
Mind you, the first sight of Australia (going that
way) is not very attractive. Rottenest Island,
outside Fremantle, is sandy and barren and
really not much to boast about, yet had you
spread before us a scene from the Garden of Eden
it had not charmed us half so much. For this
was part of Australia, the land that we all called
home. Back of that, for three thousand miles,

“OVER THERE”

298

stretched the country that held our ain folk and
love and joy and home and what a man fights
for and worships.

Every man had to be up on deck to see this
sight. There were men there paralyzed, who had
never moved during the whole long journey, but
the saddest sight was to see the blind turning their
sightless eyes in its direction and smiling with
ecstasy, and maybe it looked more fair to these
than to us who could see. How those boys
cheered and cheered again ! What a new spirit
pervaded the ship ! All day laughter and singing
rang out, for there are no more patriotic troops in
the world than the Australian soldiers, and,
East, West, Hame’s best. Like the old King of
Ithaca we had wandered for years in many lands,
but at last had returned home, and soon would
have Penelope in our arms.

But only the Westralians were really home,
and some of these had two or three hundred miles
to go ; for the rest of us there was still a fortnight
more in the old ship as we sailed across the base
of Australia to the eastern States.

CHAPTER XXX )

IN AUSTRALIA

When the ship drew in at the Melbourne wharf
I made up my mind to escape the fuss and hero-
worship, as I was a Queenslander and knew that
none of my folks were among the crowd waiting
at the gates. I went to the military landing-
officer and asked him if I could not go out another
way and dodge the procession. He said the
orders were that every officer and man was to be
driven in special cars to the hospital. I then
went down onto the wharf and approached one of
the ladies who looked as if she would play the
game and I said to her: “If I ride in your car, will
you promise to do me a favor ?” She said: “I
would do anything for you.” I then said: “Well,
let me out as soon as we get outside the gate.”
She demurred a good deal but I reminded her that
no Australian girl I knew ever broke a promise.
When we got outside I boarded a tram-car, which
had not gone far before it had to stop to let the
procession pass. Of course, every one would see
that I was a returned soldier, but there was noth¬
ing to show that I was just returned. I stood up
in the tram-car with the rest of the passengers and

299

3oo

“OVER THERE”

cheered and threw cigarettes and remarked loudly
to all and sundry : ‘ ‘ Some more boys come back,
eh?” But my well-laid plans were entirely
spoiled as my friends in the automobile called out,
‘‘Here, Knyvett, you dog, come out of that !
Here's your place!” and I disgracefully subsided
with many blushes, and had to endure all the way
up to Melbourne the whispers and concentrated
gaze of the whole tramful. I also “fell in” in an¬
other way, for when I rang up my uncle I found
that he and his daughter were looking for me
down at the wharf gates.

Two years ago the site of Caulfield Hospital
was a wilderness of weeds and sand. Now it is
an area of trim lawns and blazing gardens, bowling-
greens, croquet-lawns, and tennis-courts, with
comfortable huts, the gift of the people of Mel¬
bourne to their wounded soldiers, costing several
hundred thousand dollars. As I had served with
Victorian troops I was assigned to this hospital,
although my home was over a thousand miles
away in the northern state of Queensland. All
who were fit to travel were given fourteen days
“disembarkation leave” to visit their homes,
but twelve of these days I had to spend in travel
and only had two days at home after such long
absence.

My wounds had healed but I was still paralyzed
in my left leg, and the only attention I required
was daily massage for an hour, and then another

IN AUSTRALIA

301

hour in the torture-chamber with an electric
current grilling me. After this was over, I would
go into the city, do the block, have afternoon tea,
give an address at the Town Hall recruiting-depot,
go to a theatre, and then as there seemed nothing
else to be done, would return to the hospital.
Such was my programme for ninety days. Some¬
times I varied it by visiting the Zoo to commiser¬
ate with the wild animals on being caged.

There were many red-letter days when I was
entertained by friends; but I am afraid I only
squeaked when they expected roars — to be lion¬
ized was too unusual not to have stage fright a
little.

The women in Australia are well organized and
see to it that if a boy has a dull time it’s his
own fault. All the automobiles of the city were
registered with the Volunteer Motor Corps,
and each day certain of them were allotted to
take wounded soldiers for picnics. We would
generally be driven to some pretty suburb and
there would be spread before us a feast of good
things. At the end of the meal some of us felt
like the little boy who said to his mother after the
party: “I’m so tired, mummie, carry me up-stairs
to bed, but don’t bend me !”

There were concerts every night for the stay-at-
home, but I only managed to get to one, given
by the pupils of Madam Melba, which was a
feast of harmony. After the programme refresh-

302

“OVER THERE”

ments were brought round by V. A. D.’s, whom
the boys called, “Very Artful Dodgers,’ ’ but it
was not the “Thank you for the cakes and tea !”
that they dodged ! We had a cricket-match, one-
armers versus one-leggers, and we one-leggers were
allowed to catch the ball in our hats ; but the one-
leggers lost as we were nearly all run out. Some
of us being half-way down the pitch as the ball
was thrown in, would throw one crutch at the
wickets, knocking off the bails, when the umpire,
who had no legs at all, would give his decision
that we were “stumped.”

A huge Red Cross carnival was held near the
hospital which netted about fifty thousand dol¬
lars. We were guests of honor, and on this occa¬
sion in the enormous crowds found “Long John”
(one of the doctors, who was seven feet tall) very
useful. He wondered why he was being followed
about by several girls whom he did not know.
We explained to him afterward that a good num¬
ber of us who had “meets” had thought out the
ingenious scheme of telling the girl to meet us at
“Long John,” who would be the tallest object on
the grounds. We told him that he didn’t play
the game properly by moving about so much, as
our friends complained that they were just worn
out following him round.

The carnival was one enormous fair — there
were row on row of stalls, decorated in the
colors of all the Allied flags, with the girls serving

IN AUSTRALIA

303

at them dressed in peasant costumes. The goods
on the needlework-stalls represented the work of
weeks — there were flower-stalls, sweet-stalls, prod¬
uce-stalls, book-stalls, and in and out of the
crowds girls went selling raffle-tickets for every¬
thing under the sun — from tray-cloths to auto¬
mobiles and trips to Sydney. Ballyhoo-men
stood at tent-doors, calling the crowd to come and
see the performing kangaroo, the wild man from
Borneo, or, “Every time you hit him you get a
good cigar!” “Him” was a grinning black face
stuck obligingly through a hole in a sheet. There
were groups of tables and chairs under bright-
colored umbrellas, every here and there, where
good things to eat were served all day. The fun
lasted well into the night, when there were con¬
certs, and dancing, and even the one-legged men
tried to dance.

I don’t think I had any other meals at the hos¬
pital than breakfast which I always had in bed.
There was an orderly officer who was very un¬
popular as he had been months round the hospital
and missed many chances of going to the front.
One day the men played a trick on him. When
he came into the dining-room to ask if there were
any complaints one of them picked up a dish
which was steaming hot and said: “Look here,
sir! What do you think of this?” He picked
up a spoon and tasted it. “Why, my man,
that’s very good soup ! You’re lucky to get such

304

“OVER THERE”

good food.” “But, sir, it’s not soup, it’s dish¬
water!” (Curtain.)

At last the Medical Board sat on my case and
their decision left me gasping for breath, for they
recommended that I be discharged as permanently
unfit for further military service. But nature
sometimes plays sorry pranks with medical de¬
cisions. Not more than a week after this, move¬
ment suddenly returned to my leg and I threw
away my crutches and was able to walk almost
as well as ever. About ten days after leaving
hospital I had sailed back for France via America,
but have not at the time of writing been able to
get across the Atlantic.

CHAPTER XXXI

USING AN IRISHMAN’S NERVE

I have been saving this for a separate chapter;
for besides a natural hesitation in admitting that
I am not “all there,” I want to have sufficient
space in which to express my gratitude to the doc¬
tor who performed the operation and to the “un¬
known” who had his leg amputated, so providing
me with a portion of his anatomy that I was in sore
need of. Of course, in these days when surgical
miracles are happening continually there is noth¬
ing outstanding about this operation, and surgeons
have wonderful opportunities in a military hos¬
pital, where there are so many spare human parts
lying about to patch up a man with. I quite be¬
lieve that from three smashed men they could
make a whole one, which, after all, would not be
such a marvel when one remembers that they are
continually grafting bones and nerves, and I for
one would not like to say that in the next war
they may not be able to cure a man who has lost
his head entirely, and as a matter of fact, one of
the San Francisco papers informed its readers
(and as in this country the impossible of yesterday
happens to-day, no doubt they believed it to be
true) that I had had another man’s leg grafted

30s

306 “OVER THERE”

onto me. After such a statement it is an anti¬
climax to have to inform the public that it was
only a portion of nerve that was grafted.

I had been lying in hospital several weeks be¬
fore I got worried about the fact that I could not
move my leg. Then when the great-hearted,
plain-faced doctor who was attending to me said,
“How’s the man of many wounds this morning ?”
I asked: “Why is it my leg is dead ?” He said:
“We’re only waiting for the wounds to heal until
we test it.” And sure enough a day or two later I
was put in the electric chair for “reactions.”
When the current was put onto my right leg I
howled and twisted, but with twice the current on
my left leg nothing happened, as I felt nothing.
Some days later a great nerve specialist operated
on me and when I came back to this workaday
world from the land of fancy, whither the ether
had borne me, I was informed that a portion of
nerve had been grafted in my leg and that in
about three months I might be able to use it.

At this time I had no idea from whom the por¬
tion of nerve came. I did not like to inquire, for
I was afraid that if I met its previous owner I
might be prejudiced against it. Every portion of
one’s body is so closely related to the rest that I
was afraid if his face did not suit my fancy I
might subconsciously come to resemble him. But
whenever I met one-legged men in the corridors
or concert-hall I would try to pick out the one

USING AN IRISHMAN’S NERVE 307

I would most like to receive such an intimate gift
from. Some of these had a refined, delicate ap¬
pearance, and I immediately feared that I would
grow tenderfooted, while others looked like
pugilists and I immediately imagined my foot was
becoming calloused and might become longer
than the other.

So purposely I remained in ignorance of the
religion and nationality of my new nerve. Once
for a whole day I sweat blood lest it might be a
German, and then I plucked up courage to ask if
there were any Germans in the hospital, and
when I learned that there were not I slept like a
child for many hours. On Saturdays I felt it
might be a Jew or a Seventh-Day Adventist, but
then it did not work on other days either, so I
thought it must be I. W. W., “I Won’t Work” as
they are called in Australia. Then one day I was
sure it was from one of the same religion as myself,
for that leg was perspiring alone, and in the out¬
back country in Australia, where the temperature
reaches one hundred and twenty degrees in the
shade, the Presbyterian Church is sometimes
called “Perspiration.” At any rate, I read in a
paper that in one town the three churches were
Anglican, Roman Catholic, and Perspiration. As
to nationality it might be Scotch, as I had to be
“ verra cautious ” in moving it, or English, being
so “ sensitive ” to the touch. It was only after
movement returned that I was quite sure it was

308 “OVER THERE”

Irish ! For ever since then the Home Rule con¬
troversy has been going on in my body, for when
I want to place my foot in a certain position, it’s
bound to try and go some other way. You can
see from all this that I don’t know much about
nerves, and I even wonder sometimes whether, if
they put in my leg a nerve from an arm, I might
not try to shake hands with it like the armless
man in the circus, or, if it happened to belong
to the opposite leg, whether or not I would be
pigeon-toed.

I sometimes wonder if the donor of this piece of
nerve still “feels it” in his own leg, for, months
after a man has lost his leg, he still feels it there.
There was one man in the hospital who had lost
both legs and screamed with pain every night
because his toes were twisted, and it was only
when they had dug up his feet and straightened
out his toes that he got rest.

There are nerves and nerves , and I am sure that
the grafting in me of this piece from the nerves
of an Irishman has given to me more nerve than
I ever had in my life before, else how could I have
written this book ?

PART VI

MEDITATIONS IN THE TRENCHES

CHAPTER XXXII

THE RIGHT INFANTRY WEAPONS

I know scores of men who have been months
in the trenches and over the top in several attacks
who have never fired a shot out of their rifles.
In fact, it is very, very rarely that the man in the
trenches gets a chance to aim at an enemy at a
greater range than a hundred yards. There are
thousands of men whom I know who believe that
the long-range rifles used in our army to-day are
useless weapons. A much more serviceable gun
to repel a counter-attack would be one firing buck¬
shot like a pump-gun. The bullets from our
high-velocity rifles frequently pass through the
body of a man at a close range and he is not even
conscious of having been hit and continues to
come on with as great fury as before. The
pellets scattering from a shotgun at a range of
a hundred yards or less would do him more
damage and be far more certain to stop him. In
an actual charge our present rifle is more than use¬
less — it is an encumbrance, and when at grips
with the enemy in his own trenches it is often a
fatal handicap. With a bayonet at the end it is
far too long, and in a trench two to four feet
wide it cannot be used with much effect. I have

312

“OVER THERE”

known our men repeatedly to unship the bayonet
and take it in their hands, throwing the rifle away.
Another danger is that men will fire their rifles
down an enemy trench and these high-velocity
bullets will pass right through the bodies of the
one or two of the enemy in front of him and fre¬
quently kill his own comrade beyond. Remem¬
ber, in a fight in a trench friend and foe are mixed
up together and many of our men have been un¬
consciously shot by their fellows. In every regi¬
ment a small squad of picked marksmen only
should have these long-range rifles, with the addi¬
tion of telescopic sights. The average man does
not take exact aim before firing, and nearly all
the shots go high. If it were not for bombs and
machine-guns the enemy could always succeed in
getting to our trenches with very little loss. It
should be remembered, too, how closely, in an at¬
tack, we follow our own barrage — it is impossible
to see to fire through it.

The system of barrage fighting that we now use
has made warfare as much a hand-to-hand business
as it was in olden times and we must go back a
good deal to old-fashioned weapons, as we have to
a great extent to old-fashioned armor. The picked
snipers or sharpshooters could be placed in points
of vantage to pick off any of the enemy who ex¬
posed themselves and a score of them in each com¬
pany would get very few shots in a day.

Another weapon that infantry should be armed
with is a hand-bayonet as there is no advantage

THE RIGHT INFANTRY WEAPONS 313

whatever in the long reach that our present rifle
and bayonet gives. As a matter of fact, many of
our men have been killed through driving their
bayonet too far into the body of their opponent,
not being able to draw it out, thus being helpless
when attacked by another of the enemy. It is no
use telling men not to drive their bayonet in more
than three or four inches, for in the speed and fury
of a charge they will always drive it in right up
to the hilt, and while we retain this out-of-date
weapon we should certainly put a guard on it not
further than six inches from the point. I have
used a hand-bayonet which sticks out from the
fist like a knuckle-duster and is about six inches
long. The shock of the blow is taken on the fore¬
arm which also has an iron plate running down it
on which to receive the thrust of one’s opponent.
This is the natural weapon for the Anglo-Saxon,
as the fist and arm is used exactly as in boxing.
If an enemy comes at you with a bayonet it is
the natural and easy thing to throw up your arm
and ward it off. The iron plate saves your arm
being cut; you are in under his guard; seize his
rifle with your left hand and punch with your
right, driving the knife home the six inches, which
is all that is necessary. I have been in and seen
a number of bayonet charges and I am quite
satisfied that the parries and thrusts that we teach
the infantryman are only of value to get him used
to handling his rifle. After that it would be a
good thing for him to forget them.

“OVER THERE 99

3H

There are only two things that it is essential to
remember when you go into a bayonet charge.
The first is that the most determined man will win .
I have known champion men-at-arms killed by a
bayonet in their first charge and other little fel¬
lows who were no good in the practice combats
kill their man every time. If you go into a
bayonet charge with the idea of disarming your
opponent and taking him prisoner you will most
certainly be killed. But if you are quite sure in
your own mind that you are going to kill every
man who comes against you, you will do it. Your
determination impresses itself upon the man you
attack and he will be beaten before you reach him.
The other thing that it is wise to remember is to
make your opponent attack you on your left side.
If he attacks you on the right you have to parry
him and then thrust, but for an attack on the left
side the action of parrying will bring the toe of your
butt into his jaw or ribs, disabling him, and it is
a good thing to use your knee at the same time.

The general-staff officers who decide how an
army should be weaponed never do the actual
fighting and few junior officers or men feel com¬
petent to offer their advice. I am quite confident
that a majority of the fighters would agree with the
foregoing opinions, and I would like the chance
of taking a company armed as I have suggested
into action, and would be quite satisfied of their
superiority to any troops on the front.

CHAPTER XXXIII
THE FORCING-HOUSE OF BESTIALITY

The Germans have given to us an illustration,
though such was not needed by thinking men to
convince them of its truth, of the fact that the
beast in humanity only requires encouragement
to make us more bestial than any wild thing of the
jungle or even the filthy cur of the streets. If any
man takes as his guiding principle the devilish
doctrine that the “end justified the means” he
will soon become a menace to his fellows and any
good impulses that he may originally have will
pass away. The German Government made
savagery, brutality, and bestiality a deliberate
policy, and now it is their unconscious impulse.
Germany is paying a terrible penalty in the
degradation and demoralization of her whole
people for having given the direction of the coun¬
try into the hands of the Devil in exchange for
power, and the German army is to-day a forcing-
house for bestiality and there is no atmosphere in
the whole world that so conduces to evil. In the
beginning of the war letters and statements of
prisoners showed that there were then many de¬
cent Germans who were horrified at the abomina¬
tions they had seen and committed at the com-

“OVER THERE”

316

mand of their government. But latterly, you
cannot find any trace of this feeling. Now they
gloat over it.

There is no one in the world to-day except those
who are of like mind who do not know that the
story of the German atrocities is true, for Germany
has admitted enough crimes to convince any sane
man that she would stick at nothing. No action
could be too cruel, no deed too beastly, no torture
too diabolical, no insult too keen, no impulse too
filthy, no disfigurement too hideous, no vandalism
too shocking, no destruction too complete, no
stooping too low that Germany would hesitate
to do where she has opportunity. When Germany
boasted of the murder by drowning of women and
babes on the high seas she proclaimed to the world
that she was a criminal, and we do not need to
have any other crimes proven to convince us that,
while there is such a thing as justice, she must not
go unpunished.

Criminals have been forgiven, but not before
they are repentant; Safety, as well as Justice, de¬
mands that the murderer, the assassin, the raper
shall not go free. Germany has not only com¬
mitted all these crimes, but her theologians and
professors have condoned them. The man who
counsels forgiveness to Germany adds hypocrisy
to the will to commit the same crimes. To for¬
give, we are told, is divine, but the Divine does
not forgive without repentance. Has Germany

FORCING-HOUSE OF BESTIALITY 317

shown signs of repentance yet ? Well, then, the
man who talks of forgiveness to Germany before
she is on her knees begging for forgiveness is an
enemy of peace and a condoner of crime.

It is so easy for those who have not suffered to
tell the victims “to forgive.” We do not go in
nightly dread lest in the morning we should have
to rake among the ruins of our homes for the man¬
gled body of our baby ! We do not have to work
in daily fear lest we should have to return to
an empty house whence wife or daughter have
been dragged by brutal hands ! For three years
the people of London and Paris and thousands of
other cities have never known but that at any
moment their house might be brought down in
ruins about their ears, entombing all that they
hold dear ! For three years the men of northern
France and Belgium have never known but that
while they were working, under compulsion,
against the life of their own blood and country in
a German munition factory, some soldiers might
not be calling at their homes to take the woman
that they love God alone knows where ! These
very things have happened to tens of thousands.
Week after week the human hawks come over
London, and ever the toll of civilians and women
and babies done to death grows larger ! One
hundred thousand young girls were taken from
Lille and other cities away from knowledge or
protection of their kin, and until recently we had

“OVER THERE”

3 18

no news of any of them, but some have been
thrown into Switzerland, of no further use to
Germany; used up like sucked lemons, they
are cast aside for the Swiss to feed. Germany
has in her maw to-day more than ten millions of
slaves.

In America or Australia there are no hospitals
where lie thousands of girls too young to become
mothers who have been raped. We have not
hundreds of boys who will never become men. A
young girl said to me: “There is a baby coming;
it is a boche; when it is bom I will cut its throat !”
A woman showed me on an estaminet floor the
blood-stains of her own baby butchered before
her eyes. These were French women, not ours.
But what if they had been ? Your sister ! Your
mother ! Your wife ! And they might have been
but for the accident of geography. Would you
then have felt as bitter as these people? Or
would you still have kindly feelings to Germany
and not want to “humiliate her.” There may be
beings who could see daughter violated or brother
mutilated without taking personal vengeance,
but such should not be permitted to breathe the
air with MEN.

The only people who have a right to say what
punishment shall be meted out to Germany for
her misdeeds, are the women of France, of Bel¬
gium, of Poland, of Serbia, of Rumania, of Italy,
who have suffered these things; and if any one,

FORCING- HOUSE OF BESTIALITY 319

King or President, Parliament or Pope, dares
stand between these people and their just wrath
they deserve to be pilloried in the minds of men as
condoners of crime, as accessories after the fact.

The only chance for permanent peace, and guar¬
antee that these abominable crimes shall not be
committed again, is that we should so punish
Germany that she shall realize ‘ ‘ that war does not
pay ,” and that the whole earth may know that
no nation can commit these atrocities and go
unpunished.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF FEAR

The observation of men in many circumstances
of peril has quite convinced me that it is those who
are most afraid that do the bravest deeds. I do
not mean that the fact that they are afraid in¬
creases the difficulty of the doing, because it
lessens it. It is fear that drives men to heroism !
And many a man attempts the superhuman feat
of courage not to show to others that he is no
coward, but as evidence in the court of his own
judgment, to disprove the accusations of con¬
science, which asserts he is craven. The old
illustration of one soldier who accused another of
having no bravery because he had no fear, by say¬
ing, “If you were as much afraid as I am you
would have run away long ago,” is not true to life,
for it is the man of dulled feelings that is the first
to run, and the “man who is afraid of being afraid ”
who stays at his post to the last. I have ever
found that the best scouts, men who must gen¬
erally work alone in the dark, are those of highly
strung nervous temperaments. I have noticed,
too, that our best airmen were of the same type,
for if you go into any mess of pilots on the front
you will see them always fidgeting, their hands

320

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF FEAR 321

never still, betraying nervousness. I have gone
down the trench before a charge and seen the men
with teeth chattering and blanched faces, but at
the appointed second these men go over the top,
none hesitating, every man performing prodigies
of valor; not one but was a hero, yet not one that
was not afraid.

There must be something wrong with the make¬
up of a man who under modem artillery-fire
is not afraid. There are no nerves that do not
break down eventually under the strain, but the
man who shrinks from a shadow, and shudders at
the touch of cold mud does his job with care and
walks unhesitatingly into the mouth of hell. I
have seen our signallers mending the telephone-
wire under fire; each time it would break they
would curse and tremble, but immediately go
out and repair it accurately, slowly, no skimped
work, repeating the performance again and again.
There is in our spirit some reserve force which
on occasion the will uses to stiffen resolution —
the second wind of determination.

Fear is the “purgative of the soul”! There
is nothing so wholesome for a man as to be
“scared to death” ! Nothing that so drives out
the littlenesses that poison his life and set up the
toxaemia of selfishness. Many a man that before
the war made the acquiring of wealth or the gain¬
ing of the plaudits of his friends his chief aim,
now finds that these things have no appeal for

“OVER THERE ”

322

him. For he has been to the edge of life and
looked into the abyss, and fear has stripped from
him the rags of self-adornment; and standing
naked between the worlds his soul has found that
it needs no beautifying but the cleansing of self-
forgetfulness.

This war is one of the greatest blessings this
world has ever known, for it has brought to us fear
of selfish force, fear of the engines of our own con¬
struction, fear of isolation in world politics, fear of
secret diplomacy, fear of an unguarded peace, fear
of an unprepared future, fear of an undisciplined
people, fear of an irresponsible government, and,
above all THE FEAR OF FORGETTING !

But there is another reason why a man in battle,
though afraid, does not fail. The fact is that men
in a regiment or an army are not under the domina¬
tion of their own will at all, but of the collective
will of the whole. That is why some regiments
are so anxious to keep alive their traditions, and
emblazon their battles on their colors. That is
why we devote so much time in the training of
young recruits to the knowledge of the esprit de
corps of the regiment. That is why the regulars
are always the best fighters. It is not their longer
training, for that is a handicap with new methods
of warfare. It is not because of their superior
discipline, for the territorials have not lacked per¬
fect discipline. But there is an atmosphere in
the regular regiments that makes one brother

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF FEAR 323

that goes into the regulars a better soldier than
the other that enlists in militia. This atmosphere
is compounded of pride in past achievements and
confidence that the colors that have never been
lowered, though shot down on many a field, can¬
not be shamed to-day. The victors of many
engagements have an enormous advantage in
battle. No one expected anything but the most
heroic courage from the British regulars who had
never failed when called upon, but every one was
not a little anxious how “ Kitchener’s’’ would
stand their first ordeal of fire.

Every mass of men has, besides the will and
mind of each one of them, a collective will and
mind. Every town has this — who has not felt, on
entering a town and viewing its shops and people,
a certain pushing toward behavior — some towns,
tend to make one frivolous, others grave. I know
a city which, every time I enter, makes me think
when last I was in church, while there is another
in which I always want to dance or view the Follies*
Have you not seen countrymen in town, whose
clothes proclaim that they have never been out
later than nine o’clock in a lifetime, trying to be
the gay Lothario, drinking wine in a cabaret?
Every house has its personality made up of the
collective minds of the people who inhabit it*
Take your child to one strange house and he will
fidget uncomfortably on the edge of his chair;
but take him to another, just as strange, and he

3^4

“OVER THERE”

will romp about without hesitation. Children
are like the canaries we use to detect the presence
of poisonous gases, most sensitive to atmosphere.

In the same way an army has ONE WILL, and
that is why in battle you will not see one man fail,
or there will be panic and all will fail. In every
army there are individual men weak in resolution
who, left to themselves, would run away; but as
the MIND of the army as a whole is courageous,
so they are swept along in spite of themselves.
The German army has ONE MIND for bestiality,
and the Allied army has ONE MIND for victory.

CHAPTER XXXV

THE SPLENDOR OF THE PRESENT
OPPORTUNITY

To those who are thrilled by the old-time
tales of adventurous chivalry or moved by the
narrative of high endeavor and heroic achieve¬
ment for some noble ideal, I bring a conception
of the marvellous glory of these present days.
We have been wont to sing of the times when
thousands left home and comfort on a Holy
Crusade, but the Crusaders of these days are
numbered in millions.

Never were there such stirring times as these,
never since the first tick of time have the hours
been so crowded ! Never before did so many
men live nobly or die bravely. The young
knights from many lands are seeking the Holy
Grail, and finding it in forgetfulness of self and
in sacrifice for their fellows. You and I are liv¬
ing to-day among the deeds of men that make the
deeds of the heroes of past times pale into insigni¬
ficance. Never were there bred men of such
large and heroic mould as the men of to-day.

Here’s a trench — on which a shell falls — and

where one shell falls another always follows in

the same place ; — the shell blows in a dugout and

325

“OVER THERE”

326

there is little chance that the men sheltering
therein shall be alive, yet those on either side,
knowing that another shell will fall in a second
or so, in utter forgetfulness of self leap in and
with their bare fingers scrape away the dirt lest
haply there should be some life yet remaining in
this quivering, mangled human flesh.

Oh ! What chances the men of earth have
to-day to be as God ! The highest conception
any religion has given us of God is that he is one
that would sacrifice himself — “Greater love hath
no man than this that he lay down his life for his
friends” — and to-day they’re doing it by the
million. Every moment is adding names to the
honor-roll of heaven of men who follow in His
steps.

Have you conceived that the uniting together
of the nations that love peace in this struggle
will do more to guarantee peace in the future than
anything else that has ever happened in world
politics, — that it will join France, Britain, and
America into a trinity of free peoples who will
prevent war, at least for many generations? We
are being bound together by the strongest tie
that ever tied nation to nation, that ever bound
one people to another, not by political treaties
that may be torn up, but by the great tie of com¬
mon blood shed in a common cause on a common
soil. That narrow lane that stretches from Switz¬
erland to the sea is the great international ceme-

THE PRESENT OPPORTUNITY 327

tery, and for many generations it will be the
Mecca of pilgrimages from all our countries.
The wreaths of America will mingle with the im¬
mortelles of France and the flowers from Bri¬
tain and the pilgrims shall there get to know,
understand, and love each other as they engage
in the holy task of paying a common tribute to
their common dead. Shall not the mingling blood
of Frenchmen, Britons, and Americans make the
flowers of peace to grow? They never had such
soil before.

There is being created, also, in all our countries
a new aristocracy — the aristocracy of courage.
We never had a chance up till now to prove who
were our real, our best people, and we have been
accustomed to measure our citizens by the false
and small standards of wealth, birth, and intellect.
Well ! There has been given to us to-day a new
standard whereby we can measure ourselves, the
standard of courage, sacrifice, and service. No¬
body in England cares to-day whether you are
descended from William the Conqueror or not !
No one will care in America whether your an¬
cestor came over in the Mayflower, or whether
he signed the Declaration of Independence !
Every American has a chance to-day of signing
a far greater declaration than that great one of
’76 — the declaration of personal willingness to
sacrifice all on the altar of liberty. In England,
in America, in Australia, in all the countries of the

“OVER THERE”

328

world in the days that are to be, men and women
will make their boast in this one thing, or have no
cause for boasting at all, of the part that they had
in this fight, the greatest fight that has ever been
waged for liberty, for righteousness, and for the
virtue of womanhood.

What a splendid opportunity it is for us to be
able to personally pay the price of liberty. How
easy to forget that freedom has either to be earned
by ourselves or enjoyed because some one else
has paid the price for us. Had we not forgotten
in our countries that the democracy that we boast
of is no credit to us because it was won by the
blood of other men ? Men died that we might be
able to govern ourselves ! Women carried heart¬
ache and loneliness to the grave that we might
make our own laws !

Liberty ! Such an easy word to mouth, but
how precious in the sight of God ! Liberty is one
of the treasures of heaven and only committed to
men at great cost, lest they should undervalue it.

In these great and wonderful times there has
been given to us the glorious opportunity to earn
our own liberty, to prove our own personal right
to citizenship in a free country.

You may not be able to pay in good, red blood,
you may not be able to pay much in the coin of
the republic, but if each of us does not pay in
whatsoever coin we have, there will come soon to
us the days in which we shall realize that we are

THE PRESENT OPPORTUNITY 329

thieves and robbers, enjoying that to which we
have no right, won so hardly with the deaths and
wounds of men and the salt tears of women.
In the New World that shall be bom after the
birth-pangs of the present days, we shall realize
that we have no place, our souls shall shrink and
shrivel as we gaze on the honor scars of those who
have paid, and we shall be elbowed to the out¬
skirts of the crowd, as the people bow before the
men whom the President and people delight to
honor — the men sightless, the men limbless, the
memory of the men lifeless.

CHAPTER XXXVI

NOT A FIGHT FOR “RACE” BUT FOR “RIGHT”

I have no patience with the waterish sentiment
that suggests that the lines of the Germans in
America and Australia have fallen in hard places
because they are called upon to take up arms
against their own blood. For this is not a war
of race, but of right ! It is not a war of Britons,
Americans, and French against Germans and
Austrians ! It is a war of men in all nations
against beasts !

There is something in all of us that is stronger
than kinship, higher than citizenship — manhood —
and every one who is a man, though he be of Ger¬
man blood will join us in this struggle against the
monster that has devoured women and children
and many fair lands.

We have in the Australian army one general of
German blood, another of Austrian, and hundreds
of men of both, but they have been fighting loyally
with us, because they were men and could not be
held back from striking at tyranny and wrong.
Remember, in the Australian army all are volun¬
teers.

Every one now knows what Germany stands
for and the menace she is to the future of the world

330

NOT A FIGHT FOR “RACE” 331

if her power is not destroyed, and every one who
does not help to defeat her is an ally of the Kaiser
and helping him to win the war.

The Judge is to-day separating the sheep from
the goats, not according to nationality, but ac¬
cording to how they stand in this strife for right,
for never was there a cause so divinely right as
the cause of the Allies, and never a cause so devil¬
ishly wrong as that of the Germans.

The great mass of the German people have
shown themselves to be on the side of evil, but
every German in our own countries is given a
chance in the present days to prove himself a
man who hates brutality and cruelty and wrong,
or by standing aloof from helping us show that
he has the will to do these things as his kinsman
in France. These should be given the same medi¬
cine as the Kaiser’s millions “over there.” We
should also root out the Kaiser’s secret allies in our
midst, some of them not of German blood, who
for pay do his dirty work, never forgetting also
that the neutral and the lukewarm at this present
juncture are also our enemies and have their hands
stained with the blood of our kin who die for this
cause.

Washington when he called on the English
colonists in this country to resist the German
mercenaries of the German King of England did
not bewail the fate that compelled them to fight
against their own country and where their kin

332

“OVER THERE”

dwelt. No ! For his cause was just and just-
minded men must support it though a sword
pierced their own hearts.

Lincoln when he called on the people of the
Northern States to free the slaves did not exempt
those who had friends or kin down South, but he
called on every one who was free to strike a blow
for the freedom of other men, though in so doing
they should be cutting off their own right arms.

In this war we are not only fighting to free mil¬
lions who are held in a far worse slavery than ever
the negro was in, but we are fighting for our own
liberty and that of our children, which has been
directly attacked. Not all Germans are bestial
and cruel, with no regard for honor, but just how
many of them are not remains for the American
and Australian citizens of German descent to
prove.

Not all Britishers and Americans and French¬
men are willing to sacrifice themselves in our
righteous cause — there are traitors even here,
and these I would rather shoot than the enemy in
France.

There never was a more damnable doctrine
promulgated on the face of the earth than that of
“My country, right or wrong.” Free men could
never subscribe to such a doctrine. We have no
right to call upon people to take up arms because
the government has declared war, but because the
government was right in declaring war. Those

NOT A FIGHT FOR “RACE” 333

who oppose the government in this are not traitors
to a party or a majority, but traitors to the coun¬
try and to right.

The two great camps in which the world is
divided to-day will be known in history as those
who loved liberty more than life and those who
loved dominion more than right. Maybe the
names of the races will be forgotten but the mem¬
ory of the opposing principles will abide.

CHAPTER XXXVII

“KEEPING FAITH WITH THE DEAD ”

While here and there politicians grow faint¬
hearted, the army fights on with cheerfulness. It
would be a cure for pessimism of the deepest
black to go to the trenches for a while. There
all is cheery optimism, no doubt at all about the
final outcome, and no talk of peace. I have never
heard one man in the army talk or hint of peace
or dream of it, for they know that it cannot be
yet. The only people who shall declare peace will
be the army — no politicians, no parliament, or
government — for the army to-day is a citizen
army and large enough to change any government
that is weak-kneed, and they shall allow parlia¬
ment to grant peace only when they are ready,
and that shall not be until we have gained a cer¬
tain victory.

Prime Minister Lloyd George gave us three
words over a year ago that are still the beacon-
lights of the army, and we shall not reach port
unless they are our guiding lights. They were
reparation , restoration , and guarantees , and any¬
thing less would be a betrayal of France and Bel¬
gium and an insult to the wounded and a defaming
of the dead.

334

“KEEPING FAITH”

33S

The army and people of the allied countries
have already paid too much not to have the goods
delivered.

Do you think, for example, that we Australian
boys are going back to our country without
having gained that for which we came these
twelve thousand miles and have fought so long,
and lost so much ?

Do you think that I am going back to Australia
well and sound to face the mothers of my scouts,
and when they come and ask me how their boys
died, I will have to say: “Well ! Here I am, well
and strong, still able to put up a fight, and your
son lies over there, his bones rotting on a foreign
soil, and all in vain. The blood of him who to
you was more precious than any prince or king
that ever lived has been poured out like water
and uselessly”?

Listen ! Here is something of what Australia
has paid. There has never been a day for three
years that hundreds of Australian wives have
not been made widows. There has not been a
single week that there has not been more than a
full page of casualties in our daily papers. Every
woman in Australia if she has not seen there the
name of her near kin has seen the name of some
one that she knows. I know a father and five
sons that have all been killed. Within fifty miles
of one town that I know there is not a man under
fifty years of age. There are ranches and farms

“OVER THERE”

336

that will go back to the primeval wilderness, the
fences will rot and fall down, and the rabbits and
kangaroos will overrun them again, because the
men who were developing them are gone and
there are none to take their places. Never was
there a country so starved for men, and sixty
thousand are gone forever or maimed for life.
Tell me, where are we going to replace these
men? No country in the world could so ill af¬
ford to lose its young men, the future fathers of
the race, for we have still our pioneering to do,
a continent larger than the United States, with
about the population of New York.

Outside our Australian cities there are some
large cemeteries, as we mostly have only one for
each city, but the largest of our cemeteries does
not lie on Australian soil. There are more Aus¬
tralian dead buried in Egypt than in any ceme¬
tery in our own country. On Gallipoli, in enemy
hands, are the graves of thousands of our sacred
dead. There are more of our unburied dead
whitening in No Man’s Land in France than have
ever been laid to rest by reverent hands in a
God’s acre at home. Think of all that we have
paid in blood and tears and heartache. But,
perhaps, more than this has been paid in pain and
sweat. Many have been in those trenches more
than three years. Consider their sufferings !
The unnatural life, like rats in a hole, the nerve-
strain, the insufficient food, the scanty clothing.

“KEEPING FAITH”

337

What we have paid, Canada has paid, South
Africa has paid, but Britain and France, how much
more ! And Belgium, and Serbia, and Poland,
and Rumania, and Italy. What a price to pay
for an insecure peace, an enemy still with power to
harm.

We might erect to our fallen dead the most
magnificent monument that this world has ever
seen, we might built it in marble, and stud it
with gems, and have the greatest poets and
artists decorate it, but it would be a mockery
and a sham.

The only monument that we dare erect to our
fallen dead, the only monument that would not
be a dishonor to them and a shame and eter¬
nal disgrace to us is THE MONUMENT OF
VICTORY.

And the army will never quit until we have sure
victory, for we dare not break faith with our
dead.

These lines of a Canadian soldier, Colonel
McCrae, who has made the last sacrifice are an
epitome of the army’s spirit:

“In Flanders’ fields the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place,

While in the sky the larks,

Still bravely singing,

Fly unheard amid the guns.

We are the Dead —

Short days ago we lived, felt dawn, saw sunsets’ glow,

338

“OVER THERE”

Loved and were loved — and now we lie
In Flanders’ fields -

Take up our quarrel with the foe.

To you from failing hands we throw
The torch — be yours to bear it high —

If ye break faith with us who die,

We shall not sleep though poppies grow
In Flanders’ fields.”

BUT A SHORT TIME TO LIVE

By Leslie Coulson, killed in action

Our little hour — how swift it flies
When poppies flare and lilies smile;

How soon the fleeting minute dies,

Leaving us but a little while
To dream our dream, to sing our song
To pick the fruit, to pluck the flower,

The Gods — they do not give us long —

One little hour.

Our little hour — how short it is

When Love with dew-eyed loveliness
Raises her lips for ours to kiss
And dies within our first caress.

Youth flickers out like windblown flame,
Sweets of to-day to-morrow sour,

For Time and Death, relentless, claim
One little hour.

Our little hour, — how short a time
To wage our wars, to fan our fates,

To take our fill of armored crime,

To troop our banner, storm the gates.
Blood on the sword, our eyes blood-red,

Blind in our puny reign of power,

Do we forget how soon is sped
One little hour?

Our little hour — how soon it dies;

How short a time to tell our beads,

To chant our feeble Litanies,

To think sweet thoughts, to do good deeds,
The altar lights grow pale and dim,

The bells hang silent in the tower,

So passes with the dying hymn,

Our little hour.

339