P|P:,^:i.p, I 
 
 W»iH«li>-' ' IMOIJS AN D 
 
 % 
 
 ;\ \/' 

 
 /V/v 
 
 
 ^7^ iP'-^iTL^ 
 
 
 ^/->/i^.
 
 larrvin 
 
 ying 
 
 On- 
 
 After 
 The First Hundred Thousand
 
 3Y THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 Crown 8vo, 6 ■■. 
 
 THE FIRST 
 HUNDRED THOUSAND. 
 
 Beingr the 
 Unofficial Chronicle of a Unit of "K(i)." 
 
 Cro'wn 8vo, 6s. 
 
 HAPPY=GO=LUCKY. 
 
 Popular Edition. Cloth, Is. 3d. net. 
 
 Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 A MAN'S MAN. 
 
 Popular Edition. Cloth, Is. 3d. net. 
 
 Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 THE RIGHT STUFF. 
 
 Popular Edition. Cloth. Is. 3d. net. 
 
 Cro'wn 8vo, 6s, 
 
 PIP. 
 
 Popular Edition. Cloth, Is. 3d. net. 
 
 Cro^vn 8vo. 6s. 
 
 A SAFETY MATCH. 
 
 Popular Edition. Cloth. Is. 3d. net. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD 6 SONS. 
 Edinburgh and London.
 
 Carrying On — 
 
 After 
 
 The First Hundred Thousand 
 
 BY 
 
 IAN HAY 
 
 William Blackwood and Sons 
 
 Edinburgh and London 
 1917 
 
 ALL RtGtiJS RESERVED
 
 TO 
 
 Q4LL SECOND LIEUTENANTS, 
 
 A ND IN PAR TIC UL A R 
 
 STo tlje iWctnorg of 
 ONE SECOND LIEUTENANT.
 
 AUTHOE'S NOTE. 
 
 The First Hundred Thousand closed with 
 the Battle of Loos. The present narrative 
 follows certain friends of ours from the 
 scene of that costly but valuable experience, 
 through a winter campaign in the neighbour- 
 hood of Ypres and Ploegsteert, to profitable 
 participation in the Battle of the Somme. 
 
 Much has happened since then. The 
 initiative has passed once and for all into 
 ©ur hands ; so has the command of the air. 
 Russia has been reborn, and like most healthy 
 infants, is passing through an uproarious 
 period of teething trouble ; but America 
 has stepped in, and promises to do more 
 than redress the balance. All along the 
 Western Front we have begun to move 
 forward, without haste or flurry, bat in
 
 viii AUTHOR'S NOTE 
 
 such wise that during the past twelve 
 months no position, once fairly captured 
 and consolidated, has ever been regained 
 by the enemy. To-day you can stand upon 
 certain recently-won eminences — Wytschaete 
 Ridge, Messines Kidge, Vimy Ridge, and 
 Monchy — looking down into the enemy's 
 lines, and looking forward to the territory 
 which yet remains to be restored to France. 
 
 You can also look back — not" merely from 
 these ridges, but from certain moral ridges 
 as well — over the ground which has been 
 successfully traversed, and you can marvel 
 for the hundredth time, not that the thing 
 was well or badly done, but that it was 
 ever done at all. 
 
 But while this narrative was being written 
 none of these things had happened. We 
 were still struggling uphill, with inadequate 
 resources. So, since the incidents of the 
 story were set down, in the main, as they 
 occurred and when they occurred, the reader 
 will find very little perspective, a great deal 
 of the mood of the moment, and none at 
 all of that profound wisdom which comes 
 after the event. For the latter he must 
 look home — to the lower walks of journal-
 
 AUTHOR'S NOTE ix 
 
 ism and the back benches of the House of 
 Commons. 
 
 It is not proposed to carry this story 
 to a third volume. The First Hundred 
 Thousand, as such, are no more. Like the 
 'Old Gontemptibles,' they are now merged 
 in a greater and more victorious army — in 
 an armed nation, in fact. And, as Sergeant 
 Mucklewame once observed to me, " There's 
 no' that mony of us left now, onyways." 
 So with all reverence — remembering how, 
 when they were needed most, these men 
 did not pause to reason why or count 
 the cost, but came at once — we bid them 
 good-bye.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTKE 
 
 ONE. WINTER QUARTERS 
 
 TWO. " SHELL OUT ! " . 
 
 THREE. WINTER SPORTS : VARIOUS 
 
 FOUR. THE PUSH THAT FAILED 
 
 FIVE. UNBENDING THE BOW 
 
 SIX "ye mebrie buzzers" 
 
 SEVEN. PASTURES NEW 
 BIGHT. THE NON-COMBATANT 
 NINE. TUNING UP . 
 TEN. FULL CHORUS 
 ELEVEN. THE LAST SOLO 
 TWELVE. RECESSIONAL 
 THIRTEEN. "TW» OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN THE WARS 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 24 
 
 47 
 
 84 
 
 95 
 
 129 
 
 162 
 
 185 
 
 228 
 
 251 
 
 265 
 
 284 
 
 297
 
 Carrying On — 
 
 After The First Hundred Thousand. 
 
 CHAPTER ONE. 
 
 WINTER QUARTERS. 
 
 It is the late autumn of 1915, and we 
 are getting into our stride again. Two 
 months ago we trudged into Bethune, gaunt, 
 dirty, soaked to the skin, and reduced to a 
 comparative handful. None of us had had 
 his clothes off for a week. Our ankle- 
 puttees had long dropped to pieces, and our 
 hose-tops, having worked under the soles of 
 our boots, had been cut away and discarded. 
 The result was a bare and mud-splashed ex- 
 panse of leg from boot to kilt, except in the 
 case of the enterprising few who had devised
 
 2 CARRYING ON 
 
 artistic spat-puttees out of an old sandbag. 
 Our headgear consisted in a few cases of the 
 regulation Balmoral bonnet, usually minus 
 " toorie " and badge ; in a few more, of the 
 battered remains of a gas helmet ; and in 
 the great majority, of a woollen cap - com- 
 forter. We were bearded like that incom- 
 parable fighter, the poilu, and we were separ- 
 ated by an abyss of years, so our stomachs 
 told us, from our last square meal. 
 
 But we ware wonderfully placid about it 
 all. Our regimental pipers, who had come 
 out to play us in, were making what the 
 Psalmist calls " a joyful noise " in front; and 
 behind us lay the recollection of a battle, 
 still raging, in which we had struck the 
 first blow, and borne our full share for three 
 days and nights. Moreover, our particular 
 blow had bitten deeper into the enemy's line 
 than any other blow in the neighbourhood. 
 And, most blessed thought of all, everything 
 was over, and we were going back to rest. 
 For the moment, the memory of the sights we 
 had seen, and the tax we had levied upon our 
 bodies and souls, together with the picture of 
 the countless sturdy lads whom we had left 
 lying beneath the sinister shade of Fosse
 
 WINTER QUARTERS 3 
 
 Eight, were beneficently obscured by the pros- 
 pect of food, sleep, and comparative cleanliness. 
 
 After restoring ourselves to our personal 
 comforts, we should doubtless go somewhere 
 to refit. Drafts were already waiting at the 
 Base to fill up the great gaps in our ranks. 
 Our companies having been brought up to 
 strength, a spate of promotions would follow. 
 We had no Colonel, and only one Company 
 Commander. Subalterns — what was left of 
 them — would come by their own. N.C.O.'s, 
 again, would have to be created by the dozen. 
 While all this was going on, and the old names 
 were being weeded out of the muster-roll to 
 make way for the new, the Quartermaster 
 would be drawing fresh equipment — packs, 
 mess -tins, water-bottles, and the hundred 
 oddments which always go astray in times of 
 stress. There would be a good deal of dia- 
 Wue of this sort — 
 
 " Private M'Sumph, I see you are down for 
 a new pack. Where is your old one ? " 
 
 " Blawn off ma back, sirr ! " 
 
 " Where are your puttees ? " 
 
 " Blawn off ma feet, sirr ! " 
 
 " Where is your iron ration ? " 
 
 *' Blawn oot o' ma pooch, sirr !"
 
 4 CARRYING ON 
 
 " Where is your head ? " 
 
 " Blawn I beg your pardon, sirr ! " — 
 
 followed by generous reissues all round. 
 
 After a month or so our beloved regiment, 
 once more at full strength, with traditions 
 and morale annealed by the fires of experi- 
 ence, would take its rightful place in the 
 forefront of "K(l)." 
 
 Such was the immediate future, as it pre- 
 sented itself to the wearied but optimistic 
 brain of Lieutenant Bobby Little. He com- 
 municated his theories to Captain Wagstaffe. 
 
 "I wonder!" replied that experienced 
 officer. 
 
 II. 
 
 The chief penalty of doing a job of work 
 well is that you are promptly put on to an- 
 other. This is supposed to be a compliment. 
 
 The authorities allowed us exactly two days' 
 rest, and then packed us off by train, with 
 the new draft, to a particularly hot sector of 
 the trench line in Belgium — there to carry on 
 with the operation known in nautical circles 
 as " executing repairs while under steam." 
 
 Well, we have been in Belgium for two
 
 WINTER QUARTERS 5 
 
 months now, and, as already stated, are get- 
 ting into our stride again. 
 
 There are new faces everywhere, and some 
 of the old faces are not quite the same. They 
 are finer-drawn ; one is conscious of less chub- 
 biness all round. War is a great maturing 
 agent. There is, moreover, an air of seasoned 
 authority abroad. Many who were second- 
 lieutenants or lance-corporals three months 
 ago are now commanding companies and pla- 
 toons. Bobby Little is in command of " A " 
 Company : if he can cling to this precarious 
 eminence for thirty days — that is, if no one is 
 sent out to supersede him — he becomes an 
 "automatic" captain, aged twenty! Major 
 Kemp commands the battalion ; Wagstaffe is 
 his senior major. Ayling has departed from 
 our midst, and rumour says that he is lead- 
 ing a sort of Pooh Bah existence at Brigade 
 Headquarters. 
 
 There are sad gaps among our old friends 
 of the rank and file. Ogg and Hogg, M'Slat- 
 tery and M'Ostrich, have gone to the happy 
 hunting - grounds. Private Dunshle, the 
 General Specialist (who, you may remember, 
 found his true vocation, after many days, as 
 battalion chiropodist), is reported " missing." 
 
 B
 
 6 CARRYING ON 
 
 But his comrades are positive that no harm 
 has befallen him. Long experience has con- 
 vinced them that in the art of landing on 
 his feet their departed friend has no equal. 
 
 " I doot he'll be a prisoner," suggests the 
 faithful Mucklewame to the Transport Ser- 
 geant. 
 
 "Aye," assents the Transport Sergeant 
 bitterly ; " he'll be a prisoner. No doot he'll 
 try to pass himself off as an officer, for to 
 get better quarters ! " 
 
 (The Transport Sergeant, in whose memory 
 certain enormities of Dunshie had rankled 
 ever since that versatile individual had aban- 
 doned the veterinary profession (owning to the 
 most excusable intervention of a pack-mule's 
 off hind-leg), was not far out in his surmise, 
 as subsequent history may some day reveal. 
 But the telling of that story is still a long 
 way off.) 
 
 Company Sergeant - Major Pumpherston 
 is now Sergeant - Major of the Battalion. 
 Mucklewame is a corporal in his old com- 
 pany. Private Tosh was " offered a stripe " 
 too, but declined, because the invitation did 
 not include Private Cosh, who, owing to a re-
 
 WINTER QUARTERS 7 
 
 grettable lapse not unconnected with the rum 
 ration, had been omitted from the Honours' 
 List. Consequently these two grim veterans 
 remain undecorated, but they are objects of 
 great veneration among the recently joined for 
 all that. 
 
 So you see us once more in harness, falling 
 into the collar with energy, if not fervour. 
 We no longer regard War with the least 
 enthusiasm : we have seen It, face to face. 
 Our sole purpose now is to screw our sturdy 
 followers up to the requisite pitch of efficiency, 
 and keep them remorsely at that standard 
 until the dawn of triumphant and abiding 
 peace. 
 
 We have one thing upon our side — youth. 
 
 " Most of our regular senior officers are 
 gone, sir," remarked Colonel Kemp one day 
 to the Brigadier — " dead, or wounded, or pro- 
 moted to other commands ; and I have some- 
 thing like twenty new subalterns. When 
 you subtract a centenarian like myself, the 
 average age of our Battalion Mess, including 
 Company Commanders, works out at some- 
 thing under twenty-three. But I am not 
 exchanging any of them, thanks ! "
 
 8 CARRYING ON 
 
 III. 
 
 Trench-life in Belgium is an entirely dif- 
 ferent proposition from trench-life in France. 
 The undulating country in which we now find 
 ourselves offers an infinite choice of unpleasant 
 surroundings. 
 
 Down south, Vermelles way, the trenches 
 stretch in a comparatively straight line for 
 miles, facing one another squarely, and giving 
 little opportunity for tactical enterprise. The 
 infantry blaze and sputter at one another in 
 front ; the guns roar behind ; and that is all 
 there is to be said about it. But here, the 
 line follows the curve of each little hill At 
 one place you are in a salient, in a trench 
 which runs round the face of a bulging 
 "knowe" — a tempting target for shells of 
 every kind. A few hundred yards farther 
 north, or south, the ground is much lower, 
 and the trench line runs back into a re-entrant, 
 seeking for a position which shall not be com- 
 manded from higher ground in front. 
 
 The line is pierced at intervals by railway 
 cuttings, which have to be barricaded, and 
 canals, which require special defences. Almost
 
 WINTER QUARTERS 9 
 
 every spot in either line is overlooked by some 
 adjacent ridge, or enfiladed from some adjacent 
 trench. It is disconcerting for a methodical 
 young officer, after cautiously scrutinising the 
 trench upon his front through a periscope, to 
 find that the entire performance has been 
 visible (and his entire person exposed) to the 
 view of a Boche trench situated on a hill-slope 
 upon his immediate left. 
 
 And our trench line, with its infinity of 
 salients and re-entrants, is itself only part of 
 the great salient of " Wipers." You may 
 imagine with what methodical solemnity the 
 Boche ''crumps" the interior of that con- 
 stricted area. Looking round at night, when 
 the star-shells float up over the skyline, one 
 could almost imagine one's self inside a com- 
 plete circle, instead of a horse-shoe. 
 
 The machine - gunners of both sides are 
 extremely busy. In the plains of France the 
 pursuit of their nefarious trade was practically 
 limited to front-line work. When they did 
 venture to indulge in what they called " over- 
 head " fire, their friends in the forefront used 
 to summon them after the performance, and 
 reproachfully point out sundry ominous rents 
 and abrasions in the back of the front-line
 
 10 CARRYING ON 
 
 parapet. But here they can withdraw behind 
 a convenient ridge, and strafe Boches a mile 
 and a half away, without causing any com- 
 plaints. Needless to say, Brother Boche is 
 not backward in returning the compliment. 
 He has one gun in particular which never 
 tires in its efforts to rouse us from ennui. It 
 must be a long way off, for we can only just 
 hear the report. Moreover, its contribution 
 to our liveliness, when it does arrive, falls at 
 an extremely steep angle — so steep, indeed, 
 that it only just clears the back of the 
 embankment under which we live, and falls 
 upon the very doorsteps of the dug-outs with 
 which that S'anctuary is honeycombed. 
 
 This invigorating shower is turned on 
 regularly for ten minutes, at three, six, nine, 
 and twelve o'clock daily. (Methodical regu- 
 larity is the most lovable feature of the 
 German character.) Its area of activity 
 includes our tiny but, alas ! steadily growing 
 cemetery. One evening a regiment which had 
 recently "taken over" selected six p.m. as a 
 suitable hour for a funeral. The result was 
 a grimly humorous spectacle — the mourners, 
 including the Commanding Officer and officiat- 
 ing clergy, taking hasty cover in a truly novel
 
 WINTER QUARTERS 11 
 
 trench ; while the central fisrure of the ob- 
 sequies, sublimely indifferent to the Hun and 
 all his Rightfulness, lay on the grass outside, 
 calm and impassive amid the whispering hail 
 of bullets. 
 
 As for the trenches themselves — well, in 
 the first place, there is no settled trench line 
 at all. The Salient has been a battlefield 
 for twelve months past. No one has ever had 
 the time, or opportunity, to construct anything 
 in the shape of permanent defences. A shallow 
 trench, trimmed with an untidy parapet of 
 sandbags, and there is your stronghold ! For 
 rest and meditation, a hole in the ground, 
 half-full of water and roofed with a sheet of 
 galvanised iron ; or possibly a glorified rabbit- 
 burrow in a canal-bank. These things, as a 
 modern poet has observed, are all right in the 
 summer-time. But winter here is a disinte- 
 grating season. It rains heavily for, say, 
 three days. Two days of sharp frost succeed, 
 and the rain-soaked earth is reduced to the 
 necessary degree of friability. Another day's 
 rain, and trenches and dug-outs come sliding 
 down like melted butter. Even if you revet 
 the trenches, it is not easy to drain them. 
 The only difference is that if your line is
 
 12 CARRYING ON 
 
 situated on the forward slope of a hill the 
 support trench drains into the firing trench ; 
 if they are on the reverse slope, the firing 
 trench drains into the support trench. Our 
 indefatigable friends Box and Cox, of the 
 Royal Engineers, assisted by sturdy Pioneer 
 Battalions, labour like heroes ; but the ut- 
 most they can achieve, in a low-lying country 
 like this, is to divert as much water as 
 possible into some other Brigade's area. 
 Which they do, right cunningly. 
 
 In addition to the Boche, we wage con- 
 tinuous warfare with the elements, and the 
 various departments of Olympus render us 
 characteristic assistance. The Round Game 
 Department has issued a set of rules for the 
 correct method of massaging and greasing the 
 feet. (Major Wagstafle refers to this as Sole- 
 slapping ; or What to do in the Children's 
 Hour : complete in Tivelve Fortnightly Parts.) 
 The Fairy Godmother Department presents 
 us with what the Quartermaster describes as 
 " Boots, gum, thigh " ; and there has also 
 been an issue of so-called fur jackets, in which 
 the Practical Joke Department has plainly 
 taken a hand. Most of these garments appear 
 to have been contributed by animals unknown
 
 WINTER QUARTERS 13 
 
 to zoology, or more probably by a syndicate 
 thereof. Corporal Mucklewame's costume 
 gives him the appearance of a St Bernard dog 
 with Astrakhan fore-legs. Sergeant Carfrae 
 is attired in what looks like the skin of Nana, 
 the dog-nurse in Peter Pan. Private Nigg, 
 an undersized youth of bashful disposition, 
 creeps forlornly about his duties disguised as 
 an imitation leopard. As he passes by, 
 facetious persons pull what is left of his tail. 
 Private Tosh, on being confronted with his 
 winter trousseau, observed bitterly — 
 
 " I jined the Airmy for tae be a sojer ; but 
 I doot they must pit me doon as a mountain 
 goat ! " 
 
 Still, though our variegated pelts cause us 
 to resemble an unsuccessful compromise be- 
 tween Esau and an Eskimo, they keep our 
 bodies warm. We wish we could say the 
 same for our feet. On good days we stand 
 ankle-deep ; on bad, we are occasionally over 
 the knees. Thrice blessed then are our 
 Boots, Gum, Thigh, though even these 
 cannot altogether ward off frost - bite and 
 chilblains. 
 
 Over the way, Brother Boche is having a 
 bad time of it : his trenches are in a worse
 
 14 CARRYING ON 
 
 state than ours. Last night a plaintive voice 
 cried out — 
 
 " Are you dere, Jock ? Haf you whiskey ? 
 We haf plenty water ! " 
 
 Not bad for a Boche, the platoon decided. 
 
 There is no doubt that whatever the Ger- 
 man Great General Staff may think about the 
 war and the future, the German Infantry 
 soldier is " fed-up." His satiety takes the 
 form of a craving for social intercourse with 
 the foe. In the small hours, when the vigi- 
 lance of the German N.C.O.'s is relaxed, and 
 the officers are probably in their dug-outs, he 
 makes rather pathetic overtures. We are 
 frequently invited to come out and shake 
 hands. " Dis war will be ober the nineteen of 
 nex' month ! " (Evidently the Kaiser has 
 had another revelation.) The other morning 
 a German soldier, with a wisp of something 
 white in his hand, actually clambered out of 
 the firins: trench and advanced towards our 
 lines. The distance was barely seventy 
 yards. No shot was fired, but you may be 
 sure that safety-catches were hastily released. 
 Suddenly, in the tense silence, the am- 
 bassador's nerve failed him. He bolted back, 
 followed by a few desultory bullets. The
 
 WINTER QUARTERS 15 
 
 reason for his sudden panic was never rightly 
 ascertained, but the weight of public opinion 
 inclined to the view that Mucklewame, who 
 had momentarily exposed himself above the 
 parapet, was responsible. 
 
 " I doot he thocht ye were a lion escapit 
 from the Scottish Zoo ! " explained a brother 
 corporal, referring to his indignant colleague's 
 new winter coat. 
 
 Here is another incident, with a different 
 ending. At one point our line approaches to 
 within fifteen yards of the Boche trenches. 
 One wet and dismal dawn, as the battalion 
 stood to arms in the neighbourhood of this 
 delectable spot, there came a sudden shout 
 from the enemy, and an outburst of rapid 
 rifle fire. Almost simultaneously two breath- 
 less and unkempt figures tumbled over our 
 parapet into the firing trench. The fusilade 
 died away. 
 
 To the extreme discomfort and shame of 
 a respectable citizen of Bannockburn, one 
 Private Buncle, the more hairy of the two 
 visitors, upon recovering his feet, promptly 
 fluna; his arms around his neck and kissed him 
 on both cheeks. The outrage was repeated, 
 by his companion, upon Private Nigg. At
 
 16 CARRYING ON 
 
 the same time both visitors broke into a 
 joyous chant of " Russky ! Russky ! " They 
 were escaped Russian prisoners. 
 
 When taken to Headquarters they ex- 
 plained that they had been brought up to 
 perform fatigue work near the German 
 trenches, and had seized upon a quiet moment 
 to slip into some convenient undergrowth. 
 Later, under cover of night, they had made 
 their way in the direction of the firing line, 
 arriving just in time to make a dash before 
 daylight discovered them. You may imagine 
 their triumphal departure from our trenches 
 — loaded with cigarettes, chocolate, biscuits, 
 buttons, bully beef, and other imperishable 
 souvenirs. 
 
 We have had other visitors. One bright 
 day a Boche aeroplane made a reconnaissance 
 of our lines. It was a beautiful thing, white 
 and birdlike. But as its occupants were pro- 
 bably taking photographs of our most secret 
 fastnesses, artistic appreciation was dimmed 
 by righteous wrath — wrath which turned to 
 profound gratification when a philistine 
 British plane appeared in the blue and 
 engaged the glittering stranger in battle. 
 There was some pretty aerial manoeuvring,
 
 WINTER QUARTERS 17 
 
 right over our heads, as the combatants 
 swooped and circled for position. We could 
 hear their machine-gun pattering away ; and 
 the volume of sound was increased by the 
 distant contributions of " Coughing Clara " — 
 our latest anti-aircraft gun, which appears to 
 suffer from chronic irritation of the mucous 
 membrane. 
 
 Suddenly the German aeroplane gave a 
 lurch ; then righted herself; then began to 
 circle down, making desperate efforts to cross 
 the neutral line. But the British airman 
 headed her off. Next moment she lurched 
 again, and then took a "nose-dive" straight 
 into the British trenches. She fell on open 
 ground, a few hundred yards behind our 
 second line. The place had been a wilderness 
 a moment before ; but the crowd which 
 instantaneously sprang up round the wreck 
 could not have been less than two hundred 
 strong. (One observes the same uncanny 
 phenomenon in London, when a cab-horse falls 
 down in a deserted street.) However, it 
 melted away at the rebuke of the first officer 
 who hurried to the spot, the process of dis- 
 solution being accelerated by several bursts of 
 German shrapnel.
 
 18 CARRYING ON 
 
 Both pilot and observer were dead. They 
 had made a gallant tight, and were buried the 
 same evening, with all honour, in the little 
 cemetery, alongside many who had once been 
 their foes, but were now peacefully neutral. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The housing question in Belgium confronts 
 us with several novel problems. It is not so 
 easy to billet troops here, especially in the 
 Salient, as in France. Some of us live in huts, 
 others in tents, others in dug-outs. Others, 
 more fortunate, are loaded on to a fleet of 
 motor-buses and whisked off to more civilised 
 dwellings many miles away. These buses once 
 plied for hire upon the streets of London. 
 Each bus is in charge of the identical pair 
 of cross - talk comedians who controlled its 
 destinies in more peaceful days. Strangely 
 attired in khaki and sheepskin, they salute 
 officers with cheerful honhomie, and bellow to 
 one another throughout the journey the simple 
 and primitive jests of their previous incarna- 
 tion, to the huge delight of their fares. 
 
 The destination-boards and advertisements
 
 WINTER QUARTERS 19 
 
 are no more, for the buses are painted a neutral 
 green all over; but the condi-ctor is always 
 ready and willing to tell you what his previous 
 route was. 
 
 " That Daimler behind you, sir," he informs 
 you, " is one of the N'lmber Nineteens. Set 
 you down at the top of Sloane Street many 
 a time, I'll be bound. Ernie" — this to the 
 driver, along the side of the bus — " you 
 oughter have slowed down when that copper 
 waved his little flag : he wasn't pleased with 
 yer, ole son ! " (The " copper " is a military 
 mounted policeman, controlling the traffic of 
 a little town which lies on our way to the 
 trenches.) "This one we are on is a Number 
 Eight, sir. No, that dent in the staircase 
 wasn't done by no shell. The ole girl got 
 that through a skid up against a lamp-post, 
 one wet Saturday night in the Vauxhall 
 Bridge Eoad. Dangerous place, London ! " 
 
 We rattle through a brave little town, which 
 is " carrying on " in the face of paralysed trade 
 and periodical shelling. Soldiers abound. All 
 are muddy, but some are muddier than others. 
 The latter are going up to the trenches, the 
 former are coming back. Upon the walls, here 
 and there, we notice a gay poster advertising
 
 20 CARRYING ON 
 
 au entertainment organised by certain Divi- 
 sional troops, which is to be given nightly 
 throughout the week. At the foot of the 
 bill is printed in large capitals, A HOOGE 
 SUCCESS! We should like to send a 
 copy of that plucky document to Brother 
 Boche. He would not understand it, but It 
 would annoy him greatly. 
 
 Now we leave the town behind, and quicken 
 up along the open road — an interminable 
 ribbon of pave, absolutely straight, and bor- 
 dered upon either side by what was once 
 macadam, but Is now a quagmire a foot deep. 
 Occasionally there is a warning cry of " Wire ! " 
 and the outside fares hurriedly bow from the 
 waist. In order to avoid having their throats 
 cut by a telephone wire — " Gunners, for a 
 dollar ! " surmises a strangled voice — tightly 
 stretched across the road between two poplars. 
 Occasionally, too, that indefatigable humour- 
 ist, Ernie, directs his course beneath some low- 
 spreading branches, through which the upper 
 part of the bus crashes remorselessly, while 
 the passengers, lying sardinewise upon the 
 roof, uplift their voices in profane and blood- 
 thirsty chorus. 
 
 *' Nothing like a bit o' fun on the way to
 
 WINTER QUARTERS 21 
 
 the trenches, boys! It may be the last you'll 
 get ! " is the only apology which Ernie offers. 
 
 Presently our vehicle bumps across a nubbly 
 bridge, and enters what was once a fair city. It 
 is a walled city, like Chester, and is separated 
 from the surrounding country by a moat as 
 wide as the upper Thames. In days gone by 
 those ramparts and that moat could have held 
 an army at bay — and probably did, more than 
 once. They have done so yet again ; but at 
 what a cost ! 
 
 We glide through the ancient gateway and 
 along the ghostly streets, and survey the crown- 
 ing achievement of the cultured Boche. The 
 great buildings — the Cathedral, the Cloth 
 Hall — are jagged ruins. The fronts of the 
 houses have long disappeared, leaving the 
 interiors exposed to view, like a doll's house. 
 Here is a street full of shops. That heap of 
 splintered wardrobes and legless tables was 
 once a furniture warehouse. That snug little 
 corner house, with the tottering zinc counter 
 and the twisted beer engine, is an obvious 
 estaminet. You may observe the sign, Aux 
 Deux Amis, in dingy lettering over the door- 
 
 C
 
 22 CARRYING ON 
 
 way. Here Is an oil-and-colour shop : you can 
 still see the red ochre and white-lead splashed 
 about among the ruins. 
 
 In almost every house the ceilings of the 
 upper floors have fallen in. Chairs, tables, 
 and bedsteads hang precariously into the room 
 below. Here and there a picture still adheres 
 to the wall. From one of the bedposts flutters 
 a tattered and diminutive garment of blue and 
 white check — some little girl's frock. Where 
 is that little girl now, we wonder ; and has she 
 got another frock ? 
 
 One is struck above all things with the 
 minute detail of the damage. You would say 
 that a party of lunatics had been let loose 
 on the city with coal - hammers : there is 
 hardly a square yard of any surface which 
 is not pierced, or splintered, or dented. The 
 whole fabric of the place lies prostrate, under 
 a shroud of broken bricks and broken plaster. 
 The Hun has said in his majesty : " If you 
 will not yield me this, the last city in the 
 last corner of Belgium, I can at least see to 
 it that not one stone thereof remains upon 
 another. So — yah ! " 
 
 Such is the appearance presented by the 
 venerable and historic city of Ypres, after
 
 WINTER QUARTERS 23 
 
 fifteen months of personal contact with the 
 apostles of the new civilisation. Only the 
 methodical and painstaking Boche could 
 have reduced a town of such a size to such 
 a state. Imao^ine Chester in a similar con- 
 dition, and you may realise the number of 
 phells which have fallen, and are still falling, 
 mto the stricken city. 
 
 But — the main point to observe is this. 
 We are inside, and the Boche is outside ! 
 Fenced by a mighty crescent of prosaic 
 trenches, themselves manned by paladins of 
 an almost incredible stolidity, Ypres still 
 points her broken fingers to the sky — shat- 
 tered, silent, but inviolate still ; and all owing 
 to the obstinacy of a dull and unready nation 
 which merely keeps faith and stands by its 
 friends. Such an attitude of mind is incom- 
 prehensible to the Boche, and we are well 
 content that it should be so.
 
 24 
 
 CHAPTER TWO. 
 
 " SHELL OUT ! " 
 
 This, according to our latest subaltern from 
 home, is the title of a revue which is running 
 in Town ; but that is a mere coincidence. The 
 entertainment to which I am now referring 
 took place in Flanders, and the leading parts 
 were assigned to distinguished members of 
 "K(l)." 
 
 The scene was the Chateau de Grandbois, 
 or some other kind of Bois ; possibly Vert. 
 Not that we called it that : we invariably 
 referred to it afterwards as Hush Hall, for 
 reasons which will be set forth in due course. 
 
 One morning, while sojourning in what 
 Olympus humorously calls a rest camp — a 
 collection of antiquated wigwams half sub- 
 merged in a mud-flat intermittently shelled 
 — we received the intelligence that we were 
 
 I
 
 "SHELL OUT!" 26 
 
 to extricate ourselves forthwith, and take 
 over a fresh sector of trenches. The news 
 was doubly unwelcome, because, in the first 
 place, it is always unpleasant to face the 
 prospect of trenches of any kind ; and 
 secondly, to take over strange trenches in 
 the dead of a winter night is an experi- 
 ence w^hich borders upon nightmare — the 
 hot lobster and toasted cheese variety. 
 
 The opening stages of this enterprise are 
 almost ambassadorial in their formality. First 
 of all, the Brigade Staff which is coming in 
 visits the Headquarters of the Brigade which 
 is going out — usually a chateau or farm some- 
 where in rear of the trenches — and makes the 
 preliminary arrangements. After that the 
 Commanding Officers and Company Com- 
 manders of the incoming battalions visit their 
 own particular section of the line. They are 
 shown over the premises by the outgoing 
 tenants, who make little or no attempt to 
 conceal their satisfaction at the expiration of 
 their lease. The Colonels and the Captains 
 then return to camp, with depressing tales of 
 crumbling parapets, noisome dug-outs, and 
 positions open to enfilade. 
 
 On the day of the relief various advance
 
 26 CARRYING ON 
 
 parties go up, keeping under the lee of hedges 
 and embankments, and marching in single 
 file. (At least, that is what they are sup- 
 posed to do. If not ruthlessly shepherded, 
 they will advance in fours along the skyline.) 
 Having arrived, they take over such positions 
 as can be relieved by daylight in comparative 
 safety. They also take over trench stores, 
 and exchange trench gossip. The latter is a 
 fearsome and uncanny thing. It usually 
 begins life at the " refilling point," where the 
 A.S.C. motor-lorries dump down next day's 
 rations, and the regimental transport picks 
 it up. 
 
 An A.S.C. sergeant mentions casually to a 
 regimental Quartermaster that he has heard 
 it said at the Supply Depot that heavy firing 
 has been going on in the Channel. The 
 Quartermaster, on returning to the Transport 
 Lines, observes to his Quartermaster-Sergeant 
 that the German Fleet has come out at last. 
 The Quartermaster-Sergeant, when he meets 
 the ration parties behind the lines that night, 
 announces to a platoon sergeant that we have 
 won a great naval victory. The platoon 
 sergeant, who is suffering from trench feet 
 and is a constant reader of a certain pessi-
 
 "SHELL OUT!" 27 
 
 mistic halfpenny journal, replies gloomily : 
 " We'll have had heavy losses oorselves, too, 
 I doot ! " This observation is overheard by 
 various members of the ration party. By 
 midnight several hundred yards of the firing 
 line know for a fact that there has been a 
 naval disaster of the first magnitude oflf the 
 coast of a place which every one calls Gaily 
 Polly, and that the whole of our Division are 
 to be transferred forthwith to the Near East 
 to stem the tide of calamity. 
 
 Still, we must have something to chat about. 
 
 Meanwhile Brigade Majors and Adjutants, 
 holding a stumpy pencil in one hand and a 
 burning brow in the other, are composing 
 Operation Orders which shall effect the relief, 
 without — 
 
 (1) Leaving some detail — the bombers, or 
 the snipers, or the sock-driers, or the pea-soup 
 experts — unrelieved altogether. 
 
 (2) Causing relievers and relieved to meet 
 violently together In some constricted fairway. 
 
 (3) Trespassing into some other Brigade 
 Area. (This is far more foolhardy than to 
 wander Into the German lines.) 
 
 (4) Getting shelled.
 
 28 CARRYING ON 
 
 Pitfall Number One is avoided by keep- 
 ing a permanent and handy list of " all the 
 people who do funny things on their own" 
 (as the vulgar throng call the *' specialists "), 
 and checking it carefully before issuing 
 Orders. 
 
 Number Two is dealt with by issuing a 
 strict time-table, which might possibly be 
 adhered to by a well-drilled flock of arch- 
 angels, in broad daylight, upon good roads, 
 and under peace conditions. 
 
 Number Three is provided for by copious 
 and complicated map references. 
 
 Number Four is left to Providence — and is 
 usually the best - conducted feature of the 
 excursion. 
 
 Under cover of night the Battalion sets 
 out, in comparatively small parties. They 
 form a strange procession. The men wear 
 their trench costume — thigh-boots (which do 
 not go well with a kilt), variegated coats of 
 skins, and woollen nightcaps. Stuffed under 
 their belts and through their packs they carry 
 newspapers, broken staves for firewood, parcels 
 from home, and sandbags loaded with mys- 
 terious comforts. A dilapidated parrot and a 
 few goats are all that is required to complete
 
 "SHELL OUT!" 29 
 
 the picture of Eobinson Crusoe changing 
 camp. 
 
 Progress Is not easy. It is a pitch -black 
 night. By day, this road (and all the coun- 
 tryside) is a wilderness: nothing more Innocent 
 ever presented Itself to the eye of an Inquisitive 
 aeroplane. But after nightfall It is packed 
 with troops and transport, and not a light is 
 shown. If you can Imagine what the Mansion 
 House crossing would be like if called upon to 
 sustain its midday traffic at midnight — the 
 Mansion House crossing entirely unlllumi- 
 nated, paved with twelve Inches of liquid 
 mud, intersected by narrow strips of 'pave, 
 and liberally pitted with "crump-holes" — 
 you may derive some faint idea of the state 
 of things at a busy road-junction lying behind 
 the trenches. 
 
 Until reaching what is facetiously termed 
 "the shell area" — as if any spot in this 
 benighted district were not a shell area — 
 the troops plod along In fours at the right 
 of the road. If they can achieve two miles 
 an hour, the}'- do well. At any moment they 
 may be called upon to halt, and crowd into 
 the roadside, while a transport- train passes 
 carrying rations, and coke, and what is called
 
 30 CARRYING ON 
 
 "B.E. material" — this may be anything from 
 a bag of nails to steel girders nine feet long — 
 up to the firing line. When this procession, 
 consisting of a dozen limbered waggons, drawn 
 by four mules and headed by a profane person 
 on horseback — the Transport Officer — has 
 rumbled past, the Company, which has been 
 standing respectfully in the ditch enjoying a 
 refreshing shower-bath of mud, and hoping that 
 none of the steel girders are projecting from 
 the limber more than a yard or two, sets out 
 once more upon Its way — only to take hasty 
 cover again as sounds of fresh and more ani- 
 mated traffic are heard approaching from the 
 opposite direction. There Is no mistaking the 
 nature of this cavalcade : the long vista of 
 glowing cigarette-ends tells an unmistakable 
 tale. These are artillery waggons, returning 
 empty from replenishing the batteries; scatter- 
 ing homely jests like hail, and proceeding, 
 wherever possible, at a hand-gallop. He Is a 
 cheery and gallant soul the li.A. driver, but 
 his Interpretation of the rules of the road 
 requires drastic revision. 
 
 Sometimes an axle breaks, or a waggon 
 side-slips off the pave into the morass reserved 
 for infantry, and overturns. The result is a
 
 "SHELL OUT!" 31 
 
 block, which promptly extends forward and 
 back for a couple of miles. A peculiarly- 
 British chorus of inquiry and remonstrance — 
 a blend of biting sarcasm and blasphemous 
 humour — surges up and down the line ; until 
 plunging mules are unyoked, and the offend- 
 ing vehicle man-handled out of sight into the 
 inky blackness by the roadside ; or, in extreme 
 cases, is annihilated with axes. Everything 
 has to make way for a ration train. To crown 
 all, it is more than likely that the calmness 
 and smooth working of the proceedings will 
 be assisted by a burst of shrapnel overhead. 
 It is a most amazing scrimmage altogether. 
 One of those members of His Majesty's Oppo- 
 sition who are doing so much at present to 
 save our country from destruction, by kindly 
 pointing out the mistakes of the British 
 Government and the British Army, would 
 refer to the whole scene as a pandemonium 
 of mismanagement and ineptitude. And yet, 
 though the scene is enacted night after night 
 without a break, there is hardly a case on 
 record of the transport being surprised upon 
 these roads by the coming of daylight, and 
 none whatever of the rations and ammunition 
 failing to get through.
 
 32 CARRYING ON 
 
 It Is difficult to Imagine that Brother Boche, 
 who on the other side of that ring of star-shells 
 is conducting a precisely similar undertaking, 
 is able, with all his perfect organisation and 
 cast-iron methods, to achieve a result in any 
 way superior to that which Thomas Atkins 
 reaches by rule of thumb and sheer force of 
 character. 
 
 At length the draggled Company worms its 
 way through the press to the fringe of the 
 shell-area, beyond which no transport may 
 pass. The distance of this point from the 
 trenches varies considerably, and depends 
 largely upon the caprice of the Boche. On 
 this occasion, however, we still have a mile 
 or two to go — across country now, in single 
 file, at the heels of a guide from the battalion 
 which we are relieving. 
 
 Guides may be divided into two classes — 
 
 (1) Guides who do not know the way, and 
 say so at the outset. 
 
 (2) Guides who do not know the way, but 
 leave it you to discover the fact. 
 
 There are no other kinds of guides. 
 
 The pace is down to a mile an hour now,
 
 "SHELL OUT!" 33 
 
 except in the case of men in the tail of the 
 line, who are running rapidly. It is a curious 
 but quite inexplicable fact that if you set a 
 hundred men to march in single file in the 
 dark, though the leading man may be crawl- 
 ing like a tortoise, the last man is compelled 
 to proceed at a profane double if he is to avoid 
 beins: left behind and lost. 
 
 Still, everybody gets there somehow, and 
 in due course the various Company Com- 
 manders are enabled to telephone to their 
 respective Battalion Headquarters the infor- 
 mation that the Relief is completed. For 
 this relief, much thanks ! 
 
 After that the outgoing Battalion files 
 slowly out, and the newcomers are left 
 gloomily contemplating their new abiding- 
 place, and observing — 
 
 " I wonder if there is any Division in the 
 whole blessed Expeditionary Force, besides 
 ours, which ever does a single dam thing 
 to keep its trenches in repair ! " 
 
 II. 
 
 All of which brings us back to Hush 
 Hall, where the Headquarters of the out-
 
 34 CARRYING ON 
 
 going Brigade are handing over to their 
 successors. 
 
 Hush Hall, or the Chateau de Grandbois, 
 is a modern country house, and once stood up 
 white and gleaming in all its brave finery of 
 stucco, conservatories, and ornamental lake, 
 amid a pleasant wood not far from a main 
 road. It is such a house as you might find 
 round about Guildford or Hindhead. There 
 are many in this fair countryside, but few are 
 inhabited now, and none by their rightful 
 owners. ° They are all marked on the map, 
 and the Boche gunners are assiduous map- 
 readers. Hush Hall has got off comparatively 
 lightly. It is still habitable, and well fur- 
 nished. The roof is demolished upon the side 
 most exposed to the enemy, and many of the 
 trees in the surrounding wood are broken and 
 splintered by shrapnel. Still, provided the 
 weather remains passable, one can live there. 
 Upon the danger-side the windows are closed 
 and shuttered. Weeds grow apace in the 
 garden. No smoke emerges from the chim- 
 neys. (If it does, the Mess Corporal hears 
 about it from the Staff Captain.) A few 
 strands of barbed wire obstruct the passage 
 of those careless or adventurous persons who
 
 "SHELL OUT!" 35 
 
 may desire to explore the forbidden side of 
 the house. The front door is bolted and 
 barred : visitors, after approaching stealthily 
 along the lee of a hedge, like travellers of 
 dubious bond Jides on a Sunday afternoon, 
 enter unobtrusively by the back door, which 
 is situated on the blind side of the chateau. 
 Their path thereto is beset by imploring 
 notices like the following : — 
 
 THE SLIGHTEST MOVEMENT DRAWS SHELL 
 FIRE. KEEP CLOSE TO THE HEDGE. 
 
 A later hand has added the following 
 moving postscript : — 
 
 WE LIVE HERE. YOU DONT ! 
 
 It was the Staff Captain who was responsible 
 for the re-christening^ of the establishment. 
 
 "What sort of place is this new palace we 
 are going to doss in ? " inquired the Machine- 
 Gun Officer, when the Staff Captain returned 
 from his preliminary visit.
 
 36 CARRYING ON 
 
 The Staff Captain, who was a man of few 
 words, replied — 
 
 " It's the sort of shanty where every- 
 body goes about in felt slippers, saying 
 * Hush ! ' " 
 
 Brigade Headquarters — this means the 
 Brigadier, the Brigade Major, the Staff 
 Captain, the Machine-Gun Officer, the Signal 
 Officer, mayhap a Padre and a Liaison 
 Officer, accompanied by a mixed multitude 
 of clerks, telegraphists, and scullions — 
 arrived safely at their new quarters under 
 cover of night, and were hospitably received 
 by the outgoing tenants, who had finished 
 their evening meal and were girded up for 
 departure. In fact, the Machine-Gun Officer, 
 Liaison Officer, and Padre had already gone, 
 leaving their seniors to hold the fort till the 
 last. The Signal Officer was down in the 
 cellar, handing over ohms, amperes, short- 
 circuits, and other mysterious trench stores 
 to his " opposite number." 
 
 Upon these occasions there is usually a 
 good deal of time to fill in between the 
 arrival of the new brooms and the departure 
 of the old. This period of waiting may be
 
 'SHELL OUT!" 37 
 
 likened to that somewhat anxious interval 
 with which frequenters of racecourses are 
 familiar, between the finish of the race and 
 the announcement of the " All Kight I " The 
 outgoing Headquarters are waiting for the 
 magic words — " Relief Complete ! " Until 
 that message comes over the buzzer, the 
 period of tension endures. The main point 
 of difference is that the gentleman who has 
 staked his fortune on the legs of a horse 
 has only to wait a few minutes for the con- 
 firmation of his hopes ; while a Brigadier, 
 whose bedtime (or even breakfast - time) is 
 at the mercy of an errant platoon, may 
 have to sit up all night. 
 
 " Sit down and make yourselves comfort- 
 able," said A Brigade to X Brigade. 
 
 X Brigade complied, and having been fur- 
 nished with refreshment, led off with the 
 inevitable question — 
 
 " Does one — er — get shelled much here ? " 
 
 There was a reassuring coo from A Brigade. 
 
 " Oh, no. This is a very healthy spot. 
 One has to be careful, of course. No move- 
 ment, or fires, or anything of that kind. A 
 sentry or two, to warn people against ap- 
 proaching over the open by day, and you'll 
 
 D
 
 38 CARRYING ON 
 
 be as cooshie as anything!" ("Cooshie" is 
 the latest word here. That and " crump.") 
 
 " I ought to warn you of one thing," said 
 the Brigadier. " Owing to the surrounding 
 woods, sound is most deceptive here. You 
 will hear shell-bursts which appear quite close, 
 when in reality they are quite a distance away. 
 That, for instance ! " — as a shell exploded ap- 
 parently just outside the window. "That 
 little fellow is a couple of hundred yards 
 away, in the corner of the wood. The Boche 
 has been groping about there for a battery 
 for the last two days." 
 
 " Is the battery there ? " inquired a voice. 
 
 " No ; it is further east. But there is a 
 Gunner's Mess about two hundred yards from 
 here, in that house which you passed on the 
 way up." 
 
 " Oh ! " observed X Brigade. 
 
 Gunners are peculiar people. When pro- 
 fessionally engaged, no men could be more 
 retiring. They screen their operations from 
 the public gaze with the utmost severity, 
 shrouding batteries in screens of foliage and 
 other rustic disguises. If a layman strays 
 anywhere near one of these arboreal retreats, 
 a gunner thrusts out a visage inflamed with
 
 "SHELL OUT!" 39 
 
 righteous wrath, and curses him for giving 
 the position away. But in his hours of 
 relaxation the gunner is a different being. 
 He billets himself in a house with plenty of 
 windows : he illuminates all these by night, 
 and hangs washing therefrom by day. When 
 inclined for exercise, he plays football upon 
 an open space labelled — Not to he used by 
 troops during daylight. Therefore, despite his 
 technical excellence and superb courage, he is 
 an uncomfortable neighbour for establishments 
 like Hush Hall. 
 
 In this respect he offers a curious contrast 
 to the Sapper. Off duty, the Sapper is the 
 most unobtrusive of men — a cave-man, in fact. 
 He burrows deep into the earth or the side 
 of a hill, and having secured the roof of this 
 cavern against direct hits by ingenious con- 
 trivances of his own manufacture, constructs 
 a suite of furniture of a solid and enduring 
 pattern, and lives the life of a comfortable 
 recluse. But when engaged in the pursuit 
 of his calling, the Sapper is the least retiring 
 of men. The immemorial tradition of the 
 great Corps to which he belongs has ordained 
 that no fire, however fierce, must be allowed 
 to interfere with a Sapper in the execution of
 
 40 CARRYING ON 
 
 his duty. This rule is usually Interpreted by 
 the Sapper to mean that you must not per- 
 form your allotted task under cover when it 
 is possible to do so under fire. Tq this is 
 added, as a rider, that In the absence of an 
 adequate supply of fire, you must draw fire. 
 So the Sapper walks cheerfully about on the 
 tops of parapets, hugging large and conspicu- 
 ous pieces of timber, or clashing together sheets 
 of corrugated iron, as happy as a king. 
 
 " You will find this house quite snug," con- 
 tinued the Brigadier. " The eastern suite is 
 to be avoided, because there is no roof there ; 
 and if it rains outside for a day, it rains in 
 the best bedroom for a week. There is a big 
 kitchen in the basement, with a capital range. 
 That's all, I think. The chief thing to avoid 
 is movement of any kind. The leaves are com- 
 mon off the trees now " 
 
 At this moment an orderly entered the room 
 with a pink telegraph message. 
 
 " Relief complete, sir ! " announced the 
 Brigade Major, reading it. 
 
 " Good work ! " replied both Brigadiers, 
 looking at their watches simultaneously, 
 "considering the state of the country." The 
 Brigadier of " A " rose to his feet.
 
 "SHELL OUT!" 41 
 
 " Now we can pass along quietly," he said. 
 "Good luck to you. By the way, take care 
 of Edgar, won't you ? Any little attention 
 which you can show him will be greatly 
 appreciated." 
 
 " Who is Edgar ? " 
 
 " Oh, I thought the Staff Captain would 
 have told you. Edgar is the swan — the last 
 of his race, I'm afx-aid, so far as this place is 
 concerned. He lives on the lake, and usually 
 comes ashore to draw his rations about lunch- 
 time. He is inclined to be stand-offish on one 
 side, as he has only one eye ; but he is most 
 affable on the other. Well, now to find our 
 horses ! " 
 
 As the three officers departed down the back- 
 door steps, a hesitating voice followed them — 
 
 " H'm ! Is there any place where one can 
 go — a cellar, or any old spot of that kind 
 — just in case we are " 
 
 " Bless you, you'll be all right ! " was the 
 cheery reply. (The outgoing Brigade is always 
 excessively cheery.) " But there are dug-outs 
 over there — in the garden. They haven't been 
 occupied for some months, so you may find 
 them a bit ratty. You won't require them, 
 though. Good night ! "
 
 42 CARRYING ON 
 
 III. 
 
 Whizz! Boom! Bang! Crash! Wump ! 
 
 " It's just as well," mused the Brigade 
 Major, turning in his sleep about three o'clock 
 the following morning, " that they warned us 
 about the deceptive sound of the shelling here. 
 One would almost imagine that it was quite 
 close. . . . That last one was heavy stuff: it 
 shook the whole place ! . . . This is a topping 
 mattress : it would be rotten having^ to take 
 to the woods again after getting into really 
 cooshie quarters at last. . . . There they go 
 again ! " as a renewed tempest of shells rent 
 the silence of night. "That old battery must 
 be getting it in the neck ! . . . Hallo, I could 
 have sworn somethincf hit the roof that time ! 
 A loose slate, I expect ! Anyhow ..." 
 
 The Brigade Major, who had had a very 
 long day, turned over and went to sleep 
 
 again. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The next morning, a Sunday, broke bright 
 and clear. Contrary to his usual habit, the
 
 "SHELL OUT!" 43 
 
 Brigade Major took a stroll in the garden 
 before breakfast. The first object which 
 caught his eye, as he came down the back- 
 door steps, was the figure of the Staff Captain, 
 brooding pensively over a large crater, close to 
 the hedge. The Brigade Major joined him. 
 
 " I wonder if that was there yesterday ! " he 
 observed, referring to the crater. 
 
 " Couldn't have been," growled the Staff 
 Captain. " We walked to the house along 
 this very hedge. No craters then ! " 
 
 " True ! " agreed the Brigade Major amiably. 
 He turned and surveyed the garden. " That 
 lawn looks a bit of a golf course. What 
 lovely bunkers ! " 
 
 "They appear to be quite new, too," re- 
 marked the Staff Captain thoughtfully. 
 " Come to breakfast ! " 
 
 On their way back they found the Briga- 
 dier, the Machine-Gun Officer, and the Padre 
 gazing silently upward. 
 
 " I wonder when that corner of the house 
 got knocked off," the M.G.O. was observing. 
 
 " Fairly recently, I should say," replied 
 the Briofadler. 
 
 " Those marks beside your bedroom window, 
 sir — they look pretty fresh ! " interpolated
 
 44 CARRYING ON 
 
 the Padre, a sincere but somewhat tactless 
 Christian. 
 
 Brigade Headquarters regarded one another 
 with dubious smiles. 
 
 "I wonder," began a tentative voice, "if 
 those fellows last night were indulging in a 
 leg-pull — what is called in this country a tire- 
 jamhe — when they assured us " 
 
 Whoo-oo-oo-oo-ump ! 
 
 A shell came shrieking over the tree-tops, 
 and fell with a tremendous splash into the 
 geometrical centre of the lake, fifty yards 
 away. 
 
 For the next two hours, shrapnel, whizz- 
 bangs, Silent Susies, and other explosive wild- 
 fowl raged round the walls of Hush Hall. 
 The inhabitants thereof, some twent}^ persons 
 in all, were gathered in various apartments on 
 the lee side. 
 
 "It is still possible," remarked the Briga- 
 dier, lighting his pipe, ♦' that they are not aim- 
 ing at us. However, it is just as inconvenient 
 to be buried by accident as by design. As 
 soon as the first direct hit is registered upon 
 this imposing fabric, we will retire to the dug- 
 outs. Send word to the kitchen that every
 
 "SHELL OUT!" 45 
 
 one Is to be readv to clear out of the house 
 when necessary. 
 
 Next moment there came a resounding 
 crash, easily audible above the tornado raging 
 in the garden, followed by the sound of 
 splintering glass. Hush Hall rocked. The 
 Mess waiter appeared. 
 
 "A shell has just came In through the 
 dining-room window, sirr," he informed the 
 Mess President, " and broke three of they 
 new cups ! " 
 
 " How tiresome ! " said the Brigadier. 
 *' Dug-outs, everybody ! " 
 
 V. 
 
 There were no casualties, which was rather 
 miraculous. Late in the afternoon Brigade 
 Headquarters ventured upon another stroll in 
 the garden. The tumult had ceased, and 
 the setting Sabbath sun glowed peacefully 
 upon the battered countenance of Hush Hall. 
 The damage was not very extensive, for the 
 house was stoutly built. Still, two bedrooms, 
 recently occupied, were a wreck of broken 
 glass and splintered plaster, while the gravel
 
 46 CARRYING ON 
 
 outside was littered with lead sheeting and 
 twisted chimney-cans. The shell which had 
 aroused the indignation of the Mess waiter by- 
 entering the dining-room window, had in 
 reality hit the ground directly beneath it. 
 Six feet higher, and the Brigadier's order to 
 clear the house would have been entirely 
 superfluous. 
 
 The Brigade Major and the Staff Captain 
 surveyed the unruflled surface of the lake — a 
 haunt of ancient peace in the rays of the 
 setting sun. Upon the bosom thereof floated 
 a single, majestic, one-eyed swan, performing 
 intricate toilet exercises. It was Edgar. 
 
 " He must have a darned good dug-out 
 somewhere ! " observed the Brigade Major 
 enviously.
 
 47 
 
 CHAPTER THREE. 
 
 WINTER SPORTS : VARIOUS. 
 
 Hush Hall having become an even less 
 desirable place of residence than had hitherto 
 been thought possible, Headquarters very 
 sensibly sent for their invaluable friends, 
 Box and Cox, of the Royal Engineers, and 
 requested that they would proceed to make 
 the place proof against shells and weather, 
 forthwith, if not sooner. 
 
 Those phlegmatic experts made a thorough 
 investigation of the resources of the establish- 
 ment, and departed mysteriously, after the 
 fashion of the common plumber of civilisa- 
 tion, into space. Three days later they 
 returned, accompanied by a horde of aco- 
 lytes, who, with characteristic contempt for 
 the pathetic appeals upon the notice-boards, 
 proceeded to dump down lumber, sandbags,
 
 48 CARRYING ON 
 
 and corrugated-iron roofing in the most ex- 
 posed portions of the garden. 
 
 This done, some set out to shore up the 
 ceihngs of the basement with mighty battens 
 of wood, and to convert that region into a nest 
 of cunningly devised bedrooms. Others re- 
 inforced the flooring above with a layer of 
 earth and brick rubble three feet deep. On 
 the top of all this they relaid not only the 
 oricfinal floor, but ' eke the carpet. 
 
 " The only difference from before, sir," ex- 
 plained Box to the admiring Stafl" Captain, 
 " is that people will have to walk up three 
 steps to get into the dining-room now, instead 
 of going in on the level." 
 
 " I wonder what the Marquise de Grand- 
 bols will think of it all when she returns to 
 her ancestral home," mused the Staff Captain. 
 
 " If anything," maintained the invincible 
 Box, " we have improved it for her. For 
 example, she can now light the chandelier 
 without standing on a chair — without getting 
 up from table, in fact ! However, to resume. 
 The fireplace, you will observe, has not been 
 touched. I have left a sort of well in the 
 floor all round it, lined with some stuff I 
 found in Mademoiselle's room. At least,"
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 49 
 
 added Box coyly, " I think it must have 
 been Mademoiselle's room ! You can sit in 
 the well ev^ry evening after supper. The 
 walls of this room " — prodding the same — 
 "are lined with sandbags, covered with 
 tapestry. Pretty artistic — what ? " 
 
 " Extremely," agreed the Staff Captain. 
 "You will excuse my raising the point, I 
 know, but can the apartment now be re- 
 garded as shell-proof?" 
 
 " Against everything but a direct hit. I 
 wouldn't advise you to sleep in this room 
 much, but you could have your meals here 
 all right. Then, if the Boche starts putting 
 over heavy stuff, you can pop down into the 
 basement and have your dessert in bed. 
 You'll be absolutely safe there. In fact, the 
 more the house tumbles down the safer you 
 will be. It will only make your protection 
 shell thicker. So if you hear heavy thuds 
 overhead, don't be alarmed ! " 
 
 " I won't," promised the Staff Captain. " I 
 shall lie in bed, drinking a nice hot cup of tea, 
 and wondering whether the last crash was the 
 kitchen chimney, or only the drawing-room 
 piano coming down another storey. Now 
 show me my room,"
 
 50 CARRYING ON 
 
 " We have had to put you in the larder," 
 explained Box apologetically, as he steered 
 his guest through a forest of struts with an 
 electric torch. " At least, I think it's the 
 larder : it has a sort of meaty smell. The 
 General is in the dairy — a lovely little suite, 
 with white tiles. The Brigade Major has 
 the scullery : it has a sink, so is practically 
 as good as a flat in Park Place. I have run 
 up cubicles for the others in the kitchen. 
 Here is your little cot. It is only six feet 
 by four, but you can dress in the garden." 
 
 " It's a sweet little nest, dear ! " replied the 
 Staff Captain, quite hypnotised by this time. 
 " I'll just get my maid to put me into some- 
 thing loose, and then I'll run along to your 
 room, and we'll have a nice cosy gossip 
 toofether before dinner ! " 
 
 In due course we removed our effects from 
 the tottering and rat-ridden dug-outs in which 
 we had taken sanctuary during the shelling, 
 and prepared to settle down for the winter 
 in our new quarters. 
 
 "We might be vei'y much worse off!" we 
 observed the first evening, listening to the com- 
 fortably muffled sounds of shells overhead.
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 51 
 
 And we were right. Three days later we 
 received an intimation from the Practical 
 Joke Department that we were to evacuate 
 our present sector of trenches (including 
 Hush Hall) forthwith, and occupy another 
 part of the line. 
 
 In all Sports, Winter and Summer, the 
 supremacy of the Practical Joke Department 
 is unchallenged. 
 
 II. 
 
 Meanwhile, up in the trenches, the com- 
 batants are beguiling the time in their several 
 ways. 
 
 Let us take the reserve line first — the lair 
 of Battalion Headquarters and its appurte- 
 nances. Much of our time here, as elsewhere, 
 is occupied in unostentatious retirement to our 
 dug-outs, to avoid the effects of a bombard- 
 ment. But a good amount — an increasing 
 amount — of it is devoted to the contempla- 
 tion of our own shells bursting over the 
 Boche trenches. Gone are the days during 
 which we used to sit close and " stick it out," 
 consoling ourselves with the vague hope that
 
 52 CARRYING ON 
 
 by the end of the week our gunners might 
 possibly have garnered sufficient ammunition 
 to justify a few brief hours' retaliation. The 
 boot is on the other leg now. For every 
 Boche battery that opens on us, two or three 
 of ours thunder back a reply — and that with- 
 out any delays other than those incidental to 
 the use of that maddening instrument, the 
 field-telephone. During the past six months 
 neither side has been able to boast much in 
 the way of ground actually gained ; but the 
 moral ascendancy — the initiative — the offen- 
 sive — call it what you will — has changed 
 hands ; and no one knows it better than the 
 Boche. We are the attacking party now. 
 
 The trenches in this country are not arranged 
 with such geometric precision as in France. 
 For instance, the reserve line is not always 
 connected with the firing lines by a com- 
 munication trench. Those persons whose duty 
 it is to pay daily visits to the fire-trenches — 
 Battalion Commanders, Gunner and Sapper 
 officers, an occasional Staff Officer, and an 
 occasional most devoted Padre — perform the 
 journey as best they may. Sometimes they 
 skirt a wood or hedge, sometimes they keep 
 under the lee of an embankment, sometimes
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 53 
 
 they proceed across the open, with the steal- 
 thy caution of persons playing musical chairs, 
 ready to sit down in the nearest shell-crater 
 the moment the music — in the form of a visit- 
 ation of " whizz-bangs " — strikes up. 
 
 It is difficult to say which kind of weather 
 is least favourable to this enterprise. On 
 sunny days one's movements are visible to 
 Boche observers upon adjacent summits; while 
 on foggy days the Boche gunners, being able 
 to see nothing at all, amuse themselves by 
 generous and unexpected contributions of 
 shrapnel in all directions. Stormy weather 
 is particularly unpleasant, for the noise of 
 the wind in the trees makes it difficult to 
 hear the shell approaching. Days of heavy 
 rain are the most desirable on the whole, for 
 then the gunners are too busy bailing out 
 their gun-pits to worry their heads over ad- 
 venturous pedestrians. One learns, also, to 
 mark down and avoid particular danger-spots. 
 For instance, the south-east corner of that 
 wood, where a reserve company are dug in, is 
 visited by '' Silent Susans " for about five 
 minutes each noontide : it is therefore advis- 
 able to select some other hour for one's daily 
 visit. (Silent Susan, by the way, is not a 
 
 E
 
 64 CARRYING ON 
 
 desirable member of the sex. Owing to her 
 intensely high velocity she arrives overhead 
 without a sound, and then bursts with a 
 perfectly stunning detonation and a shower of 
 small shrapnel bullets.) There is a fixed rifle- 
 battery, too, which fires all day long, a shot at 
 a time, down the main street of the ruined 
 and deserted village named Yrjoozlehem, 
 through which one must pass on the way 
 to the front - line trenches. Therefore in 
 negotiating this delectable spot, one shapes 
 a laborious course through a series of back- 
 yards and garden-plots, littered with broken 
 furniture and brick rubble, allowing the rifle 
 bullets the undisputed use of the street. 
 
 The mention of Vrjoozlehem — that is not 
 its real name, but a simplified form of it — 
 brings to our notice the wholesale and whole- 
 hearted fashion in which the British Army 
 has taken Belgian institutions under its wing. 
 Nomenclature, for instance. In France we 
 make no attempt to Interfere with this : we 
 content ourselves with devising a pronounce- 
 able variation of the existing name. For 
 example, if a road is called La Rue du Bois, 
 we simply call it " Boodiboys," and leave it 
 at that. On the same principle, Staples is
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 56 
 
 modified to " Eatables," and Sailly-la-Bourse 
 to " Sally Booze." But in Belgium more 
 drastic procedure is required. A Scotsman is 
 accustomed to pronouncing difficult names, 
 but even he is unable to contend with words 
 composed almost entirely of the letters j, z, 
 and V. So our resourceful Ordnance Depart- 
 ment has issued maps — admirable maps — upon 
 which the outstanaing features of the land- 
 scape are marked in plain figures. But instead 
 of printing the original place-names, they put 
 " Moated Grange," or " Clapham Junction," 
 or " Dead Dog Farm," which simplifies matters 
 beyond all possibility of error. (The system 
 was once responsible, though, for an unjust 
 if unintentional aspersion upon the character 
 of a worthy man. The CO. of a certain bat- 
 talion had occasion to complain to those above 
 him of the remissness of one of his chaplains. 
 " He's a lazy beggar, sir," he said. " Over 
 and over again I have told him to come up 
 and show himself in the front-line trenches, but 
 he never seems to be able to get past Leices- 
 ter Square !") 
 
 The naming of the trenches themselves has 
 been left largely to local enterprise. An 
 observant person can tell, by a study of the
 
 56 CARRYING ON 
 
 numerous name-boards, which of his country- 
 men have been occupying the line during the 
 past six months. " Grainger Street " and 
 " Jesmond Dene " give direct evidence of 
 " Canny N'castle." "Sherwood Avenue" and 
 " Notts Forest " have a Midland flavour. 
 Lastly, no great mental effort is required 
 to decide who labelled two communication 
 trenches *' The Gorbals " and " Coocaddens " 
 respectively ! 
 
 Some names have obviously been bestowed 
 by officers, as " Sackville Street," " The Al- 
 bany," and "Burlington Arcade" denote. 
 "Pinch-Gut" and "Crab-Crawl" speak for 
 themselves. So does " Vermin Villa." Other 
 localities, again, have obviously been labelled 
 by persons endowed with a nice gift of irony. 
 " Sanctuary Wood " is the last place on earth 
 where any one would dream of taking sanctu- 
 ary ; while " Lovers' Walk," which bounds it, 
 is the scene of almost daily expositions of the 
 choicest brand of Boche hate. 
 
 And so on. But one day, when the War is 
 over, and this mighty trench line is thrown 
 open to the disciples of the excellent Mr Cook 
 — as undoubtedly it will be — care should be 
 taken that these trench names are preserved
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 57 
 
 and perpetuated. It would be impossible to 
 select a more characteristic and fitting memo- 
 rial to the brave hearts who constructed them 
 — too many of whom are sleeping their last 
 sleep within a few yards of their own cheerful 
 handiwork. 
 
 III. 
 
 After this digression we at length reach the 
 firing line. It is quite unlike anything of its 
 kind that we have hitherto encountered. It 
 is situated in what was once a thick wood. 
 Two fairly well-defined trenches run through 
 the undergrowth, from which the sentries of 
 either side have been keeping relentless watch 
 upon one another, night and day, for many 
 months. The wood itself is a mere forest of 
 poles : hardly a branch, and not a twig, has 
 been spared by the shrapnel. In the No-man's- 
 land between the trenches the poles have 
 been reduced to mere stumps a few inches 
 high. 
 
 It is behind the firing trench that the most 
 unconventional scene presents itself. Strictly 
 speaking, there ought to be — and generally is 
 — a support-line some seventy yards in rear of
 
 68 CARRYING ON 
 
 the first. This should be occupied by all 
 troops not required In the firing trench. But 
 the trench Is empty — which Is not altogether 
 surprising, considering that it is half- full of 
 water. Its rightful occupants are scattered 
 through the wood behind — in dug-outs, in 
 redoubts, or en ^9^em air — cooking, washing, 
 or repairing their residences. The whole scene 
 suggests a gipsy encampment rather than a 
 fortified post. A hundred yards away, through 
 the trees, you can plainly discern the Boche 
 firing trench, and the Boche in that trench 
 can discern you : yet never a shot comes. It 
 is true that bullets are humming throucrh the 
 air and glancing off trees, but these are mostly 
 due to the enterprise of distant machine-guns 
 and rifle -batteries, firing from some position 
 well adapted for enfilade. Frontal fire there 
 is little or none. In the front-line trenches, at 
 least, Brother Boche has had enough of it. 
 His motto now is, " Live and let live ! " In 
 fact, he frequently makes plaintive state- 
 ments to that effect in the silence of night. 
 Especially the Saxons. Saxons have glim- 
 merlnga of humanity. The other night a 
 voice cried out to us —
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 59 
 
 " Don't shoot at us, Jock ! Ye are der 
 Saxons. Der Prussians vill be here on 
 Yriday ! " 
 
 You might think, then, that life in Willow 
 Grove would be a tranquil affair. But if you 
 look up among the few remaining branches of 
 that tall tree in the centre of the wood, you 
 may notice shreds of some material flapping 
 in the breeze. Those are sandbags and part 
 of a uniform — or were. Last night, within 
 the space of one hour, seventy-three shells 
 fell into this wood, and the first of them 
 registered a direct hit upon the dug-out of 
 which the sandbags formed part. There were 
 eight men in that dug-out. The telephone- 
 wires were broken in the first few minutes, 
 and there was some delay before news of the 
 bombardment could be transmitted back to 
 Headquarters. Then our big guns far in rear 
 spoke out, until the enemy's batteries (pro- 
 bably in response to an urgent appeal from 
 their own front line) ceased firing. There- 
 upon "A" Company, who at Bobby Little's 
 behest had taken immediate cover in the 
 water-logged support- trench, returned stolidly 
 to their open-air encampment in Willow Grove.
 
 60 CARRYING ON 
 
 Death, when he makes the mistake of raiding 
 your premises every day, loses most of his 
 terrors and becomes a bit of a bore. 
 
 This morning the Company presents its 
 normal appearance : its numbers have been 
 reduced by eight — c'est tout ! It may be some 
 one else's turn to-morrow, but after all, that 
 Is what we are here for. Anyhow, we are 
 keeping the Boches out of " Wipers," and a 
 bit over. So we stretch our legs in the wood, 
 and keep the flooded trench for the next 
 emergency. 
 
 Let us approach a group of four which is 
 squatting sociably round a small and inade- 
 quate fire of twigs, upon which four mess- 
 tins are simmering. The quartette consists 
 of Privates Cosh and Tosh, togfether with 
 Privates Buncle and Nigg, preparing their 
 midday meal. 
 
 *'Tak' off yon damp chup, Jimmy," sug- 
 gested Tosh to Buncle, who was officiating 
 as stoker. *' Ye mind what the Captain said 
 aboot smoke ? " 
 
 " It wasna the Captain : it was the Officer," 
 rejoined Buncle cantankerously. 
 
 (It may here be explained, at the risk of 
 another digression, that no length of associ-
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 61 
 
 ation or degree of intimacy will render the 
 average British soldier familiar with the 
 names of his officers. The Colonel is "The 
 CO."; the Second in Command is "The 
 Major " ; your Company Commander is " The 
 Captain," and your Platoon Commander " The 
 Officer." As for all others of commissioned 
 rank in the regiment, some twenty-four in all, 
 they are as nought. With the exception of 
 the Quartermaster, in whose shoes each mem- 
 ber of the rank and file hopes one day to 
 stand, they simply do not exist.) 
 
 *• Onyway," pursued the careful Tosh, " he 
 said that if any smoke was shown, all fires 
 was tae be pitten oot. So mind and see no' 
 to get a cauld dinner for us all, Jimmy ! " 
 
 " Cauld or het," retorted the gentleman 
 addressed, "it's little dinner I'll be gettin' 
 this day ! And ye ken fine why ! " he added 
 darkly. 
 
 Private Tosh removed a cigarette from his 
 lower lip and sighed patiently. 
 
 "For the last time," he announced, with 
 the air of a righteous man suffering long, 
 " I did not lay ma hand on your dirrty wee 
 bit ham ! " 
 
 "Maybe," countered the bereaved Buncle
 
 62 CARRYING ON 
 
 swiftly, "you did not lay your hand upon 
 it ; but you had it tae your breakfast for all 
 that, Davie ! " 
 
 " I never pit ma hand on it ! " repeated 
 Tosh doggedly. 
 
 "No? Then I doot you gave it a bit 
 kick with your foot," replied the inflexible 
 Buncle. 
 
 " Or got some other body tae luft it for 
 him ! " suggested Private Nigg, looking hard 
 at Tosh's habitual accomplice, Cosh. 
 
 " I had it pitten in an auld envelope from 
 hame, addressed with my name," continued 
 the mourner. " It couldna hae got oot o' 
 that by accident ! " 
 
 " Weel," interposed Cosh, with forced geni- 
 ality, " it's no a thing tae argie-bargie aboot. 
 Whatever body lufted it, it's awa' by this 
 time. It's a fine day, boys ! " 
 
 This flagrant attempt to raise the conversa- 
 tion to a less controversial plane met with no 
 encouragement. Private Buncle, refusing to 
 be appeased, replied sarcastically — 
 
 " Aye, is it ? And it was a fine nicht last 
 nicht, especially when the shellin' was gaun 
 on ! Especially in number seeven dug-oot ! " 
 
 There was a short silence. Number seven
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 63 
 
 dug-out was no more, and its late occu- 
 pants were now lying under their waterproof 
 sheets, not a hundred yards away, waiting 
 for a Padre. Presently, however, the pacific 
 Cosh, who in his hours of leisure was addicted 
 to mild philosophical rumination, gave a fresh 
 turn to the conversation. 
 
 *' Mphm !" he observed thoughtfully. "They 
 say that in a war every man has a bullet 
 waiting for him some place or other, with his 
 name on it ! Sooner or later, he gets it. Aye! 
 Mphm ! " He sucked his teeth reflectively, and 
 glanced towards the Field Ambulance. ' ' Sooner 
 or later ! " 
 
 " What for would he pit his name on it, 
 Wully ? " inquired Nigg, who was not very 
 quick at grasping allusions. 
 
 " He wouldna pit on the name himself," 
 explained the philosopher. " What I mean 
 is, there's a bullet for each one of us some- 
 where over there" — he jerked his head east- 
 wards — " in a Gairman pooch." 
 
 "What way could a Gairman pit my name 
 on a bullet ? " demanded Nigg triumphantly. 
 " He doesna ken it ! " 
 
 " Man," exclaimed Cosh, shedding some of 
 his philosophic calm, "can ye no unnerstand
 
 64 CARRYING ON 
 
 that what I telled ye was jlst a malnner of 
 speakin' ? When I said that a man's name 
 was on a bullet, I didna mean that it was 
 written there." 
 
 " Then what the hell did je mean ? " in- 
 quired the mystified disciple — not altogether 
 unreasonably. 
 
 Private Tosh made a misguided but well- 
 meaning attempt to straighten out the con- 
 versation. 
 
 *' He means, Sandy," he explained in a 
 soothing voice, " that the name was just 
 stampit on the bullet. Like — like — like an 
 identity disc ! " he added brilliantly. 
 
 The philosopher clutched his temples with 
 both hands. 
 
 " I dinna mean onything o' the kind," he 
 roared. ''What I intend tae imply is thisy 
 Sandy Nigg. Some place over there there is 
 a bullet in a Gairman's pooch, and one day 
 that bullet will find its way intil your insides 
 as sure as if your name was written on it ! 
 That's what I meant. Jist a mainner of 
 speakin'. Dae ye unnerstand me the noo ? " 
 
 But it was the injured Buncle who replied 
 — liked a lightning-flash. 
 
 " Never you fear, Sandy, boy ! " he pro-
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 65 
 
 claimed to his perturbed ally. "That bullet 
 has no' gotten your length yet. Maybe it 
 never wull. There's mony a thing in this 
 worrld with one man's name on it that finds 
 its way intil the inside of some other man." 
 He fixed Tosh with a relentless eye. " A bit 
 ham, for instance ! " 
 
 It was a knock-out blow. 
 
 "For ony sake/' muttered the now demoral- 
 ised Tosh, "drop the subject, and I'll gie ye a 
 bit ham o' ma ain ! There's just time tae cook 
 it " 
 
 " What kin' o' a fire is this ? " 
 
 A cold shadow fell upon the group as a 
 substantial presence inserted itself between 
 the debaters and the wintry sunshine. Cor- 
 poral Mucklewame was speaking, in his new 
 and awful official voice, pointing an accus- 
 ing finger at the fire, which, neglected in 
 the ardour of discussion, was smoking 
 furiously. 
 
 "Did you wish the hale wood tae be 
 shelled?" continued Mucklewame sarcastic- 
 ally. "Put oot the fire at once, or I'll need 
 tae bring ye all before the Officer. It is a 
 cauld dinner yell get, and ye'U deserve 
 itl"
 
 66 CARRYING ON 
 
 IV. 
 
 In the fire-trench — or perhaps it would be 
 more correct to call it the water-trench — life 
 may be short, and is seldom merry ; but it is 
 not often dull. For one thing, we are never 
 idle. 
 
 A Boche trench - mortar knocks down 
 several yards of your parapet. Straightway 
 your machine-gunners are called up, to cover 
 the gap until darkness falls and the gaping 
 wound can be stanched with fresh sandbags. 
 A mine has been exploded upon your front, 
 leaving a crater into which predatory Boches 
 will certainly creep at night. You summon a 
 posse of bombers to occupy the cavity and 
 discourage any such enterprise. The heavens 
 open, and there is a sudden deluge. Immedi- 
 ately it is a case of all hands to the trench- 
 pumps ! A better plan, if you have the 
 advantage of ground, is to cut a culvert under 
 the parapet and pass the inundation on to a 
 more deserving quarter. In any case you 
 need never lack healthful exercise. 
 
 While upon the subject of mines, we may
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 67 
 
 note that this branch of military industry 
 has expanded of late to most unpleasant 
 dimensions. The Boche began it, of course 
 — he always initiates these undesirable pas- 
 times, — and now we have followed his lead 
 and caught him up. 
 
 To the ordinary mortal, to become a blind 
 groper amid the dark places of the earth, in 
 search of a foe whom it is almost certain death 
 to encounter there, seems perhaps the most 
 idiotic of all the idiotic careers open to those 
 who are idiotic enough to engage in modern 
 warfare. However, many of us are as much 
 at home below ground as above it. In more 
 peaceful times we were accustomed to spend 
 eight hours a day there, lying up against the 
 " face " in a tunnel perhaps four feet high, and 
 wielding a pick in an attitude which would 
 have convulsed any ordinary man with cramp. 
 But there are few ordinary men in "K (l)." 
 There is never any difficulty in obtaining 
 volunteers for the Tunnelling Company. 
 
 So far as the amateur can penetrate Its 
 mysteries, mining, viewed under our present 
 heading — namely, Winter Sports — offers the 
 following advantages to its participants : —
 
 68 CARRYING ON 
 
 (1) In winter it is much M-^armer below the 
 earth than upon its surface, and Thomas 
 Atkins is the most confirmed "frowster" in 
 the world. 
 
 (2) Critics seldom descend into mines. 
 
 (3) There is extra pay. 
 
 The disadvantages are so obvious that they 
 need not be enumerated here. 
 
 In these trenches we have been engaged 
 upon a very pretty game of subterranean 
 chess for some weeks past, and we are very 
 much on our mettle. We have some small 
 leeway to make up. When we took over 
 these trenches, a German mine, which had 
 been maturing (apparently unheeded) during 
 the tenancy of our predecessors, was exploded 
 two days after our arrival, inflicting heavy 
 casualties upon " D " Company. Curiously 
 enough, the damage to the trench was com- 
 paratively slight ; but the tremendous shock 
 of the explosion killed more than one man 
 by concussion, and brought down the roofs 
 of several dug-outs upon their sleeping occu- 
 pants. Altogether it was a sad business, and 
 the Battalion swore to be avenged. 
 
 So they called upon Lieutenant Duff-Ber- 
 tram — usually called Bertie the Badger, in
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 69 
 
 reference to his rodent disposition — to make 
 the first move in the return match. Bertie 
 and his troglodyte assistants accordingly sank 
 a shaft in a retired spot of their own select- 
 ing, and proceeded to burrow forward towards 
 the Boche lines. 
 
 After certain days Bertie presented him- 
 self, covered in clay, before Colonel Kemp, 
 and made a report. 
 
 Colonel Kemp considered. 
 
 " You say you can hear the enemy work- 
 ing ? " he said. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 '' Near ? " 
 
 " Pretty near, sir." 
 
 *' How near?" 
 
 " A few yards." 
 
 " What do you propose to do ? " 
 
 Bertie the Badger — in private life he was 
 a consulting mining engineer with a beautiful 
 office in Victoria Street and a nice taste in 
 spats — scratched an earthy nose with a muddy 
 forefinger. 
 
 *' I think they are making a defensive gal- 
 lery, sir," he announced. 
 
 *• Let us have your statement in the sim- 
 plest possible language, please," said Colonel 
 
 F
 
 70 CARRYING ON 
 
 Kemp. " Some of my younger officers," he 
 added rather ingeniously, " are not very 
 expert in these matters." 
 
 Bertie the Badger thereupon expounded the 
 situation with solemn relish. By a defensive 
 gallery, it appeared that he meant a lateral 
 tunnel running parallel with the trench line, 
 in such a manner as to intercept any tunnel 
 pushed out by the British miners. 
 
 "And what do you suggest doing to this 
 Piccadilly Tube of theirs ? " inquired the 
 Colonel. 
 
 " I could dig forward and break into it, 
 sir," suggested Bertie. 
 
 "That seems a move in the right direc- 
 tion," said the Colonel. "But won't the 
 Boche try to prevent you ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " He will wait until the head of my tunnel 
 ofets near enouo^h, and then blow it in." 
 
 "That would be very tiresome of him. 
 What other alternatives are open to you ? " 
 
 " I could get as near as possible, sir," 
 replied Bertie calmly, " and then blow up 
 his gallery." 
 
 " That sounds better. Well, exercise your
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 71 
 
 own discretion, and don't get blown up 
 unless you particularly want to. And 
 above all, be quite sure that while you are 
 amusing yourself with the Piccadilly Tube, 
 the wily Boche isn't burrowing past you, 
 and under my parapet, by the Bakerloo I 
 Good luck! Report any fresh development 
 at once." 
 
 So Bertie the Badger returned once more 
 to his native element and proceeded to exer- 
 cise his discretion. This took the form of 
 continuing his aggressive tunnel in the direc- 
 tion of the Boche defensive gallery. Next 
 morning, encouraged by the absolute silence 
 of the enemy's miners, he made a farther 
 and final push, which actually landed him 
 in the "Piccadilly Tube" itself. 
 
 " This is a rum go, Howie ! " he observed 
 in a low voice to his corporal. "A long, 
 beautiful gallery, five by four, lined with 
 wood, electrically lighted, with every modern 
 convenience — and not a Boche in it ! " 
 
 " Varra bad discipline, sir ! " replied Corporal 
 Howie severely. 
 
 " Ar3 you sure it isn't a trap ? " 
 
 '* It may be, sirr ; but I doot the oversman 
 is awa' to his dinner, and the men are back in 
 
 %
 
 72 CARRYING ON 
 
 the shaft, doing naething." Corporal Howie 
 had been an *'oversman" himself, and knew 
 something of subterranean labour problems. 
 
 " Well, if you are right, the Boche must be 
 getting demoralised. It is not like him to 
 present us with openings like this. However, 
 the first thing to do is to distribute a few 
 souvenirs along the gallery. Pass the word 
 back for the stuff. Meanwhile I shall en- 
 deavour to test your theory about the overs- 
 man's dinner-hour. I am going to creep along 
 and have a look at the Boche entrance to the 
 Tube. It's down there, at the south end of 
 his gallery, I think. I can see a break in the 
 wood lining. If you hear any shooting, you 
 will know that the dinner-hour is over ! " 
 
 At the end of half an hour the Piccadilly 
 Tube was lined with sufiicient explosive 
 material to ensure the permanent closing of 
 the line. Still no Boche had been seen or 
 heard. 
 
 "Now, Howie," said Bertie the Badger, 
 fingering the fuse, "what about it?" 
 
 *' About what, sirr ? " inquired Howie, who 
 was not quite au fait with current catch- 
 phrases. 
 
 "Are we going to touch off all this stuff 
 
 #
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 73 
 
 now, and clear out, or are we going to wait 
 and see ? " • 
 
 " I would like fine " began the Corporal 
 
 wistfully. 
 
 " So would I," said Bertie. " Tell the men 
 to get back and out ; and you and I will hold 
 on until the guests return from the banquet." 
 
 " Varra good, sirr." 
 
 For another half- hour the pair waited — 
 Bertie the Badger like a dog in its kennel, 
 with his head protruding into the hostile 
 gallery, while his faithful henchman crouched 
 close behind him. Deathly stillness reigned, 
 relieved only by an occasional thud, as a shell 
 or trench - mortar bomb exploded upon the 
 ground far above their heads. 
 
 " I'm going to have another look round 
 that corner," said Bertie at last. " Hold on 
 to the fuse." 
 
 He handed the end of the fuse to his sub- 
 ordinate, and having wormed his way out of 
 the tunnel, proceeded cautiously on all-fours 
 along the gallery. On his way he passed the 
 electric light. He twisted off the bulb and 
 crawled on in the dark. 
 
 Feeling his way by the east wall of the 
 gallery, he came presently to the break in 
 
 %
 
 74 ^ CARRYING ON 
 
 the woodwork. Very slowly, lying flat on 
 his stomach now, he wriggled forward until 
 his head came opposite the opening. A low 
 passage ran away to his left, obviously lead- 
 ing back to the Boche trenches. Three yards 
 from the entrance the passage bent sharply 
 to the right, thus interrupting the line of 
 sight. 
 
 "There's a light burning just round that 
 bend," said Bertie the Badger to himself 
 " I wonder if it would be rash to go on 
 and have a look at it ! " 
 
 He was still straining at this gnat, when 
 suddenly his elbow encountered a shovel which 
 was leaning against the wall of the gallery. 
 It tumbled down with a clatter almost stun- 
 ning. Next moment a hand came round the 
 bend of the tunnel and fired a revolver almost 
 into the explorer's face. 
 
 Another shot rang out directly after. 
 
 The devoted Howie, hastening to the rescue, 
 collided sharply with a solid body crawling 
 towards him in the darkness. 
 
 " Curse you, Howie ! " said the voice of 
 Bertie the Badger, with refreshing earnest- 
 ness. " Get back out of this. Where's your 
 fuse ? " 
 
 #
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 75 
 
 The pair scrambled back Into their own 
 tunnel, and the end of the fuse was soon 
 recovered. Almost simultaneously three more 
 revolver-shots ran out. 
 
 " I thought I had fixed that Boche," 
 murmured Bertie in a disappointed voice. ** I 
 heard him grunt when my bullet hit him. 
 Perhaps this is another one — or several. 
 Keep back in the tunnel, Howie, confound 
 you, and don't breathe up my sleeve ! They 
 are firing straight along the gallery now. I 
 will return the compliment. Ouch ! " 
 
 " What's the matter, sirr ? " inquired the 
 anxious voice of Howie, as his officer, who had 
 tried to fire round the corner with his left 
 hand, gave a sudden exclamation and rolled 
 over upon his side. 
 
 " I must have been hit the first time," he 
 explained. " Collar-bone, I think. I didn't 
 know till I rested my weight on my left 
 elbow. . . . Howie, I am going to exercise 
 my discretion again. Somebody in this gal- 
 lery is going to be blown up presently, and if 
 you and I don't get a move on, p.d.q., it will 
 be us ! Give me the fuse-lighter, and wait for 
 me at the foot of the shaft. Quick ! " 
 
 Very reluctantly the Corporal obeyed.
 
 76 CARRYING ON 
 
 However, he was in due course joined at the 
 foot of the shaft by Bertie the Badger, groan- 
 ing- profanely ; and the pair made their way 
 to the upper regions with all possible speed. 
 After a short interval, a sudden rumbling, 
 followed by a heavy explosion, announced that 
 the fuse had done its work, and that the 
 Piccadilly Tube, the fruit of many toilsome 
 weeks of Boche calculation and labour, had 
 been permanently closed to traffic of all de- 
 scriptions. 
 
 Bertie the Badger received a Military Cross, 
 and his abettor the D.C.M. 
 
 V. 
 
 But the newest and most fashionable form 
 of winter sport this season is The Flying 
 Matinee. 
 
 This entertainment takes place during the 
 small hours of the morning, and is strictly 
 limited to a duration of ten minutes — quite 
 long enough for most matinees, too. The 
 actors are furnished by a unit of " K (l) " and 
 the role of audience is assigned to the in- 
 habitants of the Boche trenches immediately
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 11 
 
 opposite. These matinees have proved an 
 enormous success, but require most careful 
 rehearsal. 
 
 It is two A.M., and comparative peace reigns 
 up and down the line. The rain of star-shells, 
 always prodigal in the early evening, has died 
 down to a mere drizzle. Working and fatigue 
 parties, which have been busy since darkness 
 set in at five o'clock, — rebuilding parapets, 
 repairing wire, carrying up rations, and patrol- 
 ling debatable areas, — have ceased their 
 labours, and are sleeping heavily until the 
 coming of the wintry dawn shall rouse them, 
 grimy and shivering, to another day's un- 
 pleasantness. 
 
 Private Hans Dumpkopf, on sentry duty in 
 the Boche firing trench, gazes mechanically 
 over the parapet ; but the night is so dark and 
 the wind so high that it is difficult to see and 
 quite impossible to hear anything. He shelters 
 himself beside a traverse, and waits patiently 
 for his relief. It begins to rain, and Hans, 
 after cautiously reconnoitring the other side 
 of the traverse, to guard against prowling 
 sergeants, sidles a few yards to his right 
 beneath the friendly cover of an improvised 
 roof of corrugated iron sheeting, laid acioss
 
 78 CARRYING ON 
 
 the trench from parapet to parados. It is 
 quite dry here, and comparatively warm. 
 Hans closes his eyes for a moment, and heaves 
 a gentle sigh. 
 
 Next moment there comes a rush of feet in 
 the darkness, followed by a metallic clang, as of 
 hobnailed boots on metal. Hans, lying pros- 
 trate and half-stunned beneath the galvanised 
 iron sheeting, which, dislodged from its former 
 position by the impact of a heavy body de- 
 scending from above, now forms part of the 
 flooring of the trench, is suddenly aware that 
 this same trench is full of men — rough, un- 
 cultured men, clad in short petticoats and the 
 skins of wild animals, and armed with knob- 
 kerries. The Flying Matinee has begun, and 
 Hans Dumpkopf has got in by the early door. 
 
 Each of the performers — there are fifty of 
 them all told — has his part to play, and plays 
 it with commendable aplomb. One, having 
 disarmed an unresisting prisoner, assists him 
 over the parapet and escorts him affectionately 
 to his new home. Another clubs a recalcitrant 
 foeman over the head with a knobkerry, and 
 having thus reduced him to a more amenable 
 frame of mind, hoists him over the parapet and 
 drags him after his " kamerad."
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 79 
 
 Other parties are told off to deal with the 
 dug-outs. As a rule, the occupants of these 
 are too dazed to make any resistance, — to be 
 quite frank, the individual Boche in these 
 days seems rather to welcome captivity than 
 otherwise, — and presently more of the *' bag " 
 are on their way to the British lines. 
 
 But by this time the performance is draw- 
 ing to a close. The alarm has been communi- 
 cated to the adjacent sections of the trench, 
 and preparations for the ejection of the in- 
 truders are being hurried forward. That is 
 to say, German bombers are collecting upon 
 either flank, with the intention of bombing 
 "inwards" until the impudent foe has been 
 destroyed or evicted. As we are not here to 
 precipitate a general action, but merely to 
 round up a few prisoners and do as much 
 damage as possible in ten minutes, we hasten 
 to the finale. As in most finales, one's ac- 
 tions now become less restrained — but, from 
 a brutal point of view, more effective. A 
 couple of hand-grenades are thrown into any 
 dug-out which has not yet surrendered. 
 (The Canadians, who make quite a speciality 
 of flying matinees, are accustomed, we under- 
 stand, as an artistic variant to this practice,
 
 80 CARRYING ON 
 
 to fasten an electric torch along the barrel of 
 a rifle, and so illuminate their lurking targets 
 while they shoot.) A sharp order passes 
 along the line ; every one scrambles out of 
 the trench ; and the troupe makes its way 
 back, before the enemy in the adjacent 
 trenches have really wakened up, to the 
 place from which it came. The matinee, so 
 far as the actors are concerned, is over. 
 
 Not so the audience. The avenging host 
 is just getting busy. The bombing parties 
 are now marshalled, and proceed with awful 
 solemnity and Teutonic thoroughness to clear 
 the violated trench. The procedure of a 
 bombing party is stereotyped. They begin 
 by lobbing hand-grenades over the first 
 traverse into the first bay. After the 
 ensuing explosion, they trot round the 
 traverse in single file and occupy the bay. 
 This manoeuvre is then repeated until the 
 entire trench is cleared. The whole operation 
 requires good discipline, considerable courage, 
 and carefully timed co-operation with the 
 other bombing party. In all these attributes 
 the Boche excels. But one thing- is essential 
 to the complete success of his efforts, and that
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 81 
 
 is the presence of the enemy. When, after 
 methodically desolating each bay in turn (and 
 incidentally killing their own wounded in the 
 process), the two parties meet midway — prac- 
 tically on top of the unfortunate Hans Dump- 
 kopf, who is still giving an imitation of a 
 tortoise in a corrugated shell — it is discovered 
 that the beautifully executed counter-attack 
 has achieved nothing but the recapture of an 
 entirely empty trench. The birds have flown, 
 taking their prey with them. Hans is the 
 sole survivor, and after hearing what his 
 officer has to say to him upon the subject, 
 bitterly regrets the fact. 
 
 Meanwhile, in the British trenches a few 
 yards away, the box-office returns are being 
 made up. These take the form, firstly, 
 of some fourteen prisoners, including one 
 indignant officer — he had been pulled from 
 his dug-out half asleep and frog-marched 
 across the British lines by two private 
 soldiers well qualified to appreciate the 
 richness of his language — together with 
 various souvenirs in the way of arms and 
 accoutrements ; and secondly, of the know- 
 ledge that at least as many more of the
 
 82 CARRYING ON 
 
 enemy had been left permanently incapaci- 
 tated for further warfare in the dug - outs. 
 A grim and grisly drama when you come to 
 criticise it in cold blood, but not without a 
 certain humour of its own — and most de- 
 moralising for Brother Boche ! 
 
 But he is a slow pupil. He regards the 
 profession of arms and the pursuit of war 
 with such intense and solemn reverence that 
 he cannot conceive how any one calling him- 
 self a soldier can be so criminally frivolous as 
 to write a farce round the subject — much less 
 present the farce at a Flying Matinee. That 
 possibly explains why the following stately 
 paragraph appeared a few days later in the 
 periodical communique which keeps the Ger- 
 man nation in touch with its Army's latest 
 exploits : — 
 
 During the night of Dec. Uh-bth attempts 
 were made hy strong detachments of the enemy 
 to penetrate our line near Sloozleschump, S.E. 
 ofYpres. The attack failed utterly. 
 
 "And they don't even realise that it was 
 only a leg-pull ! " commented the Company
 
 WINTER SPORTS: VARIOUS 83 
 
 Commander who had stage-managed the 
 aiFair. "These people simply don't deserve 
 to have entertainments arranged for them at 
 all. Well, we must pull the limb again, 
 that's all I " 
 And it was so.
 
 84 
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 THE PUSH THAT FAILED. 
 
 " I WONDER if they really mean business this 
 time," surmised that youthful Company Com- 
 mander, Temporary Captain Bobby Little, to 
 Major Wagstaffe. 
 
 "It sounds like it," said Wagstaffe, as an- 
 other salvo of "whizz-bangs" broke like in- 
 flammatory surf upon the front-line trenches. 
 " Intermittent strafes we are used to, but this 
 all -day performance seems to indicate that 
 the Boche is really getting down to it for 
 once. The whole proceeding reminds me of 
 nothing so much as our own 'artillery pre- 
 paration' before the big push at Loos." 
 
 " Then you think the Boches are going to 
 make a push of their own ? " 
 
 "I do ; and I hope it will be a good fat 
 one. When it comes, I fancy we shall be
 
 THE PUSH THAT FAILED 85 
 
 able to put up sometliing rather pretty in the 
 way of a defence. The Saiieut is stiff with 
 guns — I don't think the Boche quite realises 
 how stiff! And we owe the swine some- 
 thing ! " he added through his teeth. 
 
 There was a pause in the conversation. 
 You cannot hold the Salient for three months 
 without paying for the distinction ; and the 
 regiment had paid its full share. Not so 
 much in numbers, perhaps, as in quality. 
 Stray bullets, whistling up and down the 
 trenches, coming even obliquely from the rear, 
 had exacted most grievous toll. Shells and 
 trench-mortar bombs, taking us in flank, had 
 extinguished many valuable lives. At this 
 time nothing but the best seemed to satisfy 
 the fates. One day it would be a trusted 
 colour-sergeant, on another a couple of partic- 
 ularly promising young corporals. Only last 
 week the Adjutant — athlete, scholar, born 
 soldier, and very lovable schoolboy, all most 
 perfectly blended — had fallen mortally 
 wounded, on his morning round of the fire- 
 trenches, by a bullet which came from no- 
 where. He was the subject of Wagstaffe's 
 reference. 
 
 " Is it not possible," suggested Mr Waddell, 
 
 G
 
 86 CARRYING ON 
 
 who habitually considered all questions from 
 every possible point of view, "that this 
 bombardment has been specially initiated 
 by the German authorities, in order to im- 
 press upon their own troops a warning that 
 there must be no Christmas truce this 
 year j 
 
 " If that is the Kaiser's Christmas greeting 
 to his loving followers," observed Wagstaffe 
 dryly, " I think he might safely have left it 
 to us to deliver it ! " 
 
 " They say," interposed Bobby Little, "that 
 the Kaiser is here himself." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 '* It was rumoured in Comic Cuts." (Comic 
 Cuts is the stately Summary of War Intelli- 
 gence issued daily from Olympus. ) 
 
 " If that is true," said Wagstaffe, " they pro- 
 bably will attack. All this fuss and bobbery 
 suggest something of the kind. They remind 
 me of the commotion which used to precede 
 Arthur Roberts's entrance in the old days of 
 Gaiety burlesque. Before your time, I fancy, 
 Bobby ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Bobby modestly. " I first found 
 touch with the Gaiety over Owr Miss Gibhs. 
 And I was quite a kid even then," he added,
 
 THE PUSH THAT FAILED 87 
 
 with characteristic honesty. " But what about 
 Arthur Koberts ? " 
 
 " Some forty or fifty years ago," explained 
 Wagstaffe, " when I was in the habit of fre- 
 quenting places of amusement, Arthur Koberts 
 was leading man at the establishment to which 
 I have referred. He usually came on about 
 half-past eight, just as the show was beginning 
 to lose its first wind. His entrance was a 
 most tremendous aftair. First of all the 
 entire chorus blew in from, the wings — about 
 sixty of them in ten seconds — saying ' Hurrah, 
 hurrah, girls ! ' or something rather unusual 
 of that kind ; after which minor characters 
 rushed on from opposite sides and told one 
 another that Arthur Roberts was cominsf. 
 Then the band played, and everybody began 
 to tell the audience about it in sons:. When 
 everything was in full blast, the great man 
 would appear — stepping out of a bathing- 
 machine, or falling out of a hansom-cab, or 
 sliding down a chute on a toboggan. He was 
 assisted to his feet by the chorus, and then 
 proceeded to ginger the show up. Well, 
 that's how this present entertainment im- 
 presses me. All this noise and obstreperous- 
 ness are leading up to one thing — Kaiser
 
 88 CARRYING ON 
 
 Blli't; entrance. Preliminary bombardment — 
 that's the chorus getting to work ! Minor 
 characters — the trench-mortars — spread the 
 fflad news I Band and chorus — that's the 
 grand attack working up to boiling - point ! 
 Finally, preceded by clouds of gas, the Arch- 
 Comedian in person, supported by spectacled 
 coryphees in brass hats ! How's that for a 
 Christmas pantomime ? " 
 
 " Rotten ! " said Bobby, as a shell sang 
 over the parapet and burst in the wood 
 behind. 
 
 II. 
 
 Kaiser or no Kaiser, Major Wagstaffe's ex- 
 travagant analogy held good. As Christmas 
 drew nearer, the band played louder and 
 faster ; the chorus swelled higher and shriller, 
 and it became finally apparent that some- 
 thing (or somebody) of portentous importance 
 was directing the storm. 
 
 Between six and seven next morning, the 
 Battalion, which had stood to arms all night, 
 lifted up its heavy head and sniffed the misty 
 dawn-wind — an east wind — dubiously. Next 
 moment gongs were clanging up and down the
 
 THE PUSH THAT FAILED 89 
 
 trench, and men were tearing open the 
 satchels which contained their anti - gas 
 hehnets. 
 
 Major WagstafFe, who had been sent up 
 from BattaHon Headquarters to take general 
 charge of affairs in the firing trench, buttoned 
 the bottom edge of his helmet well inside his 
 collar and clambered up on the firing-step to 
 take stock of the position. He crouched lovr, 
 for a terrific bombardment was in progress, 
 and shells were almost grazing the parapet. 
 
 Presently he was joined by a slim young 
 officer similarly disguised. It was the Com- 
 mander of "A" Company. Wagstaffe placed 
 his head close to Bobby's left ear, and shouted 
 through the cloth — 
 
 "We shan't feel this gas much. They're 
 letting it off higher up the line. Look ! " 
 
 Bobby, laboriously inhaling the tainted air 
 inside his helmet, — being preserved from a gas 
 attack is only one degree less unpleasant than 
 being gassed, — turned his goggles northward. 
 
 In the dim light of the breaking day he 
 could discern a greenish-yellow cloud rolling 
 across from the Boche trenches on his left. 
 
 " Will they attack ? " he bellowed. 
 
 Wagstaffe nodded his head, and then
 
 90 CARRYING ON 
 
 cautiously unbuttoned his collar and rolled 
 up the front of his helmet. Then, after 
 delicately sampling the atmosphere by a 
 cautious sniff, he removed his helmet alto- 
 gether. Bobby followed his example. The 
 air was not by any means so pure as might 
 have been desired, but it was infinitely pre- 
 ferable to that inside a sfas-helmet. 
 
 " Nothing to signify," pronounced Wag- 
 staffe. " We're only getting the edge of it. 
 Sergeant, pass down that men may roll up 
 their helmets, but must keep them on their 
 heads. Now, Bobby, things are getting in- 
 teresting. Will they attack, or will they 
 not ? " 
 
 " What do you think ? " asked Bobby. 
 
 " They are certainly going to attack farther 
 north. The Boche does not waste pas as 
 a rule — not this sort of gas ! And I think 
 he'll attack here too. The only reason why 
 he has not switched on our anaesthetic is that 
 the wind isn't quite right for this bit of the 
 line. I think it is going to be a general 
 push. Bobby, have a look through this 
 sniper's loophole. Can you see any bayonets 
 twinkling in the Boche trenches ? "
 
 THE PUSH THAT FAILED 91 
 
 Bobby applied an eye to the loophole. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " T can see them. Those 
 trenches must be packed with men." 
 
 " Absolutely stiff with them," agreed Wag- 
 staffe, getting out his revolver. " We shall 
 be in for it p^-esently. Are your fellows all 
 ready, Bobby ? "' 
 
 The youthful Captain ran his eye along the 
 trench, where his Company, with magazines 
 loaded and bayonets fixed, were grimly await- 
 ing the onset. There had been an onset similar 
 to this, with the same green, nauseous accom- 
 paniment, in precisely the same spot eight 
 months before, which had broken the line 
 and penetrated for four miles. There it 
 had been stayed by a forlorn hope — gasping, 
 choking, but indomitable — and disaster had 
 been most gloriously retrieved. What was 
 going to happen this time ? One thing 
 was certain : the day of stink-pots was over. 
 
 "When do yen think they'll attack?" 
 shouted Bobby to Wagstaffe, battling against 
 the noise of bursting shells. 
 
 " Quite soon — in a minute or two. Their 
 guns will stop directly — to lift their sights 
 and set up a barrage behind us. Then,
 
 92 CARRYING ON 
 
 perhaps, the Boche will step over his parapet. 
 Perhaps not ! " 
 
 The last sentence rang out with uncanny 
 distinctness, for the German guns with one 
 accord had ceased firinor. For a full two 
 minutes there was absolute silence, while the 
 bayonets in the opposite trenches twinkled 
 with tenfold intent. 
 
 Then, from every point in the great Salient 
 of Ypres, the British guns replied. 
 
 Possiblv the Great General Staff at Berlin 
 had been misinformed as to the exact strencfth 
 of the British Artillery. Possibly they had 
 been informed by their Intelligence Depart- 
 ment that Trades Unionism had ensured that 
 a thoroughly inadequate supply of shells was 
 to hand in the Salient. Or possibly they had 
 merely decided, after the playful habit of 
 General Staffs, to let the infantry in the 
 trenches take their chance of any retaliation 
 that mio:ht be forth comino-. 
 
 Whatever these great men were expecting, 
 it is highly improbable that they expected 
 that which arrived. Suddenly the British 
 batteries spoke out, and they all spoke 
 together. In the space of four minutes they
 
 THE PUSH THAT FAILED 93 
 
 cuMiosited thirty thousand high-explosive shells 
 in the Boche front-line trenches — yea, distri- 
 buted the same accurately and evenly along 
 all that crowded arc. Then they paused, as 
 suddenly as they began, while British rifle- 
 men and machine - gunners bent to their 
 work. 
 
 But few received the order to fire. Here 
 and there a v^ave of men broke over the Ger- 
 man parapet and rolled towards the British 
 lines — only to be rolled back crumpled up 
 by machine-guns. Never once was the goal 
 reached. The great Christmas attack was 
 over. After months of weary waiting and 
 foolish recrimination, that exasperating race 
 of bad starters but great stayers, the British 
 people, had delivered " the goods," and made 
 it possible for their soldiers to speak with the 
 enemy in the gate upon equal — nay, superior, 
 terms. 
 
 " Is that all ? " asked Bobby Little, peeiing 
 out over the parapet, a little awestruck at the 
 devastation over the way. 
 
 "That is all," said Wagstaffe, '* or I'm a 
 Boche I There Avill be much noise and some 
 irregular scrapping for days, but the tin lid
 
 94 CARRYING ON 
 
 has been placed upon the grand attack. The 
 great Christmas Victory is off ! " 
 
 Then he added, thoughtfully, referring ap- 
 parently to the star performer — 
 
 " We have been and spoiled his entrance for 
 bim, haven't we ? "
 
 95 
 
 CHAPTEK FIVE. 
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW. 
 
 There is a certain kind of English country- 
 house female who is said to " live in her 
 boxes." That is to say, she appears to possess 
 no home of her own, but flits from one in- 
 dulgent roof-tree to another ; and owing to 
 the fact that she is invariably put into a 
 bedroom whose wardrobe is full of her hostess' 
 superannuated ball-frocks and winter furs, 
 never knows what it is to have all her 
 "things" unpacked at once. 
 
 Well, we out here cannot be said to live in 
 our boxes, for we do not possess any ; but we 
 do most undoubtedly live in our haversacks 
 and packs. And this brings us to the matter 
 in hand — namely, so-called Rest-Billets. The 
 whole of the hinterland of this great trench
 
 96 CARRYING ON 
 
 line is full of tired men, seeking for a place to 
 lie down in, and living in their boxes when 
 they find one. 
 
 At present we are indulging in such a 
 period of repose ; and we venture to think 
 that on the whole we have earned it. Our 
 last rest was in high summer, when we lay 
 about under an August sun in the district 
 round Bethune, and called down curses upon 
 all flying and creeping insects. Since then 
 we have undergone certain so-called "opera- 
 tions " in the neighbourhood of Loos, and have 
 put in three months in the Salient of Ypres. 
 As that devout adherent of the Roman faith, 
 Private Reilly, of "B" Company, put it to 
 his spiritual adviser — 
 
 " I doot we'll get excused a good slice of 
 Purgatory for this, father ! " 
 
 We came out of the Salient just before Christ- 
 mas, in the midst of the mutual unpleasant- 
 ness arising out of the grand attack upon the 
 British line which was to have done so much to 
 restore the waning- confidence of the Hun. It 
 was meant to be a big affair — a most majestic 
 victory, in fact ; but our new gas-helmets 
 nullified the gas, and our new shells paralysed 
 the attack; so the Third Battle of Ypres was
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 97 
 
 not yet. Still, as I say, there was consider- 
 able unpleasantness all round ; and we were 
 escorted upon our homeward way, from Sanc- 
 tuary Wood to Zillebeke, and from Zille- 
 beke to Dickebusehe, by a swarm of angry 
 and disappointed shells. 
 
 Next day we found ourselves many miles 
 behind the firing line, once more in France, 
 with a whole month's holiday in prospect, 
 comfortably conscious that one could walk 
 round a corner or look over a wall with- 
 out preliminary reconnaissance or subsequent 
 extirpation. 
 
 As for the holiday itself, unreasonable per- 
 sons are not lacking to point out that it is 
 of the 'busman's variety. It is true that we 
 are no longer face to face with the foe, but 
 we — or rather, the authorities — make believe 
 that we are. We wage mimic warfare in full 
 marching order ; we fire rifles and machine- 
 guns upon improvised rauges ; we perform 
 hazardous feats with bombs and a dummy 
 trench. More galling still, we are back in 
 the region of .squad-drill^ physical exercises, 
 and handling of arms — horrors of our child- 
 hood which we thought had been left safely 
 interned at Aldershot.
 
 98 
 
 CARRYING ON 
 
 But the authorities are wise. The reofiment 
 is stiff and out of condition : it is suffer- 
 ing from moral and intellectual " trench-feet." 
 Heavy drafts have introduced a large and un- 
 tempered element into our composition. Many 
 of the subalterns are obviously ** new-jined " 
 — as the shrewd old lady of Ayr once observed 
 of the rubicund gentleman at the temperance 
 meeting. Their men hardly knew them or 
 one another by sight. The regiment must 
 be moulded anew, and its lustre restored by 
 the beneficent process vulgarly know as " spit 
 and polish." So every morning we apply 
 ourselves with thoroughness, if not enthusi- 
 asm, to tasks which remind us of last winter s 
 training upon the Hampshire chalk. 
 
 But the afternoon and evening are a dif- 
 ferent story altogether. If we were busy in 
 the morning, we are busier still for the rest of 
 the day. There is football galore, for we 
 have to get through a complete series of 
 Divisional cup-ties in four weeks. There is 
 also a Brigade boxing tournament. (No, that 
 was not where Private Tosh got his black 
 eye : that is a souvenir of New Year's Eve.) 
 There are entertainments of various kinds in 
 the recreation- t«nt. This whistling platoon,
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 99 
 
 with towels round their necks, are on their 
 way to the nearest convent, or asylum, or 
 Lcole des Jeunes Filles — have no fear ; these 
 establishments are untenanted ! — for a bath. 
 There, in addition to the pleasures of ablu- 
 tion, they will receive a partial change of 
 raiment. 
 
 Other signs of regeneration are visible. 
 That mysterious-looking vehicle, rather re- 
 sembling one of the early locomotives ex- 
 hibited in the South Kensino-ton Museum, 
 standing in the mud outside a farm-billet, 
 with its superheated interior stuffed with 
 *'C" Company's blankets, is performing an 
 unmentionable but beneficent work. 
 
 Buttons are resuming their polish ; the 
 pattern of our kilts is emerging from its 
 superficial crust ; and Church Parade is once 
 more becoming quite a show afiair. 
 
 Away to the east the guns still thunder, 
 and at night the star-shells float tremblingly 
 up over the distant horizon. But not for us. 
 Not yet, that is. In a few weeks' time we 
 shall be back in another part of the line. Till 
 then — Company drill and Cup Ties ! Carpe 
 diem !
 
 100 CARRYING ON 
 
 II. 
 
 It all seemed very strange and unreal to 
 Second-Lieutenant Angus M'Lachlan, as he 
 alighted from the train at railhead, and super- 
 vised the efforts of his solitary N.C.O. to 
 arrange the members of his draft in a straight 
 line. There were some thirty of them in all. 
 Some were old hands — men from the First 
 and Second Battalions, who had been home 
 wounded, and had now been sent out to leaven 
 "K(l)." Others were Special Reservists 
 from the Third Battalion. These had been at 
 the Depot for a long time, and some of them 
 stood badly in need of a little active service. 
 Others, again, were new hands altogether — 
 the product of " K to the ?^^^" Among these 
 Angfus M'Lachlan numbered himself, and he 
 made no attempt to conceal the fact. The 
 novelty of the sights around him was almost 
 too much for his dignity as a commissioned 
 officer. 
 
 Anficus M'Lachlan was a son of the Manse, 
 and incidentally a child of Nature. The 
 Manse was a Highland Manse ; and until a 
 few months ago Angus had never, save for a
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 101 
 
 rare visit to distant Edinburgh, penetrated 
 beyond the small town which lay four miles 
 from his native glen, and of whose local 
 Academy he had been " dux." When the 
 War broke out he had been upon the point of 
 proceeding to Edinburgh University, where 
 he had already laid siege to a bursary, and 
 captured the same ; but all these plans, to- 
 gether with the plans of countless more dis- 
 tinguished persons, had been swept to the 
 winds by the invasion of Belgium. On that 
 date Angus summoned up his entire stock of 
 physical and moral courage and informed his 
 reverend parent of his intention to enlist for a 
 soldier. Permission was granted with quite 
 stunning readiness. Neil M'Lachlan believed 
 in straight hitting both in theology and war, 
 and was by no means displeased at the martial 
 aspirations of his only son. If he quitted 
 himself like a man in the forefront of battle, 
 the boy could safely look forward to being 
 cock of his own Kirk-Session in the years that 
 came afterwards. One reservation the old 
 man made. His son, as a Highland gentle- 
 man, would lead men to battle, and not merely 
 accompany them. So the impatient Angus 
 was bidden to apply for a Commission — his 
 
 H
 
 102 CARRYING ON 
 
 attention during the period of waiting being 
 directed by bis parent to the study of the 
 campaigns of Joshua, and the methods em- 
 ployed by that singular but successful strate- 
 gist in dealing with the Philistine. 
 
 Angus had a long while to wait, for all the 
 youth of England — and Scotland too — was 
 on fire, and others nearer the fountain of 
 honour had to be served first. But his turn 
 came at last ; and we now behold him, as 
 typical a product of K to the n^^ as Bobby 
 Little had been of K (l), standing at last upon 
 the soil of France, and inquiring in a soft 
 Highland voice for the Headquarters of our 
 own particular Battalion. 
 
 He had half expected, half hoped, to alight 
 from the train amidst a shower of shells, as 
 he knew the Old Regiment had done many 
 months before, just after the War broke out. 
 But all he saw upon his arrival was an untidy 
 goods yard, littered with military stores, and 
 peopled by British privates in the deshabille 
 affected by the British Army when engaged 
 in menial tasks. 
 
 Being quite ignorant of the v/hereabouts of 
 his regiment — when last heard of they had 
 been in trenches near Ypres — and failing to
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 103 
 
 recollect the existence of that autocratic but 
 indispensable genius loci, the K.T.O., Angus 
 took uneasy stock of his surroundings and 
 wondered what to do next. 
 
 Suddenly a friendly voice at his elbow re- 
 marked — 
 
 ''' There's a queer lot o' bodies hereaboot, sirr." 
 
 Angus turned, to find that he was being 
 addressed by a short, stout private of the 
 draft, in a kilt much too big for him. 
 
 "Indeed that is so," he replied politely. 
 " What is your name ? " 
 
 " Peter Bogle, sirr. I am frae oot of 
 Kirkintilloch." Evidently gratified by the 
 success of his conversational opening, the little 
 man continued — 
 
 "I would like fine for tae get a contrack 
 oot here after the War. This country is in a 
 terrible state o' disrepair." Then he added 
 confidentially — 
 
 " I'm a hoose-painter tae a trade." 
 
 "I should not like to be that myself," 
 replied Angus, whose early training as a 
 minister's son was always causing him to 
 forget the social gulf which is fixed between 
 ofiicers and the rank-and-file. "Climbing 
 ladders makes me dizzy."
 
 104 CARRYING ON 
 
 " Och, it's naething ! A body gets used 
 tae it," Mr Bogle assured him. 
 
 Angus was about to proceed further with 
 the discussion, when the cold and disapprov- 
 ing voice of the draft-sergeant announced in 
 his ear — 
 
 "An officer wishes to speak to you, sir." 
 
 Second - Lieutenant M'Lachlan, suddenly 
 awake to the enormity of his conduct, turned 
 guiltily to greet the officer, while the sergeant 
 abruptly hunted the genial Private Bogle back 
 into the ranks. 
 
 Angus found himself confronted by an im- 
 maculate young gentleman wearing two stars. 
 Angus, who only wore one, saluted hurriedly. 
 
 "Morning," observed the stranger. "You 
 in charge of this draft ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Angus respectfully. 
 
 "Bighto ! You are to march them to "A" 
 Company billets. I'll show you the way. My 
 name's Cockerell. Your train is late. What 
 time did you leave the Base ? " 
 
 *' Indeed," replied Angus meekly, " I am not 
 quite sure. We had barely landed when they 
 told me the train would start at seventeen- 
 forty. What time would that be — sir ? " 
 
 *' About a quarter to six : more likely about
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 105 
 
 midnight ! Well, get your bunch on to the 
 road, and — Hallo, what's the matter? Let 
 
 go!" 
 
 The new officer was gripping him excitedly 
 hy the arm, and as the new officer stood six- 
 foot - four, and was brawny in proportion, 
 Master Cockerell's appeal was uttered in a 
 tone of unusual sincerity. 
 
 " Look ! " cried Angus excitedly. " The 
 dogs, the dogs ! " 
 
 A small cart was passing swiftly by, towed 
 by two sturdy hounds of unknown degree. 
 They were pulling with the feverish en- 
 thusiasm Avhich distinguishes the Dog in 
 the service of Man, and were being urged 
 to further efforts by a small hatless girl 
 carrying the inevitable large umbrella. 
 
 " All right ! " exclaimed Cockerell curtly. 
 *' Custom of the country, and all that." 
 
 The impulsive Angus apologised ; and the 
 draft, having been safely manoeuvred on to the 
 road, formed fours and set out upon its march. 
 
 " Are the battalion in the trenches at 
 present, sir ? " inquired Angus. 
 
 " No. Rest - billets two miles from here. 
 About time, too ! You'll get lots of work 
 to do, though."
 
 106 CAERYING ON 
 
 " I shall welcome that," said Angus simply. 
 " In the depot at home we were terribly idle. 
 There is a windmill ! " 
 
 '" Yes ; one sees them occasionally out here," 
 replied Cockerell drily. 
 
 " PJverything is so strange ! " confessed the 
 open-hearted Angus. "Those dogs we saw 
 just now — the people with their sabots — the 
 country carts, like wheelbarrows with three 
 wheek — the little shrines at the cross-roads — 
 the very children talking French so glibly " 
 
 " Wonderful how they pick it up ! " agreed 
 Cockerell. But the sarcasm was lost on his 
 companion, whose attention was now riveted 
 upon an approaching body of infantry, about 
 fifty strong. 
 
 " What troops are those, please ? " 
 
 Cockerell knitted his brows sardonically. 
 
 "It's rather hard to tell at this distance," 
 he said ; " but I rather think they are the 
 Grenadier Guards." 
 
 Two minutes later the procession had been 
 met and passed. It consisted entirely of 
 elderly gentlemen In ill-fitting khaki, clump- 
 ing along upon their flat feet and smoking 
 clay pipes. They carried shovels on their
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 107 
 
 shoulders, and made not the slightest re- 
 sponse when called upon by the soldierly 
 old corporal who led them to give Mr 
 Cockerell " eyes left ! " On the contrary, 
 engaged as they were in heated controversy 
 or amiable conversation with one another, 
 they cut him dead. 
 
 Angus M'Lachlan said nothing for quite 
 five minutes. Then — 
 
 " I suppose," he said almost timidly, " that 
 those were members of a Reserve Regiment of 
 the Guards ? " 
 
 Cockerell, who had never outgrown certain 
 characteristics which most of us shed upon 
 emerging from the Lower Fourth, laughed 
 long and loud. 
 
 " That crowd ? They belong to one of the 
 Labour Battalions. They make roads, and 
 dig support- trenches, and sling mud about 
 generally. Wonderful old sportsmen ! Pleased 
 as Punch when a shell fails within half a 
 mile of them. Something to write home 
 about. What ? I say, I pulled your leg 
 that time ! Here we are at Headquarters. 
 Come and report to the CO. Grenadier 
 Guards ! Mv aunt 1 "
 
 10$ CARRYING ON 
 
 Angus, although his Celtic enthusiasm 
 sometimes led him into traps, was no foci. 
 He soon settled down in his new surround- 
 ings, and found favour with Colonel Kemp, 
 which was no light acLIevement. 
 
 "You won't find that the War, in its 
 present stage, calls for any display of 
 genius," the Colonel explained to Angus at 
 their first interview. " I don't expect my 
 officers to exhibit any quality but the 
 avoidance of sloppiness. If I detail you 
 to be at a certain spot, at a certain hour, 
 with a certain number of men — a ration- 
 party, or a working - party, or a burial- 
 party, or anything you like, — all I ask is 
 that you will be there, at the appointed 
 hour, with the whole of your following. That 
 may not sound a very difficult feat, but ex- 
 perience has taught me that if a man can 
 achieve it, and can be relied upon to 
 achieve it under present conditions, say, nine 
 times out of ten — well, he is a pearl of price ; 
 and there is not a CO. in the British Army 
 who wouldn't scramble to get him. That's 
 all, M'Lachlan. Good morning ! " 
 
 By punctilious attention to this sound 
 advice Angus soon began to build up a
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 109 
 
 reputation. He treated war - worn veterans 
 like Bobby Little with immense respect, and 
 this, too, was counted to him for righteous- 
 ness. He exercised his platoon with appalling 
 vigour. CTpon Company route - marches he 
 had to be embedded in some safe place in the 
 middle of the column ; in fact, his enormous 
 stride and pedestrian enthusiasm would have 
 reduced his followers to pulp. At Mess he 
 was mute : like a wise man, he was feeling 
 for his feet. 
 
 And being, like Moses, slow of tongue, he 
 provided himself with an Aaron. Quite in- 
 advertently, be it said. Bidden to obtain a 
 servant for his personal needs, he selected 
 the only man in the Battalion whose name 
 he knew — Private Bogle, the ci - devant 
 painter of houses. That friendly creature 
 obeyed the call with alacrity. If his house- 
 painting was no better than his valeting, then 
 his prospects of a " contrack " after the War 
 were poor indeed ; but as a Mess-waiter he 
 was a joy for ever. Despite the blood-curd- 
 ling whispers of the Mess Corporal, his natural 
 urbanity of disposition could not be stemmed. 
 Of the comfort of others he was solicitous to 
 the point of oppressiveness. A Mess-waiter's
 
 no CAERYTSG OX 
 
 idea of effiet^icv as £i r^le is to stand wooes i:iy 
 at atienticMi in an obscnre comer of the room. 
 Wlien called upon, he starts forward with a 
 jerk, and usually trips over something — pro- 
 baolT his own feet. Not so Private Bogle. 
 
 "' Wull you try another cup o' tea, Major ?" 
 be would suggest at breakfast to Major Wag- 
 £ta£e. leaning aue-ctionateiy over the back of 
 his chair. 
 
 "No, thank you. Bogie,"* Major Wagstaffe 
 would reply gravely. 
 
 ••'Weel, it's cauld onyway," Bogle wonld 
 rejoin, anidoDs to endorse his superior's 
 decision. 
 
 Or — in the same spirit — 
 
 " Wull I luft the soup now, sir ? " 
 
 " Tarra weel : I'll jist let it bide the way 
 it isu* 
 
 Lastly, Angus M'Lachlan proved himself a 
 useful acquisiT:.!- — est>ecially in rest-billets — 
 i.^ a^ athlete. Er arrived just in time to 
 t£^ke pin — :.'.■ ii.ean part, either — in a Rugby 
 r>3tb- . i.::b t'layed between the officers of 
 two Bri^ Thanks very largely to hie 
 
 masterly leading of the forwards, our Brigade
 
 UXBENDLN'G THE BOW 111 
 
 were preserred from defeat at the hands of 
 
 their opponents, who on paper had appeared 
 to be irresistible. 
 
 'RmrhT Football "oot here" is a raritr. 
 thousrh Association, beincr esffientiallv the 
 ^ame of the rank-and-nle. flourishes in everv 
 green field. But an Inverleith or Qneen^s 
 Club crowd woold have reco«rnised more than 
 one old friend amon^ the ihirtv who took the 
 field that dav. There were those participat- 
 ing' whose lasi game had been one c^* the 
 spring " Internationals '' in. 1914, and who had 
 been engaged in a prolonged and strenuous 
 version oi an even greater International ever 
 since August of that :^tefcil year. Every 
 public school in Scotland was represented — 
 sometimes three or four times over — and 
 there were numerous doughty contributkms 
 from establishments SDuth of the Tweed. 
 
 The lookers-on were in diiferent case. Thev 
 were to a man devoted — nav. frenzied — adher- 
 ents of the Association code. In less stiaci- 
 ous days they had surged in their thousands 
 every Saturday afternoon to Forox, or Tyne- 
 castle, or Parkhead, there to yell themselves 
 into convulsions — now exhorting a friend to 
 hit some one a kick on the noee, now stemlv
 
 112 CARRYING ON 
 
 recommending the foe to play the game, nov/ 
 hoarsely consigning the referee to perdition. 
 To these, Rugby Football — the greatest of all 
 manly games — was a mere name. Their atti- 
 tude when the officers appeared upon the field 
 was one of indulgent superiority — the sort of 
 superiority that a brawny pitman exhibits 
 when his Platoon Commander steps down 
 into a trench to lend a hand with the 
 digging.^ 
 
 But in five minutes their mouths were 
 agape with scandalised astonishment ; in ten, 
 the heavens were rent with their protesting 
 cries. Accustomed to see football played with 
 the feet, and to demand with one voice the 
 instant execution of any player (on the other 
 side) who laid so much as a finger upon the 
 ball or the man who was playing it, the ex- 
 hibition of savage and promiscuous brutality 
 to which their superiors now treated them 
 shocked the assembled spectators to the roots 
 of their sensitive souls. Howls of virtuous 
 indignation burst forth upon all sides. 
 
 When the three-quarter-backs brought ofi' a 
 brilliant passing run, there were stern cries of 
 " Haands, there, referee ! " When Bobby 
 Little stopped an ugly rush by hurling himself
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 113 
 
 on the ball, the supporters of the other Brigade 
 greeted his heroic devotion with yelis of exe- 
 cration. When Ano^us M'Lachlan saved a 
 certain try by tackling a speedy wing three- 
 quarter low and bringing him down with a 
 crash, a hundred voices demanded his expul- 
 sion from the field. And when Mr Waddell, 
 playing a stuffy but useful game at half, 
 gained fifty yards for his side by a series of 
 judicious little kicks Into touch, the spectators 
 groaned aloud, and remarked caustically — 
 
 " This maun be a Cup-Tie, boys ! They are 
 playin' for a draw, for tae get a second 
 gate ! " 
 
 Altogether a thoroughly enjoyable after- 
 noon, both for players and spectators. And 
 so home to tea, domesticity, and social inter- 
 course. In this connection it may be noted 
 that our relations with the inhabitants are 
 of the friendliest. On the stroke of six — 
 oh yes, we have our licensing restrictions out 
 here too ! — half a dozen kilted warriors stroll 
 into the farm kitchen, and mumble affably to 
 Madame — 
 
 " Bone sworr ! Beer ? " 
 
 France beasts one enormous advantage over 
 Scotland. At home, you have at least to walk
 
 114, CARRYING ON 
 
 to the corner of the street to obtain a drink : 
 " oot here '' you can purchase beer in practi- 
 cally every house in a village. The French 
 licensing lav^^s are a thing of mystery, but the 
 system appears roughly to be this. Either 
 you possess a licence, or you do not. If you 
 do, you may sell beer, and nothing else. If 
 you do not, you may — or at any rate do — sell 
 anything you like, including beer. 
 
 However, we have left our friends thirsty. 
 
 Their wants are supplied with cheerful 
 alacrity, and, having been accommodated with 
 seats round the stove, they converse with the 
 family. Heaven only knows what they talk 
 about, but talk they do — in the throaty un- 
 intelligible Doric of the Clydeside, with an 
 occasional Gallicism, like, " AUvman no bon !'* 
 or *' Compree ? " thrown in as a sop to foreign 
 idiosyncracies. Madame and family respond, 
 chattering French (or Flemish) at enormous 
 speed. The amazing part of it all is that 
 neither side appears to experience the slightest 
 difficulty in understanding the other. One day 
 Mr Waddell, in the course of a friendly chat 
 with his hostess of the moment — she was 
 unable to speak a word of English — received 
 her warm congratulations upon his contem-
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 115 
 
 plated union with a certain fair one of St 
 Andrews. Mr Waddell, a very, fair linguist, 
 replied in suitable but embarrassed terms, 
 and asked for the source of the good lady's 
 information. 
 
 *' Mais votre ordonnance, m'sieur ! " was the 
 reply. 
 
 Tackled upon the subject, the " ordonnance " 
 in question, Waddell's servant — a shock- 
 headed youth from Dundee — admitted having 
 communicated the information ; and added — 
 
 " She's a decent body, sirr, the lady o' the 
 hoose. She lost her husband, she was tellin' 
 me, three years ago. She has twa sous in 
 the Airmy. Her auld Auntie is up at the 
 top o' the hoose — lyin' badly, and no expectin' 
 tae rise." 
 
 And yet some people study Esperanto ! 
 
 We also make ourselves useful. "K(l)" 
 contains members of every craft. If the pig- 
 sty door is broken, a carpenter is forthcoming 
 to mend it. Somebody's elbow goes through 
 a pane of glass in the farm kitchen : straight- 
 way a glazier materialises from the nearest 
 platoon and puts in another. The ancestral 
 eight-day clock of the household develops in- 
 ternal complications, and is forthwith dismem-
 
 116 CARRYING ON 
 
 bered and re-assembled, " with punctuality, 
 civility, and despatch," by a gentleman who, 
 until a few short months ago, had done nothing 
 else for fifteen years. 
 
 And it was in this connection that Corporal 
 Mucklewame stumbled on to a rare and con- 
 genial job, and incidentally made the one joke 
 of his life. 
 
 One afternoon a cow, the property of Madame 
 la fermiere, developed symptoms of some 
 serious disorder. A period of dolorous bellow- 
 ing was followed by an outburst of homicidal 
 mania, during which "A" Company prudently 
 barricaded itself into the barn, the sufferer 
 having taken entire possession of the farm- 
 yard. Next, and finally — so rapidly did the 
 malady run its course — a state of coma in- 
 tervened ; and finally the cow, collapsing 
 upon the doorstep of the Ofiicers' Mess, 
 breathed her last before any one could be 
 found to point out to her the liberty she 
 was taking. 
 
 It was decided to hold a post-mortem — 
 firstly, to ascertain the cause of death ; 
 secondly, because it is easier to remove a dead 
 cow after dissection than before. Madame 
 therefore announced her intention of sending
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW lir 
 
 for the butcher, and was on the point of doing" 
 so when Corporal Mucklewame, in whose hearty 
 at the spectacle of the stark and lifeless 
 corpse, ancient and romantic memories were 
 stirring — it may be remembered that before 
 answering to the call of " K (l) " Mucklewame 
 had followed the calling of butcher's assistant 
 at Wishaw — volunteered for the job. His 
 services were cordially accepted by thrifty 
 Madame ; and the Corporal, surrounded by a 
 silent and admiring crowd, set to work. 
 
 The officers, leaving the Junior Subaltern 
 in charge, went with one accord for a long 
 country walk. 
 
 Half an hour later Mucklewame arrived 
 at the seat of the deceased animal's trouble 
 — the seat of most of the troubles of man- 
 kind — its stomach. After a brief investi- 
 gation, he produced therefrom a small bag 
 of nails, recently missed from the vicinity of 
 a cook-house in course of construction in the 
 corner of the yard. 
 
 Abandoning the 7vle of surgical expert for 
 that of coroner, Mucklewame held the trophy 
 aloft, and delivered his verdict — 
 
 " There, boys ! That's what comes of eating 
 your iron ration without authority ! " 
 
 I
 
 118 CARRYING ON 
 
 III. 
 
 Here is an average billet, and its personnel. 
 
 The central feature of our residence is the 
 refuse-pit, which fills practically the whole of 
 the rectangular farmyard, and resembles (in 
 size and shape only) an open-air swimming 
 bath. Its abundant contents are apparently 
 the sole asset of the household ; for if you 
 proceed, in the interests of health, to spread a 
 decent mantle of honest earth thereover, you 
 do so to the accompaniment of a harmonised 
 chorus of lamentation, very creditably ren- 
 dered by the entire family, who are grouped 
 en masse about the spot where the high 
 diving-board ought to be. 
 
 Round this perverted place of ablution runs 
 a stone ledge, some four feet wide, and round 
 that again run the farm buildings — the house 
 at the top end, a great barn down one side, and 
 the cowhouse, together with certain darksome 
 piggeries and fowl-houses, down the other. 
 These latter residences are only occupied at 
 night, their tenants preferring to spend the 
 golden hours of day in profitable occupation 
 upon the happy hunting-ground in the middle.
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 119 
 
 Within the precincts of this already over- 
 crowded establishment are lodofed some two 
 hundred British soldiers and their officers. 
 The men sleep in the barn, their meals being 
 prepared for them upon the Company cooker, 
 which stands in the muddy road outside, and 
 resembles the humble vehicle employed by 
 Urban District Councils for the preparation 
 of tar for road - mending purposes. The 
 officers occupy any room which may be avail- 
 able within the farmhouse itself The Com- 
 pany Commander has the best bedroom — a 
 low-roofed, stone-floored apartment, with a 
 very small window and a very large bed. 
 The subalterns sleep where they can — usually 
 in the gretiier, a loft under the tiles, devoted 
 to the storage of onions and the drying, 
 during the winter months, of the family 
 washing, which is suspended from innumer- 
 able strings stretched from wall to wall. 
 
 For a Mess, there is usually a spare apart- 
 ment of some kind. If not, you put your 
 pride in your pocket and take your meals at 
 the kitchen table, at such hours as the family 
 are not sitting humped round the same with 
 their hats on, partaking of soup or coffee. 
 (This appears to be their sole sustenance.)
 
 120 CARRYING ON 
 
 A farm kitchen in Northern France is a scru- 
 pulously clean place — the whole family gets 
 up at half-past four in the morning and sees 
 to the matter — and despite the frugality of 
 her own home menu, the fermiere can produce 
 you a perfect omelette at any hour of the day 
 or night. 
 
 This brings us to the kitchen stove, which 
 is a marvel. No massive and extravagant 
 English ranges here ! There is only one 
 kind : we call it the Coffin and Flower-pot. 
 The coffin — small, black, and highly polished 
 — projects from the wall about four feet, the 
 further end being supported by what looks 
 like an ornamental black flower-pot standing 
 on a pedestal. The coffin is the oven, and 
 the flower-pot is the stove. Given a handful 
 of small coal or charcoal, Madame appears 
 capable of keeping it at work all day, and 
 of boiling, baking, or roasting you innumer- 
 able dishes. 
 
 Then there is the family. Who or what 
 they all are, and where they all sleep, is a 
 profound mystery. The family tree is usually 
 headed by a decrepit and ruminant old gentle- 
 man in a species of yachting-cap. He sits 
 behind the stove — not exactly with one foot
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 121 
 
 in the grave, but with both knees well up 
 against the coffin — and occasionally offers a 
 mumbled observation of which no one takes 
 the slightest notice. Sometimes, too, there 
 is an old, a very old, lady. Probably she is 
 some one's grandmother, or great -grand- 
 mother, but she does not appear to be 
 related to the old gentleman. At least, 
 they never recognise one another's exist- 
 ence in any way. 
 
 There are also vague people who possess 
 the power of becoming invisible at will. 
 They fade in and out of the house like 
 wraiths : their one object in life appears to 
 be to efface themselves as much as possible. 
 Madame refers to them as " refugies " : this 
 the sophisticated Mr Cockerell translates, 
 *' German spies." 
 
 Next in order come one or two farm-hands 
 — usually addressed as " 'Nri ! " and " 'Seph ! " 
 They are not as a rule either attractive in 
 appearance or desirable in character. Every 
 man in this country, who is a man, is away, 
 as a matter of course, doing a man's only 
 possible duty under the circumstances. This 
 leaves 'Nri and 'Seph, who through physical 
 or mental shortcomings are denied the proud
 
 122 CARRYING ON 
 
 privilege, and shamble about in the muck and 
 mud of the farm, leering or grumbling, while 
 Madame exhorts them to further activity 
 from the kitchen door. They take their 
 meals with the family : where they sleep no 
 one knows. External evidence suggests the 
 cowhouse. 
 
 Then, the family. First, Angele. She 
 may be twenty - five, but is more probably 
 fifteen. She acts as Adjutant to Madame, 
 and rivals her mother as deliverer of sustained 
 and rapid recitative. She milks the cows, 
 feeds the pigs, and dragoons her young 
 brothers and sisters. But though she works 
 from morning till night, she has always time 
 for a smiling salutation to all ranks. She 
 also speaks English quite creditably — a fact 
 of which Madame is justly proud. " College ! " 
 explains the mother, full of appreciation for 
 an education which she herself has never 
 known, and taps her learned daughter affec- 
 tionately upon the head. 
 
 Next in order comes Emile. He must be 
 about fourteen, but War has forced manhood 
 on him. All day long he is at work, bullying 
 very large horses, digging, hoeing, even 
 ploughing. He is very much a boy, for all
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 123 
 
 that. He whistles excruciatingly — usually 
 English music-hall melodies — grins sheepishly 
 at the officers, and is prepared at any moment 
 to abandon the most important tasks in order 
 to watch a man cleaning a rifle or oiling a 
 machine-gun. We seem to have encountered 
 Emile in other countries than this. 
 
 After Emile, Gabrielle. Her age is prob- 
 ably seven. If you were to give her a wash 
 and brush-up, dress her in a gauzy frock, and 
 exchange her thick woollen stockings and 
 wooden sabots for silk and dancing slippers, 
 she would make a very smart little fairy. 
 Even in her native state she is a most at- 
 tractive young person, of an engaging coy- 
 ness. If you say, " Bonjour, Gabrielle ! " she 
 whispers, " Bjour M'sieur le Capitaine" — or, 
 " M'sieur le Caporal " ; for she knows all 
 badges of rank — and hangs her head de- 
 murely. But presently, if you stand quite 
 still and look the other way, Gabrielle will 
 sidle up to you and squeeze your hand. This 
 is gratifying, but a little subversive of strict 
 discipline if you happen to be inspecting your 
 platoon at the moment. 
 
 Gabrielle is a firm favourite with the rank 
 and file. Her particular crony, is one Private
 
 124 CARRYING ON 
 
 Mackay, an amorphous youth with flaming 
 red hair. He and Gabrielle engage in lengthy 
 conversations, which appear to be perfectly 
 intelligible to both, though Mackay speaks 
 with the solemn unction of the Aberdonian, 
 and Gabrielle prattles at express speed in 
 a patois of her own. Last week some un- 
 known humorist, evidently considering that 
 Gabrielle was not making sufficient progress 
 in her knowledge of English, took upon him- 
 self to give her a private lesson. Next 
 morning Mackay, on sentry duty at the farm 
 ^ate, espied his little friend peeping round 
 a corner. 
 
 "Hey, Garibell!" he observed cheerfully. 
 {No Scottish private ever yet mastered a 
 French name quite completely.) 
 
 Gabrielle, anxious to exhibit her new accom- 
 plishment, drew nearer, smiled seraphically, 
 and replied — 
 
 " 'Ello, Gingeair ! " 
 
 Last of the bunch comes Petit Jean, a 
 chubby and close-cropped youth of about six. 
 Petit Jean is not his real name, as he him- 
 self indignantly explained when so addressed 
 by Major Wagstaffe.
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 125 
 
 " Moi, z'ne suis pas Petit Jean; z'suis 
 Maurrrice ! " 
 
 Major Wagstaffe apologised most humbly, 
 but the name stuck. 
 
 Petit Jean is an enthusiast upon matters 
 military. He possesses a little wooden rifle, 
 the gift of a friendly " Ecossais," tipped with 
 a flashing bayonet cut from a biscuit-tin ; 
 and spends most of his time out upon the 
 road, waiting for some one to salute. At one 
 time he used to stand by the sentry, with an 
 ancient glengarry crammed over his bullet 
 head, and conform meticulously to his com- 
 rade's slightest movement. This procedure 
 was soon banned, as being calculated to bring 
 contempt and ridicule upon the King's uni- 
 form, and Petit Jean was assigned a beat of 
 his own. Behold him upon sentry-go. 
 
 A figure upon horseback swings round the 
 bend in the road. 
 
 " Here's an officer, Johnny ! " cries a friendly 
 voice from the farm gate. 
 
 Petit Jean, as upright as a post, brings his 
 rifle from stand-at-ease to the order, and from 
 the order to the slope, with the epileptic 
 jerkiness of a marionette, and scrutinises the 
 approaching officer for stars and crowns. If
 
 126 CARRYING ON 
 
 he can discern nothing but a star or two, he 
 slaps the small of his butt with ferocious 
 solemnity ; but if a crown, or a red hatband, 
 reveals itself, he blows out his small chest 
 to its fullest extent and presents arms. If 
 the salute is acknowledged — as it nearly 
 always is — Petit Jean is crimson with grati- 
 fication. Once, when a friendly subaltern 
 called his platoon to attention, and gave the 
 order, " Eyes right ! " upon passing the motion- 
 less little figure at the side of the road, Petit 
 Jean was so uplifted that he committed the 
 military crime of deserting his post while on 
 duty — in order to run home and tell his 
 mother about it. 
 
 Last of all we arrive at the keystone of the 
 whole fabric — Madame herself She is one of 
 the most wonderful women in the world. Con- 
 sider. Her husband and her eldest son are 
 away — fighting, she knows not where, amid 
 dangers and privations which can only be 
 imagined. During their absence she has to 
 manage a considerable farm, with the help 
 of her children and one or two hired labourers 
 of more than doubtful use or reliability. In
 
 UNBENDING THE BOW 127 
 
 addition to her ordinary duties as a parent 
 3i,Jid fermiere, she finds herself called upon, for 
 months on end, to maintain her premises as 
 a combination of barracks and almshouse. 
 Yet she is seldom cross — except possibly when 
 the soldais steal her apples and pelt the pigs 
 with the cores — and no accumulations of labour 
 can sap her energy. She is up by half- past four 
 every morning ; yet she never appears anxious 
 to go to bed at night. The last sound which 
 sleepy subalterns hear is Madam e's voice, up- 
 lifted in steady discourse to the circle round 
 the stove, sustained by an occasional guttural 
 chord from 'Nri and 'Seph. She has been 
 doing this day in, day out, since the com- 
 batants settled down to trench warfare. 
 Every few weeks brings a fresh crop of 
 tenants, with fresh peculiarities and unknown 
 proclivities ; and she assimilates them all. 
 
 The only approach to a breakdown comes 
 when, after paying her little bill — you may be 
 sure that not an omelette nor a broken window 
 will be missing from the account — and wishing 
 her " Bonne chance ! " ere you depart, you ven- 
 ture on a reference, in a few awkward, stum- 
 bling sentences, to the absent husband and son.
 
 128 CARRYING ON 
 
 Then she weeps copiously, and it seems to do 
 her a world of good. All hail to you, Madame 
 — the finest exponent, in all this War, of the 
 art of Carrying On ! We know now why 
 France is such a great country.
 
 129 
 
 CHAPTER SIX. 
 
 "ye merrie buzzers." 
 
 Practically all the business of an Army in 
 the field is transacted by telephone. If the 
 telephone breaks down, whether by the Act 
 of God or the King's Enemies, that business is 
 at a standstill until the telephone is put right 
 again. 
 
 The importance of the disaster varies with 
 the nature of the business. For instance, if 
 the wire leading to the E-ound Game Depart- 
 ment is blown down by a March gale, and 
 your weekly return of Men Recommended for 
 False Teeth is delayed in transit, nobody minds 
 very much — except possibly the Deputy Assist- 
 ant Director of Auxiliary Dental Appliances. 
 But if you are engaged in battle, and the 
 wires which link up the driving-force in front 
 with the directing-force behind are devastated
 
 130 CARRYING ON 
 
 by a storm of shrapnel, the matter assumes a 
 more — nay, a most — serious aspect. Hence 
 the superlative importance in modern warfare 
 of the Signal Sections of the E-oyal Engineers 
 tersely described by the rank and file as " The 
 Buzzers," or the " Iddy-Umpties." 
 
 During peace-training, the Buzzer on the 
 whole has a very pleasant time of it. Once 
 he has mastered the mysteries of the Sema- 
 phore and Morse codes, the most laborious 
 part of his education is over. Henceforth he 
 spends his days upon some sheltered hillside, 
 in company with one or two congenial spirits, 
 flapping cryptic messages out of a blue-and- 
 white flag at a similar party across the valley. 
 
 A year ago, for instance, you might have 
 encountered an old friend, Private M'Micking 
 — one of the original " Buzzers " of "A " Com- 
 pany, and ultimately Battalion Signal Ser- 
 geant — under the lee of a pine -wood near 
 Hindhead, accompanied by Lance - Corporal 
 Greig and Private Wamphray, regarding with 
 languid interest the frenzied eflbrts of three 
 of their colleagues to convey a message from 
 a sunny hillside three-quarters of a mile 
 away. 
 
 " Here a message comin' through, boys,"
 
 «YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 131 
 
 announces the Lance-Corporal. " They're in 
 a sair hurry : I doot the officer will be there. 
 Jeams, tak' it doon while Sandy reads it." 
 
 Mr James M'Micking seats himself upon a 
 convenient log. In order not to confuse his 
 faculties by endeavouring to read and write 
 simultaneously, he turns his back upon the 
 fluttering flag, and bends low over his field 
 message-pad. Private Wamphray stands fac- 
 ing him, and solemnly spells out the message 
 over his head. 
 
 " Tcoe G-o-c — I dinna ken what that means 
 — R-E-D ; reid — A-R-M-Y ; airmy — h-a-z — " 
 
 " All richt ; that'll be ' Haslemere,' " says 
 Private M'Micking, scribbling down the word. 
 " Go on, Sandy!" 
 
 Private Wamphray, pausing to expectorate, 
 continues — 
 
 " R-E-c-0-N-N-o-i-T-R — Cricky, what a worrd ! 
 Let's hae it repeatit." 
 
 Wamphray flaps his flag vigorously — he 
 knows this particular signal only too well — 
 and the word comes through again. The 
 distant signaller, slowing down a little, 
 continues — 
 
 Reconnoitring patrol repo7'ts hostile cavalry 
 scan —
 
 132 CARRYING ON 
 
 "That'll be ' scouts y says the ever-ready 
 M'Micking. '* Carry on ! " 
 
 Wamphray continues obediently — 
 
 Country; stop ; Have throivn outflank guns; 
 stop ; Shall I advance or re — 
 
 ''—tire,'' gabbles M'Micking, writing it 
 down. 
 
 '' —ivhere I am; stop; From O.C. Advance 
 Guard; stop; message ends." 
 
 " And aboot time, too ! " observes the scribe 
 severely. " Haw, Johnny ! " 
 
 The Lance-Corporal, who has been indulging 
 in a pleasant reverie upon a bank of bracken, 
 wakes up and reads the proffered message. 
 
 ''To G.O.C., Red Army, Hazlemere. Recon- 
 noitring "patrol reports hostile cavalry scouts 
 country. Have throivn out flank guns. Shall 
 I advance or retire where I am ? From 0. C. 
 Advance Guard." 
 
 " This message doesna sound altogether 
 sense," he observes mildly. "That 'shall' 
 should be ' wull,' onyway. Would it no' be 
 better to get it repeatit ? The oflScer " 
 
 " I've given the ' message-read ' signal now," 
 objects the indolent Wamphray.
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 13a 
 
 " How would it be," suggests the Lance- 
 Corporal, whose besetting sin is a pencJiant for 
 emendation, " if we were tae transfair yon stop, 
 and say : Reconnoitring patrol repo7^ts hostile 
 cebvaliry scouts. Country has throivn outjlank 
 guns ? " 
 
 " What does that mean ? " inquires M'Mick- 
 ing scornfully. 
 
 " I dinna ken ; but these messages about 
 Grenerals and sic-like bodies " 
 
 At this moment, as ill-luck will have it, 
 the Signal Sergeant appears breasting the 
 hillside. He arrives puffing — he has seen 
 twenty years' service — and scrutinises the 
 message. 
 
 "You boys," he says reproachfully, "are an 
 aggravate altogether. Here you are, jumping 
 at your conclusions again ! After all I have 
 been telling you ! See ! That worrd in the 
 address should no' be ' Haslemere ' at all. It's 
 just a catch ! It's ' Hazebroucke ' — a Gairman 
 city that we'll be capturing this time next 
 year. 'Scouts' is no 'scouts,' but ' scouring ' 
 — meaning 'sooping up.' 'Guns' should be 
 'guarrd,' and 'retire' should be 'remain.' 
 Mind me, now ; next time, you'll be up before 
 the Captain for neglect of duty. Wamphray, 
 
 K
 
 134 CAKRYING ON 
 
 give the 'CI./ and let's get hame to oor 
 dinners ! " 
 
 II. 
 
 But " oot here " there is no flag-wagging. 
 The Buzzer's first proceeding upon entering 
 the field of active hostilities is to get under- 
 ground, and stay there. 
 
 He is a seasoned vessel, the Buzzer of to- 
 day, and a person of marked individuality. 
 He is above all things a man of the world. 
 Sitting day and night in a dug-out, or a cellar, 
 with a telephone receiver clamped to his ear, 
 he sees little ; but he hears much, and over- 
 hears more. He also speaks a language of his 
 own. His one task in life is to prevent the 
 letter B from sounding like C, or D, or P, or ^ 
 
 T, or Y, over the telephone ; so he has per- I 
 
 verted the English language to his own uses. 
 He calls B " Beer," and D " Don," and so on. 
 He salutes the rosy dawn as " Akk Emma," 
 and eventide as " Pip Emma." He refers to 
 the letter S as " Esses," in order to distinguish 
 it from F. He has no respect for the most 
 majestic military titles. To him the Deputy
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 135 
 
 Assistant Director of the Mobile Veterinary 
 Section is merely a lifeless formula, entitled 
 Don Akk Don Emma Vic Esses. 
 
 He is also a man of detached mind. The 
 tactical situation does not interest him. His 
 business is to disseminate news, not to write 
 leading articles about it. (0 si sic ornnes !) 
 You may be engaged in a life - and - death 
 struggle for the possession of your own para- 
 pet with a Boche bombing party ; but this 
 does not render you immune from a pink slip 
 from the Signal Section, asking you to state 
 your reasons in writing for having mislaid 
 fourteen pairs of boots, gum, thigh, lately the 
 property of Number Seven Platoon. A famous 
 British soldier tells a story somewhere in his 
 reminiscences of an occasion upon which, in 
 some long-forgotten bush campaign, he had to 
 defend a zareba against a heavy attack. For 
 a time the situation was critical. Help was 
 badly needed, but the telegraph-wire had been 
 cut. Ultimately the attack withered away, 
 and the situation was saved. Almost simul- 
 taneously the victorious commander was in- 
 formed that telegraphic communication with 
 the Base had been restored. A message was 
 already coming through.
 
 136 CARRYING ON 
 
 "News of reinforcements, I hope!" he re- 
 marked to his subordinate. 
 
 But his surmise was incorrect. The messaofe 
 said, quite simply : — 
 
 Your monthly return of men vrishitig to 
 change their religion is twenty -four hours 
 overdue. Please expedite. 
 
 There was a time when one laugfhed at that 
 anecdote as a playful Invention. But we know 
 now that It Is true, and we feel a sort of pride 
 In the truly British imperturbability of our 
 official machinery. 
 
 Thirdly, the Buzzer Is a humorist of the 
 sardonic variety. The constant clash of wits 
 over the wires, and the necessity of framing 
 words quickly, sharpens his faculties and 
 acidulates his tongue. Incidentally he is an 
 awkward person to quarrel with. One black 
 night, Bobby Little, making his second round 
 of the trenches about an hour before "stand- 
 to," felt constrained to send a telephone mes- 
 sage to Battalion Headquarters. Taking a 
 good breath — you always do this before enter- 
 ing a trench dug-out — he plunged into the
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 137 
 
 noisome cavern where his Company Signallers 
 kept everlasting vigiL The place was in total 
 darkness, except for the illumination supplied 
 by a strip of rifle-rag burning in a tin of rifle- 
 oil. The air, what there was of it, was thick 
 with large, flat, floating particles of free carbon. 
 The telephone was buzzing plaintively to itself, 
 in unsuccessful competition with a well-modu- 
 lated quartette for four nasal organs, contri- 
 buted by Bobby's entire signalling stafl", who, 
 locked in the inextricable embrace peculiar to 
 Thomas Atkins in search of warmth, were 
 snoring harmoniously upon the earthen floor. 
 
 The signaller "on duty" — one M'Gurk — 
 was extracted from the heap and put under 
 arrest for sleeping at his post. The enormity 
 of his crime was heightened by the fact that 
 two undelivered messages were found upon 
 his person. 
 
 Divers pains and penalties followed. Bobby 
 supplemented the sentence with a homily upon 
 the importance of vigilance and despatch. 
 M'Gurk, deeply aggrieved at forfeiting seven 
 days' pay, said nothing, but bided his time. 
 Two nicrhts later the Battalion came out of 
 trenches for a week's rest, and Bobby, weary
 
 138 CARRYING ON 
 
 and thankful, retired to bed in his hut at 
 nine p.m., in comfortable anticipation of a full 
 night's repose. 
 
 His anticipations were doomed to disap- 
 pointment. He was roused from slumber — 
 not without difficulty — by Signaller M'Gurk, 
 who appeared standing by his bedside with a 
 guttering candle-end in one hand and a pink 
 despatch - form in the other. The message 
 said : — 
 
 Prevailing wind for next twenty -four hours 
 irrohahly S. W. , with some rain. 
 
 Mindful of his own recent admonitions, 
 Bobby thanked M'Gurk politely, and went 
 to sleep again. 
 
 M'Gurk called again at half-past two in 
 the morning, with another message, which 
 announced : — 
 
 Baths will he available for your Company 
 from 2 to S p.m. to-m,orroiv. 
 
 Bobby stuffed the missive under his air- 
 pillow, and rolled over without a word. 
 M'Gurk withdrew, leaving the door of the 
 hut open. 
 
 His next visit was about four o'clock. This 
 time the message said : — 
 
 A Zeppelin is reported to have p>(^ssed over
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 139 
 
 Dunkirk at 5 p.m. yestei'day afternoon, pro- 
 ceeding in a northerly direction. 
 
 Bobby informed M'Gurk that he was a fool 
 and a dotard, and cast him forth. 
 
 M'Gurk returned at five-thirty, with one 
 more despatch. It said : — 
 
 The expression '^ Dud" will no longer he 
 employed in official correspondence. 
 
 This time his Company Commander pro- 
 mised him that if he appeared again that 
 night he would be awarded fourteen days' 
 Field Punishment Number One. 
 
 The result was that upon sitting down to 
 breakfast at nine next morning, Bobby found 
 upon his plate yet another message — from his 
 Commanding Officer — summoning him to the 
 Orderly-room on urgent matters at eight- 
 thirty. 
 
 But Bobby scored the final and winning 
 trick. Sending for M'Gurk and Sergeant 
 M'Micking, he said : — 
 
 "This man, Sergeant, appears to be unable 
 to decide when a message is urgent and when 
 it is not. In future, whenever M'Gurk is on 
 night duty, and is in doubt as to whether a 
 message should be delivered at once or put 
 aside till morning, he will come to you and
 
 140 CARRYING ON 
 
 ask for your guidance in the matter. Do you 
 understand ? " 
 
 "Perfectly, sirr!" replied the Sergeant, 
 outwardly calm, 
 
 " M'Gurk, do you understand ? " 
 
 M'Gurk looked at Bobby, and then round at 
 Sergeant M'Micking. He received a glance 
 which shrivelled his marrow. The game was 
 up. He grinned sheepishly, and answered — 
 
 " Yes, sirr ! " 
 
 III. 
 
 Having briefly set forth the character and 
 habits of the Buzzer, we will next proceed to 
 visit the creature in his lair. This is an easy 
 feat. We have only to walk up the communi- 
 cation trench which leads from the reserve line 
 to the firing line. Upon either side of the 
 trench, neatly tacked to the muddy wall by a 
 device of the hairpin variety, run countless 
 insulated wires, clad in coats of various colours 
 and all duly ticketed. These radiate from 
 various Headquarters in the rear to numerous 
 signal stations in the front, and were laid by 
 the Signallers themselves. (It is perhaps un-
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 141 
 
 necessary to mention that that single wire 
 running, In defiance of all regulations, across 
 the top of the trench, which neatly tipped 
 your cap off just now, was laid by those play- 
 ful humorists, the Koyal Artillery.) It follows 
 that if we accompany these wires far enough we 
 shall ultimately find ourselves in a signalling 
 station. 
 
 Our only difiSculty lies in judicious choice, 
 for the wires soon begin to diverge up num- 
 erous byways. Some go to the fire-trench, 
 others to the machine-guns, others again to 
 observation posts — whence a hawk - eyed 
 Porward Observing Officer, peering all day 
 through a chink in a tumble-down chimney or 
 sandbagged loophole, is sometimes enabled to 
 flash back the intelligence that he can discern 
 transport upon such a road in rear of the 
 Boche trenches, and will such a battery kindly 
 attend to the matter at once ? 
 
 However, chance guides us to the Signal 
 dug-out of *'A" Company, where, by the best 
 fortune in the world. Private M'Gurk in person 
 is installed as officiating sprite. Let us render 
 ourselves invisible, sit down beside him, and 
 *" tap" his wire. 
 
 In the dim and distant days before such
 
 142 CARRYING ON 
 
 phrases as " Boche," and "T.N.T.," and "muni- 
 tions," and " economy " were invented ; when 
 we lived in houses which possessed roofs, and 
 never dreamed of lying down motionless by 
 the roadside when we heard a taxi- whistle 
 blown thrice, in order to escape the notice of 
 approaching aeroplanes — in short, in the days 
 immediately preceding the war — some of ur. 
 said in our haste that the London Telephone 
 Service was The Limit. Since then we have 
 made the acquaintance of the military field 
 telephone, and we feel distinctly softened to- 
 wards the young woman at home who, from 
 her dug-out in " Gerrard," or "Yic," or 
 "Hop.," used to goad us to impotent frenzy. 
 She was at least terse and decided. If you 
 rang her up and asked for a number, she 
 merely replied — 
 
 (a) " Number engaged." 
 
 (h) "No reply." 
 
 (c) "Out of order," 
 — as the case might be, and switched you oft' 
 After that you took a taxi to the place with 
 which you wished to communicate, and there 
 was an end of the matter. Above all, she 
 never explained, she never wrangled, she 
 spoke tolerably good English, and there was
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 143 
 
 only one of her^-or at least she was of a 
 uniform type. 
 
 Now, if you put your ear to the receiver of 
 a field-telephone, you find yourself, as it were, 
 suddenly thrust into a vast subterranean 
 cavern, filled with the wailings of the lost, 
 the babblings of the feeble-minded, and the 
 profanity of the exasperated. If you ask a 
 high-caste Buzzer — say, an K.E. Signalling 
 Officer — why this should be so, he will look 
 intensely wise and recite some solemn gib- 
 berish about earthed wires and induced 
 currents. 
 
 The noises are of two kinds, and one supple- 
 ments the other. The human voice supplies 
 the libretto, while the accompaniment is pro- 
 vided by a syncopated and tympanum-piercing 
 ping-ping, suggestive of a giant mosquito sing- 
 ing to its young. 
 
 The instrument with which we are contend- 
 ing is capable (in theory) of transmitting a 
 message either telephonically or telegraphic- 
 ally. In practice, this means that the sig- 
 naller, having wasted ten sulphurous minutes 
 in a useless attempt to convey information 
 through the medium of the human voice, next 
 proceeds, upon the urgent advice of the gentle-
 
 144 CARRYING ON 
 
 man at the other end, and to the confusion of 
 all other inhabitants of the cavern, to "buzz" 
 it, adapting the dots and dashes of the Morse 
 code to his purpose. 
 
 It is believed that the wily Boche, by means 
 of ingenious and delicate instruments, is able 
 to "tap" a certain number of our trench tele- 
 phone messages. If he does, his daily Intelli- 
 gence Report must contain some surprising 
 items of information. At the moment when 
 we attach our invisible apparatus to Mr 
 M'Gurk's v/ire, the Divisional Telephone 
 system appears to be fairly evenly divided 
 between — 
 
 (1) A Regimental Headquarters endeavour- 
 ing to ring up its Brigade. 
 
 (2) A glee -party of Harmonious Black- 
 smiths, indulging in The Anvil Chorus. 
 
 (3) A choleric Adjutant, on the track of a 
 peccant Company Commander. 
 
 (4) Two Company Signallers, engaged in a 
 friendly chat from different ends of the trench 
 line. 
 
 (5) An Artillery F.O.O., endeavouring to 
 convey pressing and momentous information 
 to his Battery, two miles in rear. 
 
 (6) The Giant Mosquito aforesaid.
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 145 
 
 The consolidated result is something like 
 this : — 
 
 Regimental Headquarters (affably). Hallo, 
 Brigade ! Hallo, Brigade ! Hallo, Brigade ! 
 
 The Mosquito. Ping ! 
 
 The Adjutant {from sometvhere in the Sup- 
 port Line, fiercely). Give me B Company ! 
 
 Tlie Forward Observing Officer {from his 
 eyrie). Is that C Battery ? There's an 
 enemy working party 
 
 Fi7'st Chatty Signaller {from B Company's 
 Station). Is that yoursel', Jock ? How's a' 
 wi' you ? 
 
 Second Chatty Sig'naller {from D Com- 
 pany s Station). I'm daen fine ! How's 
 your 
 
 Regimental Headquarters. Hallo, Bri- 
 gade ! 
 
 The Adjutant. Is that B Company? 
 
 A Mystemous and Distant Voice {politely). 
 No, sir ; this is Akk and Esses Aitch. 
 
 The Adjutant {furiously). Then for the 
 Lord's sake get off the line ! 
 
 The Mosquito. Ping ! Ping ! 
 
 The Adjutant. And st'^p that 
 
 buzzing ! 
 
 Tiie Mosquito. Ping ! Ping ! Ping !
 
 146 CARRYING ON 
 
 The F.0.0. Is that C Battery? There's 
 
 First Chatty Signaller {peevishly). What's 
 that you're sayin' ? 
 
 The F.0.0. {per sever mgly). Is that C 
 Battery ? There's an enemy working party 
 in a coppice at 
 
 First Chatty Signaller. This is Beer Com- 
 pany, sir. Weel, Jock, did ye get a quiet 
 nicht ? 
 
 Secmid Chatty Signaller. Oh, aye. There 
 was a wee 
 
 The F.0.0. Is that C Battery? There's 
 
 Second Chatty Signaller. No, sir. This is 
 Don Company. Weel, Jimmy, there was a 
 couple of whish-bangs came intil 
 
 Regimental Headquarters. Hallo, Bri- 
 gade ! 
 
 A Cheerful Cochiey Voice. Well, my lad, 
 what abaht it ? 
 
 Regimental Headquarters {getting to work 
 at once). Hold the line, Brigade. Message 
 to Staff Captain, " Bef. your S.C. fourr 
 stroke seeven eight six, the worrking parrty 
 in question " 
 
 The F.0.0. {seeing a gleam of hope).
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 147 
 
 "Working party ? Is that C Battery ? I 
 want to speak to 
 
 The Adjutant. 
 
 Brigade Head- 
 quarters. ]> Get off the line ! 
 
 Begimental Head- 
 quarters. 
 
 First Chatty Signaller. Haw, Jock, was 
 ye hearin' aboot Andra ? 
 
 Second Chatty Sigyialler. No. Whit was 
 that ? 
 
 First Chatty Signaller. Weel 
 
 The F.0.0. (doggedly). Is that C Battery? 
 
 RegimentalHeadqiLarters [resolutely). " The 
 worrking parrty in question was duly detailed 
 for tae proceed to the rendiss vowse at " — 
 
 The Adjutant. Is that B Company, curse 
 you ? 
 
 Regimental Heccdquarters (quite impervious 
 to this sort of thing). — "the rendiss vowse, at 
 seeven thirrty akk emma, at point H two B 
 eight nine, near the cross-roads by the Esta- 
 mint Bepose dee Bicyclistees, for tae " — honk ! 
 horkle ! honk ? 
 
 Brigade Headquarters (compassionately). 
 You're makin' a 'orrible mess of this message, 
 ain't you ? Shake your transmitter, do !
 
 148 CARRYING 0^ 
 
 Regimental Headquarters {after dutifvlly 
 performing this operutiwi). Honkle, hoiikle, 
 honk. Yang ! 
 
 Brigade Headquarters. Buzz it, my lad, 
 buzz it ! 
 
 Regimental Headquarters (dutifully). Ping, 
 
 ping! Ping, ping! Ping, ping, ping! 
 Ping 
 
 General CJiorus. Stop that , , 
 
 , buzzing ! 
 
 First Chatty Signaller. Weel, Andra says 
 tae the Sergeant-Major of Beer Company, 
 says he 
 
 The Adjutant. Is that B Company ? 
 
 First Chatty Signaller. No, sir ; this is 
 Beer Company. 
 
 The Adjutant (fortissimo). I said Beer 
 Company ! 
 
 First Chatty Signaller. Oh ! I thocht ye 
 meant Don Company, sir. 
 
 Tlie Adjutant. Why the blazes haven't you 
 answered me sooner ? 
 
 First Chatty Signaller (tactfully). There 
 \vas other messages comin' through, sir. 
 
 The Adjutant. Well, get me the Company 
 Commander. 
 
 First Chatty Signaller. Yarra good, sirr.
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 149 
 
 A pause. Regimental Headquarters heirig 
 engaged in laboriously "buzzing" its message 
 through to the Brigade^ all other conversation 
 is at a standstill. The Harmonious Black- 
 smiths seize the opportunity to give a short 
 selection. Presently, as the din dies down — 
 
 The F.0.0. (faint, yet pursuing). Is that 
 C Battery ? 
 
 A Jovial Voice. Yes. 
 
 The F.0.0. What a shock! I thought you 
 were all dead. Is that you, Chumps ? 
 
 The Jovial Voice. It is. What can I do for 
 you this morning ? 
 
 The F.0.0. You can boil your signal 
 sentry's head ! 
 
 Tlie Jovial Voice. What for ? 
 
 The F. 0. 0. For keeping me waiting. 
 
 The Jovial Voice. Kighto ! And the next 
 article ? 
 
 The F. 0. 0. There's a Boche working party 
 in a coppice two hundred yards west of a 
 point 
 
 The Mosquito {with renewed vigour). Ping, 
 ping ! 
 
 The F.0.0. (savagely). Shut up! 
 
 Tlie Jovial Voice. Working party? I'll 
 settle them. What's the map reference ? 
 
 L
 
 150 CARRYING ON 
 
 The F. 0. 0. They are in Square number 
 
 The Harmonious Blacksmiths [suddenly 
 and stunningly). Whang ! 
 
 The F.0.0. Shut up! They are in 
 Square 
 
 First Chatty Signaller. Hallo, Head- 
 quarters ! Is the Adjutant there ? Here's 
 the Captain tae speak with him. 
 
 An Eager Voice. Is that the Adjutant ? 
 
 Regimental Headquarters. — No, sirr. He's 
 away tae his ofl&ce. Hold the line while 
 I'll 
 
 The Eager Voice. No you don't ! Put me 
 straight through to C Battery — quick ! Then 
 get oil the line, and stay there ! {Much buzzing. ) 
 Is that C Battery ? 
 
 The Jovial Voice. Yes, sir. 
 
 The Eager Voice. I am O.C. Beer Com- 
 pany. They are shelling my front parapet, at 
 L 8, with pretty heavy stuff. I want retalia- 
 tion, please. 
 
 The Jovial Voice. Very good, sir. (The 
 voice dies away.) 
 
 A Sound over our Heads {thirty seconds 
 later). Whish ! "Whish ! Whish ! 
 
 Second Chatty Signaller. Did ye hear that, 
 Jimmy '?
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 151 
 
 First CJiatty Signaller {with relish). Mphm! 
 That'll sorrt them ! 
 
 The F. 0. 0. Is that C Battery ? 
 
 The Jovial Voice. Yes. What luck, old 
 son? 
 
 The F.0.0. You have obtained two direct 
 hits on the Boche parapet. Will you have a 
 cocoa nut or a ci 
 
 The Jovial Voice, A little less lip, my lad ! 
 Now tell me all about your industrious friends 
 in the coppice, and we will see what we can 
 do for th^^TYi ! 
 
 And so on. A propos of Adjutants and 
 Company Commanders, Private Wamphray, 
 whose acquaintance we made a few pages 
 back, was ultimately relieved of his position 
 as a Company Signaller, and returned ignomini- 
 ously to duty, for tactless if justifiable inter- 
 position in one of these very dialogues. 
 
 It was a dark and cheerless night in mid- 
 winter. Ominous noises in front of the Boche 
 wire had raised apprehensive surmises in the 
 breast of Brigade Headquarters. A forward 
 sap was suspected in the region opposite the 
 sector of trenches held by "A" Company. 
 The trenches at this point were barely forty
 
 152 CARRYING ON 
 
 yards apart, and there was a very real danger 
 that Brother Boche might creep under his 
 own wire, and possibly under ours too, and 
 come tumbhng over our parapet. To Bobby 
 Little came instructions to send a specially 
 selected patrol out to investigate the matter. 
 Three months ago he would have led the 
 expedition himself. Now, as a full-blown 
 Company Commander, he was officially pre- 
 cluded from exposing his own most respon- 
 sible person to gratuitous risks. So he chose 
 out that recently-joined enthusiast, Angus 
 M'Lachlan, and put him over the parapet 
 on the dark night in question, accompanied 
 by Corporal M'Snape and two scouts, with 
 orders to probe the mystery to its depth and 
 bring back a full report. 
 
 It was a ticklish enterprise. As is fre- 
 quently the case upon these occasions, 
 nervous tension manifested itself much more 
 seriously at Headquarters than in the front- 
 line trenches. The man on the spot is, as a 
 rule, much too busy with the actual execution 
 of the enterprise in hand to distress him- 
 self by speculation upon its outcome. It 
 may as well be stated at once that Angus 
 duly returned from his quest, with an admir-
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 153 
 
 able and reassuring report. But he was a 
 long time absent. Hence this anecdote. 
 
 Bobby had strict orders to report all 
 *' developments," as they occurred, to Head- 
 quarters by telephone. At half-past eleven 
 that night, as Angus M'Lachlan's colossal 
 form disappeared, crawling, into the black- 
 ness of night, his superior officer dutifully 
 rang up Battalion Headquarters, and an- 
 nounced that the venture was launched. It 
 is possible that the Powers Behind were in 
 possession of information as to the enemy's 
 intentions unrevealed to Bobby ; for as soon 
 as his opening announcement was received, 
 he was switched right through to a very 
 august Headquarters indeed, and commanded 
 to report direct. 
 
 Long - distance telephony in the field in- 
 volves a considerable amount of " linking-up." 
 Among other slaves of the buzzer who as- 
 sisted in establishing the necessary com- 
 munications upon this occasion was Private 
 Wamphray. For the next hour and a half 
 it was his privilege in his subterranean ex- 
 change, to sit, with his receiver clamped to 
 his ear, an unappreciative auditor of dialogues 
 like the followins : —
 
 154 CARRYING ON 
 
 ''Is that 'A' Company?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Any news of your patrol ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 Again, five rr.inutes later : — 
 
 "Is that 'A' Company?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Has your ofl&cer returned yet ? " 
 
 " No, sir, I will notify you when he does." 
 
 This sort of thing went on until nearly one 
 o'clock in the morning. Towards that hour, 
 Bobby, who was growing really concerned 
 over Angus's prolonged absence, cut short his 
 august interlocutor's fifteenth inquiry and 
 joined his sergeant-major on the firing-step. 
 The two had hardly exchanged a few low- 
 pitched sentences when Bobby was summoned 
 back to the telephone. 
 
 " Is that Captain Little ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Has your patrol come in ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 Captain Little's last answer was delivered 
 in a distinctly insubordinate manner. Feel- 
 ing slightly relieved, he returned to the 
 firing - step. Two minutes later Angus 
 M'Lachlan and his posse rolled over the
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 155 
 
 parapet, safe and sound, and Bobby was 
 able, to his own great content and that of the 
 weary operators along the line, to announce — 
 
 " The patrol has returned, sir, and reports 
 everything quite satisfactory. I am forward- 
 ing a detailed statement.'* 
 
 Then he laid down the receiver with a 
 happy sigh, and crawled out of the dug-out 
 on to the duck-board. 
 
 " Now we'll have a look round the sentries, 
 Sergeant-Major," he said. 
 
 But the pair had hardly rounded three 
 traverses when Bobby was haled back to 
 the Siofnal Station. 
 
 "Why did you leave the telephone just 
 now ? " inquired a cold voice. 
 
 *' I was going to visit my sentries, sir." 
 
 " But / was speaking to you." 
 
 "I thought you had finished, sir." 
 
 " I had not finished. If I had finished, I 
 should have informed you of the fact, and 
 would have said * Good night 1 ' " 
 
 " How does one choke off a tripe-merchant 
 of this type ? " wondered the exhausted officer. 
 
 From the bowels of the earth came the 
 answer to his unspoken question — delivered 
 in a strong Paisley accent —
 
 156 CARRYING ON 
 
 " For Goad's sake, kiss him, and say ' Good 
 Nicht,' and hae done with it ! " 
 
 As already stated, Private Wamphray was 
 returned to his platoon next morning. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But to regard the Buzzer simply and solely 
 as a troglodyte, of sedentary habits and 
 caustic temperament, is not merely hope- 
 lessly wrong ; it is grossly unjust. Some- 
 times he goes for a walk — under some such 
 circumstances as the following. 
 
 The night is as black as Tartarus, and it is 
 raining heavily. Brother Boche, a prey to 
 nervous qualms, is keeping his courage up by 
 distributing shrapnel along our communica- 
 tion trenches. Signal - wires are peculiarly 
 vulnerable to shrapnel. Consequently no one 
 in the Battalion Signal Station is particularly 
 surprised when the line to " Akk " Company 
 suddenly ceases to perform its functions. 
 
 Signal - Sergeant M'Micking tests the in- 
 strument, glances over his shoulder, and 
 observes — 
 
 1
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 157 
 
 " Line BX is gone, some place or other. 
 Away you, Duncan, and sorrt it ! " 
 
 Mr Duncan, who has been sitting hunched 
 over a telephone, temporarily quiescent, 
 smoking a woodbine, heaves a resigned sigh, 
 extinguishes the woodbine and places it be- 
 hind his ear ; hitches his repairing - wallet 
 nonchalantly over his shoulder, and departs 
 into the night — there to grope in several 
 inches of mud for the two broken ends of 
 the wire, which may be lying fifty yards 
 apart. Having found them, he proceeds to 
 effect a junction, his progress being impeded 
 from time to time by further bursts of 
 shrapnel. This done, he tests the new con- 
 nection, relights his woodbine, and splashes 
 his way back to Headquarters. That is a 
 Buzzer's normal method of obtaining fresh 
 air and exercise. 
 
 More than that. He is the one man in 
 the Army who can fairly describe himself as 
 an indispensable. 
 
 In these days, when whole nations are de- 
 ployed against one another, no commander, 
 however eminent, can ride the whirlwind 
 single-handed. There are limits to individual 
 capacity. There are limits to direct control.
 
 158 CARRYING ON 
 
 There are limits to personal magnetism. We 
 fight upon a collective plan nowadays. If 
 we propose to engage in battle, we begin 
 by welding a hundred thousand men into 
 one composite giant. We weld a hundred 
 thousand rifles, a million bombs, a thousand 
 machine - guns, and as many pieces of artil- 
 lery, into one huge weapon of offence, with 
 which we arm our giant. Having done this, 
 we provide him with a brain — a blend of 
 all the experience and wisdom and military 
 genius at our disposal. But still there is 
 one thing lacking — a nervous system. Un- 
 less our giant have that, — unless his brain 
 is able to transmit its desires to his mighty 
 limbs, — he has nothing. He is of no ac- 
 count; the enemy can make butcher's -meat 
 of him. And that is why I say that the 
 purveyor of this nervous system — our friend 
 the Buzzer — is indispensable. You can always 
 create a bcdy of sorts and a brain of sorts. 
 But unless you can link the two up, you are 
 foredoomed to failure. 
 
 Take a small instance. Supposing a bat- 
 talion advances to the attack, and storms an 
 isolated, exposed position. Can they hold on, 
 or can they not ? That question can only be
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 159 
 
 answered by the Artillery behind them. If 
 the curtain of shell fire which has preceded 
 the advancing battalion to its objective can 
 be " lifted " at the right moment and put 
 down again, with precision, upon a certain 
 vital zone beyond the captured line, counter- 
 attacks can be broken up and the line held. 
 But the Artillery lives a long way — some- 
 times miles — in rear. Without continuous 
 and accurate information it will be more 
 than useless ; it will be dangerous. (A suc- 
 cessful attacking party has been shelled out 
 of its hardly won position by its own artil- 
 lery before now — on both sides !) Sometimes 
 a little visual signalling is possible : some- 
 times a despatch - runner may get back 
 through the enemy's curtain of fire ; but in 
 the main your one hope of salvation hangs 
 upon a slender thread of insulated wire. 
 And round that wire are strung some of 
 the purest gems of heroism that the War 
 has produced. 
 
 At the battle of Loos, half a battalion of 
 K ( 1 ) pushed forward into a very advanced 
 hostile position. There they hung, by their 
 teeth. Their achievement was great ; but 
 unless Headquarters could be informed of
 
 160 CARRYING ON 
 
 their exact position and needs, they were all 
 dead men. So Corporal Greig set out to 
 find them, unreeling- wire as he went. He 
 was blown to pieces by an eight -inch shell, 
 but another signaller was never lacking to 
 take his place. They pressed forward, these 
 lackadaisical non-combatants, until the posi- 
 tion was reached and communication estab- 
 lished. Again and again the wire was cut 
 by shrapnel, and again and again a Buzzer 
 crawled out to find the broken ends and 
 piece them together. And ultimately, the 
 tiny exposed limb in front having been en- 
 abled to explain its exact requirements to 
 the brain behind, the necessary help was 
 forthcoming and the Fort was held. 
 
 Next time you pass a Signaller's dug-out, 
 peep inside. You will find It occupied by 
 a coke brazier, emitting large quantities of 
 carbon monoxide, and an untidy gentleman 
 in khaki, with a blue-and-white device upon 
 his shoulder - straps, brooding over a small 
 black instrument, and luxuriating in a 
 *' frowst" most indescribable. He is reading 
 a back num.ber of a rural Scottish news- 
 paper which you never heard of. Occa-
 
 "YE MERRIE BUZZERS" 161 
 
 sionally, in response to a faint buzz, he 
 takes up his transmitter and indulges in 
 an unintelligible altercation Math a person 
 unseen. You need feel no surprise if he is 
 wearing the ribbon of the Distinguished 
 Conduct Medal.
 
 162 
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN. 
 
 PASTURES NEW. 
 
 The outstanding feature of to-day's intelli- 
 gence is that spring is coming — has come, in 
 fact. 
 
 It arrived with a bump, March entered 
 upon its second week with seven degrees of 
 frost and four inches of snow. We said what 
 was natural and inevitable to the occasion ; 
 wrapped our coats of skins more firmly round 
 us ; and made a point of attending punctually 
 when the rum ration was issued. 
 
 Forty - eight hours later winter had dis- 
 appeared. The sun was blazing in a cloudless 
 sky. Aeroplanes were battling for photo- 
 graphic rights overhead ; the brown earth 
 beneath our feet was putting forth its first 
 blades of tender green. The muck - heap
 
 PASTURES NEW 163 
 
 outside our rest-billet displayed tinmistakable 
 signs of upheaval from its winter sleep. 
 Primroses appeared in Bunghole Wood ; 
 larks soared up into the sky above No Man's 
 Land, making music for the just and the 
 unjust. Snipers, smiling cheerfully over the 
 improved atmospheric conditions, polished up 
 their telescopic sights. The artillery on each 
 side hailed the biith of yet another season of 
 fruitfulness and natural increase with some 
 more than usually enthusiastic essays in 
 mutual extermination. Half the Mess caught 
 colds in their heads. 
 
 Frankly, we are not sorry to see the end of 
 winter. Caesar, when he had concluded his 
 summer campaign, went into winter quarters. 
 Caesar, as Colonel Kemp once huskily re- 
 marked, knew something ! 
 
 Still, each man to his taste. Corporal 
 Mucklevvame, for one, greatly prefers winter 
 to summer. 
 
 " In the winter," he points out to Sergeant 
 M'Snape, " a body can breathe withoot 
 swallowing a wheen bluebottles and bum bees. 
 A body can aye streitch himself doon under a 
 tree for a bit sleep withoot getting wasps and 
 wee beasties crawling up inside his kilt, and
 
 164 CARRYING ON 
 
 puddocks craw-crawing in his ear ! A body 
 can keep himself frae sweitin' " 
 
 " He can that ! " assents M'Snape, whose 
 spare frame is more vulnerable to the icy- 
 breeze than that of the stout corporal. 
 
 However, the balance of public opinion is 
 against Mucklewame. Most of us are un- 
 feignedly glad to feel the warmth of the sun 
 again. That working party, filling sandbags 
 just behind the machine-gun emplacement, are 
 actually singing. Spring gets into the blood, 
 even in this stricken land. The Boche over 
 the way resents our efforts at harmony. 
 
 Sing us a song, a song of Bonnie Scotland! 
 
 Any old song will do. 
 By the old camp-fire, the rough-and-ready choir 
 
 Join in the chorus too. 
 " You'll iak' the high road and I'll talc the low road " — 
 
 'Tis a song that ve all know. 
 To bring hack the days in Bonnie Scotland, 
 
 Where the heather and the bluebells 
 
 Whang ! 
 
 The Boche, a Wagnerian by birth and up- 
 bringing, cannot stand any more of this, so he 
 has fired a rifle-grenade at the glee party — on 
 the whole a much more honest and direct
 
 PASTURES NEW 165 
 
 method of condemnation than that practised 
 by musical critics in time of peace. But he 
 only elicits an encore. Private Nigg perches 
 a steel helmet on the point of a bayonet, and 
 patronisingly bobs the same up and down 
 above the parapet. 
 
 These steel helmets have not previously 
 been introduced to the reader's notice. They 
 are modelled upon those vv^orn in the French 
 Army — and bear about as much resemblance 
 to the original pattern as a Thames barge to 
 a racing yacht. When first issued, they were 
 greeted with profound suspicion. Though 
 undoubtedly serviceable — they saved many a 
 crown from cracking round The Bluff the 
 other day — they were undeniably heavy, and 
 they were certainly not becoming to the pe- 
 culiar type of beauty rampant in K{1). On 
 issue, then, their recipients elected to regard 
 the wearing of them as a peculiarly noxious 
 form of " fatigue." Private M'A. deposited 
 his upon the parapet, like a foundling on a 
 doorstep, and departed stealthily round the 
 nearest traverse, to report his new headpiece 
 "lost through the exigencies of military 
 service." Private M'B. wore his insecurely 
 perched upon the top of his Tam-o'-shanter 
 
 M
 
 16« CARRYING ON 
 
 bonnet, where it looked like a very large 
 ostrich egg in a very small khaki nest. 
 Private M'C. set his up on a convenient post, 
 and opened rapid fire upon it at a range of 
 six yards, surveying the resulting holes with 
 the gloomy satisfaction of the vindicated 
 pessimist. Private M'D. removed the lining 
 from his, and performed his ablutions in the 
 inverted crown. 
 
 " This," said Colonel Kemp, " will never do. 
 We must start wearing the dashed things 
 ourselves." 
 
 And it was so. Next day, to the joy of 
 the Battalion, their officers appeared in the 
 trenches self-consciously wearing what looked 
 like small sky-blue wash-hand basins balanced 
 upon their heads. But discipline was excel- 
 lent. No one even smiled. In fact, there 
 was a slight reaction in favour of the helmets. 
 Conrersatious like the following were over- 
 heard : — 
 
 " I'm teilin' you, Jimmy, the CO. is no the 
 man for tae mak' a show of himself like that 
 for naething. These tin bunnets must be 
 some use. Wull we pit oors on ? " 
 
 " Awa' hame and bile your heid ! " replied 
 the unresponsive James.
 
 PASTURES NEW 167 
 
 " They'll no stop a whish-bang," conceded 
 the apostle of progress, " but they would keep 
 off sphmters, and a wheen bullets, and — 
 and " 
 
 " And the rain ! " supplied Jimmy sar- 
 castically. 
 
 This jibe suddenly roused the temper of the 
 other participant in the debate. 
 
 " T tell yon," he exclaimed, in a voice shrill 
 
 with indignation, " that these helmets 
 
 are some use ! " 
 
 *' And I tell you,' retorted James earnestly, 
 
 *' that these helmets are no 
 
 use ! 
 
 When two reasonable persons arrive at a 
 controversial impasse, they usually agree to 
 differ and go their several ways. But in 
 K (1) we prefer practical solutions. The 
 upholder of helmets hastily thrust his upon 
 his head. 
 
 " I'll show you, Jimmy ! " he announced, 
 and clambered upon the firing-step. 
 
 "And I'll well show you, Wullie!" 
 
 screamed James, doing likewise. 
 
 Simultaneously the two zealots thrust their 
 heads over the parapet, and awaited results. 
 These came. The rifles of two Boche snipers
 
 168 CARRYING ON 
 
 rang out, and both demonstrators fell 
 heavily backwards into the arms of their 
 supporters. 
 
 By all rights they ought to have been killed. 
 But they were both very much alive. Each 
 turned to the other triumphantly, and ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 "• I tellt ye so ! " 
 
 There was a hole right through the helmet 
 of Jimmy, the unbeliever. The fact that 
 there was not also a hole through his head 
 was due to his forethought in having put on 
 a Tam-o'-shanter underneath. The net result 
 was a truncated " toorie." Wullie's bullet 
 had struck his helmet at a more obtuse 
 angle, and had glanced off, as the designer 
 of the smooth exterior had intended it 
 to do. 
 
 At first glance, the contest was a draw. 
 But subsequent investigation elicited the fact 
 that Jimmy in his backward fall had bitten 
 his tongue to the effusion of blood. The 
 verdict was therefore awarded, on points, to 
 Wullie, and the spectators dispersed in an 
 orderly manner just as the platoon sergeant 
 came round the traverse to change the 
 sentry.
 
 PASTURES NEW 169 
 
 II. 
 
 We have occupied our own present trenches 
 since January. There was a time when this sec- 
 tor of the line was regarded as a Vale of Rest. 
 Bishops were conducted round with impunity. 
 Members of Parliament came out for the week- 
 end, and returned to their constituents with 
 first-hand information about the horrors of war. 
 Foreign journalists, and sight-seeing parties 
 of munition - workers, picnicked in Bunghole 
 Wood. In the village behind the line, if a 
 chance shell removed tiles from the roof of a 
 house, the owner, greatly incensed, mounted a 
 ladder and put in some fresh ones. 
 
 But that is all over now. K(l) — hard- 
 headed men of business, bountifully endowed 
 with munitions — have arrived upon the scene, 
 and the sylvan peace of the surrounding dis- 
 trict is gone. Pan has dug himself in. 
 
 The trouble began two months ago, when 
 our Divisional Artillery arrived. Unversed in 
 local etiquette, they commenced operations by 
 "sending up" — to employ a vulgar but con- 
 venient catch-phrase   — a strongly fortified 
 farmhouse in the enemy's support line. The
 
 170 CARRYING ON 
 
 Boche, by way of gentle reproof, deposited 
 four or five small " whizz-bangs" in our front- 
 line trenches. The tenants thereof promptly 
 telephoned to " Mother," and Mother came to 
 the assistance of her offspring with a salvo of 
 twelve-inch shells. After that, Brother Boche, 
 realising that the golden age was past, sent 
 north to the Salient for a couple of heavy 
 batteries, and settled down to shell Bunsrhole 
 village to pieces. Within a week he had 
 brought down the church tower: within a 
 fortnight the population had migrated farther 
 back, leaving behind a few patriots, too deeply 
 interested in the sale of small beer and picture 
 post-cards to uproot themselves. Company 
 Headquarters in Buughole Wood ceased to 
 grow primroses and began to fill sandbags. 
 
 A month ago the village was practically 
 intact. The face of the church tower was 
 badly scarred, but the houses were undamaged. 
 The little shops were open ; children played 
 in the streets. Now, if you stand at the 
 cross-roads where the church rears its roofless 
 walls, you will understand what the Abomina- 
 tion of Desolation means. Occasionally a 
 body of troops, moving in small detachments 
 at generous intervals, trudges by, on its way
 
 PASTURES NEW 171 
 
 to or from the trenches. Occasionally a big 
 howitzer shell swings lazily out of the blue 
 and drops with a crash or a dull thud — 
 according to the degree of resistance encoun- 
 tered — among the crumbling cottages. All is 
 solitude. 
 
 But stay ! Right on the cross-roads, in the 
 centre of the village, just below the fingers 
 of a sign-post M^hich indicates the distance 
 to four French townships, whose names you 
 never heard of until a year ago, and now 
 will never forget, there hangs a large, white, 
 newly painted board, bearing a notice in black 
 letters six inches high. Exactly underneath 
 the board, rubbing their noses appreciatively 
 against the sign-post, stand two mules, at- 
 tached to a limbered waggon, the property 
 of the A.S.C. Their charioteers are sitting 
 adjacent, in a convenient shell-hole, partaking 
 of luncheon. 
 
 " That was a rotten place we 'ad to wait in 
 yesterday, Sammy," observes Number One. 
 " The draught was somethink cruel." 
 
 The recumbent Samuel agrees. " This little 
 'oiler is a bit of all right," he remarks. "When 
 you've done strarfin' that bully beef, 'and it 
 over, ole man ! "
 
 172 
 
 CARRYING ON 
 
 He leans his head back upon the lip of the 
 shell-hole, and gazes pensively at the notice- 
 board six feet away. It says : — 
 
 VERY DANGEROUS. 
 
 DO NOT 
 
 LOITER 
 
 HERE. 
 
 III. 
 
 Here Is another cross-roads, a good mile 
 farther forward — and less than a hundred 
 yards behind the fire-trench. It is dawn. 
 
 The roads themselves are not so distinct as 
 they were. They are becoming grass-grown : 
 for more than a year — in daylight at least — 
 no human foot has trodden them. The place 
 is like hundreds of others that you may see 
 scattered up and down this countryside — two 
 straight, flat, metalled country roads, running- 
 north and south and east and Avest, crossing 
 one another at a faultless right angle. 
 
 Of the four corners thus created, one is — or
 
 PASTURES NEW 173 
 
 was — occupied by an estaminet : you can still 
 see the sign, Estaminet au Commerce, over 
 the door. Two others contain cottages — the 
 remains of cottages. At the fourth, facing 
 south and east, stands what is locally known 
 as a "Calvaire," — a bank of stone, a lofty 
 cross, and a life-size figure of Christ, facing 
 east, towards the German lines. 
 
 This spot is shelled every day — has been 
 shelled every day for months. Possibly 
 the enemy suspects a machine-gun or an 
 observation post amid the tumble - down 
 buildings. Hardly one brick remains upon 
 another. And yet — the sorrowful Figure is 
 unbroken. The Body is riddled with bullets 
 — in the glowing dawn you may count not 
 five but fifty wounds — but the Face is un- 
 touched. It is the standing miracle of this 
 most materialistic War. Throughout the 
 length of France you will see the same thing. 
 
 Agnostics ought to come out here, for a 
 
 " cure." 
 
 IV. 
 
 With spring comes also the thought of the 
 Next Push. 
 
 But we do not talk quite so glibly of pushes
 
 174 CARRYING ON 
 
 as we did. Neither, for that matter, does 
 Brother Boche. He has just completed six 
 weeks' pushing at Yerdun, and is beginning 
 to be a little uncertain as to which direction 
 the pushing is coming from. 
 
 No ; once more the military text-books are 
 being rewritten. We started this War under 
 one or two rather fallacious premises. One 
 was that Artillery was more noisy than 
 dangerous. When Antwerp fall, we rescinded 
 that theory. Then the Boche set out to 
 demonstrate that an Attack, provided your 
 Artillery preparation is sufficiently thorough, 
 and you are prepared to set no limit to your 
 expenditure of Infantry, must ultimately 
 succeed. To do him justice, the Boche sup- 
 ported his assertions very plausibly. His 
 phalanx bundled the Bussians all the way 
 from Tannenburg to Riga. The Austrians 
 adopted similar tactics, with similar results. 
 
 We were duly impressed. The "vrorld last 
 summer did not quite realise how far the 
 results of the campaign were due to German 
 efficiency and how far to Bussian unprepared- 
 ness. (Bussia, we realise now, found herself 
 in the position of the historic Mrs Parting-ton, 
 who endeavoured to repel the Atlantic with
 
 PASTURES NEW 175 
 
 a mop. This year, we understand, she is in a 
 position to discard the mop in favour of some- 
 thing far, far better.) 
 
 Then came — Verdun. Military science 
 turned over yet another page, and noted 
 that against consummate generalship, un- 
 limited munitions, and selfless devotion on 
 the part of the defence, the most spectacular 
 and highly-doped phalanx can spend itself in 
 vain. Military science also noted that, under 
 modern conditions, the capture of this position 
 or that signifies nothing : the only method of 
 computing victory is to count the dead on 
 either side. On that reckoning, the French 
 at Verdun have already gained one of the 
 great victories of all time. 
 
 " In fact," said Colonel Kemp, " this war 
 will end when the Boche has lost so many 
 men as to be unable to man his present 
 trench line, and not before." 
 
 *' You don't think, sir, that we shall make 
 another Push ? " suggested Angus M'Lachlan 
 eagerly. The others were silent : they had 
 experienced p. Push already. 
 
 " Not so long as the Boche continues to 
 play our game for us, by attacking. If he 
 tumbles to the eri-or he is making, and digs
 
 176 CARRYING ON 
 
 himself in again — well, it may become neces- 
 sary to draw him. In that case, M'Lachlan, 
 you shall have first chop at the Victoria 
 Crosses. Afraid I can't recommend you for 
 your last exploit, though I admit it must 
 have required some nerve ! " 
 
 There was unseemly laughter at this 
 allusion. Four nights previously Angus had 
 been sent out in charge of a wiring party. 
 He had duly crawled forth with his satellites, 
 under cover of darkness, on to No Man's 
 Land; and, there selecting a row of ** knife- 
 rests" which struck him as being badly in 
 need of repair, had well and truly reinforced 
 the same with many strands of the most 
 barbarous brand of barbed wire. This, despite 
 more than usually fractious behaviour upon 
 the part of the Boche. 
 
 Next morning, through a sniper's loophole, 
 he exhibited the result of his labours to Major 
 WagstafFe. The Major gazed long and silently 
 upon his subordinate's handiwork. There was 
 no mistaking it. It stood out bright and 
 gleaming in the rays of the rising sun, amid 
 its dingy surroundings of rusty ironmongery. 
 Angus M'Lachlan waited anxiously for a little 
 praise.
 
 PASTURES NEW 177 
 
 "Jolly good piece of work/' said Major 
 Wagstaffe at last. " But tell me, why have 
 you repaired the Boche wire instead of your 
 own ? •' 
 
 " The only enemy we have to fear," con- 
 tinued Colonel Kemp, rubbing his spectacles 
 savagely, *' is the free and independent British 
 voter — I mean, the variety of the species that 
 we havo left at home. Like the gentleman in 
 Jack Point's song, ' he likes to get value for 
 money ' ; and he is quite capable of asking 
 us, about June or July, ' if we know that we 
 are paid to be funny ? ' — before we are ready. 
 What's your view of the situation at home, 
 Wagstaife ? You're the last off leave." 
 
 Wagstaffe shook his head. 
 
 " The British Nation," he said, " is quite 
 mad. That fact, of course, has been common 
 property on the Continent of Europe ever 
 since Cook's Tours were invented. But what 
 irritates the orderly Boche is that there is 
 no method in its madness. Nothing you can 
 go upon, or take hold of, or wring any advan- 
 tage from." 
 
 "As how?" 
 
 " Well, take compulsory service. For genera-
 
 178 CARRYING ON 
 
 tions the electorate of our country has been 
 trained by a certain breed of politician — the 
 bandar log of the British Constitution — to 
 howl down such a low and degrading business 
 as National Defence. A. nasty Continental 
 custom, they called it. Then came the War, 
 and the glorious Voluntary System got to 
 work." 
 
 "Aided," the Colonel interpolated, " by a 
 campaign of mural advertisement which a 
 cinema star's press agent would have boggled 
 at!" 
 
 " Quite so," agreed Wagstaffe. " Next, 
 when the Voluntary System had done its 
 damnedest — m other words, when the willinor 
 horse had been worked to his last ounce — we 
 tried the Derby Scheme. The manhood of the 
 nation was divided into groups, and a fresh 
 method of touting for troops was adopted. 
 Married shysters, knowing that at least 
 twenty groups stood between them and a 
 job of work, attested in comparatively large 
 numbers. The single shysters were less reck- 
 less — so much less reckless, in fact, that com- 
 pulsion began to materialise at last." 
 
 " But only for single shysters," said Bobbie 
 Little regretfully. 
 
 /
 
 PASTURES NEW 179 
 
 " Yes ; and the married shyster rejoiced 
 accordingly. But the single shyster is a 
 most subtle reptile. On examination, it was 
 found that the single members of this noble 
 army of martyrs were all ' starred,' or * re- 
 served,' or ' ear-marked ' — ov whatever it is 
 that they do to these careful fellows. So 
 the poor old married shyster who had only 
 attested to show his blooming patriotism and 
 encourage the oI:;hers, suddenly found himself 
 confronted with the awful prospect of having 
 to defend his country personrlly, instead of 
 by letter to the halfpenny press. Then 
 the fat was fairly in the fire ! The married 
 martyr " 
 
 " Come, come, old man ! Not all of them ! " 
 said Colonel Kemp. "I have a married 
 brother of my own, a solicitor of thirty- 
 eight, who is simply clamouring for active 
 service ! " 
 
 " I know that, sir," admitted WagstafFe 
 quickly. " Thank God, these fellows are only 
 a minority, and a freak minority at that ; but 
 freak minorities seem to get the monopoly of 
 the limelight in our unhappy country." 
 
 " The whole affair/' mused the Colonel, 
 *' can hardly be described as a frenzied rally
 
 180 CARRYING ON 
 
 round the Old Flag. By God," he broke out 
 suddenly, '' it fairly makes one's blood boil ! 
 When I think of the countless good fellows, 
 married and single, but mainly married, who 
 left all and followed the call of common 
 decency and duty the moment the War broke 
 out — most of them now dead or crippled ; and 
 when I see this miserable handful of shirkers, 
 holding up vital public business while the 
 pros and cons of their wretched claims to 
 exemption are considered — well, I almost wish 
 I had been born a Boche ! " 
 
 " I don't think you need apply for natural- 
 isation papers yet. Colonel," said Wagstaffe. 
 " The country is perfectly sound at heart over 
 this question, and always was. The present 
 agitation, as I say, is being engineered by the 
 more verminous section of our incomparable 
 daily Press, for its own ends. It makes our 
 Allies lift their eyebrows a bit ; but they are 
 sensible people, and they realise that although 
 we are a nation of lunatics, we usually deliver 
 the goods in the end. As for the Boche, poor 
 fellow, the whole business makes him per- 
 fectly rabid. Here he is, with all his splendid 
 organisation and brutal efficiency, and he 
 can't even knock a dent into our undisci-
 
 PASTURES NEW 181 
 
 plined, back-chatting, fool-ridden, self-depre- 
 ciating old country ! I, for one, sympathise 
 with the Boche profoundly. On paper, v/e 
 don't deserve to win ! " 
 
 " But we shall ! " remarked that single- 
 minded paladin, Bobby Little. 
 
 " Of course we shall ! And what's more, 
 we are going to derive a national benefit out 
 of this War which will in itself be worth the 
 price of admission ! " 
 
 " How ? " asked several voices. 
 
 Wagstaffe looked round the table. The 
 Battalion were for the moment in Divisional 
 Reserve, and consequently out of the trenches. 
 Some one had received a box of Coronas from 
 home, and the mess president had achieved 
 a bottle of port. Hence the present sym- 
 posium at Headquarters Mess. Wagstaffe's 
 eyes twinkled. 
 
 "Will each officer present," he said, 
 "kindly name his pet aversion among his 
 fellow-creatures ? " 
 
 "A person or a type?" asked Mr Waddell 
 cautiously. 
 
 " A type ! " 
 
 Colonel Kemp led off. 
 
 " Male ballet-dancers," he said. 
 
 N
 
 182 CARRYING ON 
 
 " Fat, shiny men," said Bobby Little, " with 
 walrus moustaches ! " 
 
 " All conscientious objectors, passive re- 
 sisters, and other cranks ! " continued the 
 orthodox Waddell. 
 
 " All people who go on strike during war- 
 time," said the Adjutant. There was an 
 approving murmur — then silence. 
 
 " Your contribution, M'Lachlan ? " said 
 WagstafFe. 
 
 Angus, who had kept silence from shyness, 
 sudden] V blazed out — 
 
 " I think," he said. " that the most con- 
 temptible people in the world to-day are those 
 politicians and others who, in years gone by, 
 systematically cried down anything in the 
 shape of national defence or national inclin- 
 ation to personal service, because they saw 
 there were no votes in such a programme ; 
 and who 71010 " — Angus's passion rose to fever- 
 heat — " stand up and endeavour to cultivate 
 popular favour by reviling the Ministry and 
 the Army for want of preparedness and 
 initiative. Such men do not deserve to live ! 
 Oh, sirs " 
 
 But Angus's peroration was lost in a storm 
 of applause.
 
 PASTURES NEW 183 
 
 " You are adjudged to have hit the bull's- 
 eye, M'Lachlan," said Colonel Kemp. "But 
 tell us, Wagstaffe, your exact object in com- 
 piling this horrible catalogue." 
 
 " Certainly. It is this. Universal Service 
 is a fait accompli at last, or is shortly going 
 to be — and without anything very much in 
 the way of exemption either. When it 
 comes, just think of it ! All these delight- 
 ful people whom we have been enumerat- 
 ing will have to toe the line at last. For 
 the first time in their little lives they will 
 learn the meaning of discipline, and fresh air, 
 and esprit de corps. Isn't that worth a War ? 
 If the present scrap can only be prolonged 
 for another year, our country will receive a 
 tonic which will carry it on for another cen- 
 tury. Think of it ! Great Britain, populated 
 by men who have actually been outside their 
 own parish ; men who know that the whole 
 is greater than the part ; men who are too 
 wide awake to go on doing just what the 
 handar log tell them, and allow themselves 
 to be used as stalking-horses for low-down 
 political ramps ! When ice, going round in 
 bath - chairs and on crutches, see that sight 
 — well, I don't think we shall regret our
 
 184 CARRYING ON 
 
 missing arms and legs quite so much, Colonel. 
 War is Hell, and all that ; but there is one 
 worse thing than a long war, and that is a 
 long peace ! " 
 
 " I wonder ! " said Colonel Kemp reflec- 
 tively. He was thinking of his wife and 
 four children in distant Argyllshire. 
 
 But the rapt attitude and quickened breath 
 of Temporary Captain Bobby Little endorsed 
 every word that Major Wagstalfe had spoken. 
 As he rolled into his "fiea-bag" that night, 
 Bobby rc-quoted to himself, for the hundredth 
 time, a passage from Shakespeare which had 
 recently come to his notice. He was not a 
 Shakesperian scholar, nor indeed a student 
 of literature at all ; but these lines had 
 been sent to him, cut out of a daily 
 almanac, by an equally unlettered and very 
 adorable confidante at home : — 
 
 " And gentlemen iu England, now abed, 
 Shall think themselves accursud they were not here, 
 And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks 
 That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day ! " 
 
 Bobby was the sort of person who would 
 thoroughly have enjoyed the Battle of 
 Agincourt.
 
 185 
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT. 
 
 "the non-combatant." 
 
 We will call the village St Gregoire. That 
 Is not its real name ; because the one thing 
 you must not do in war - time is to call a 
 thing by its real name. To take a hackneyed 
 example, you do not call a spade a spade : 
 you refer to it, officially, as Shovels, General 
 Service, One. This helps to deceive, and 
 ultimately to surprise, the enemy ; and as 
 we all know by this time, surprise is the 
 essence of successful warfare. On the same 
 principle, if your troops are forced back 
 from their front-line trenches, you call this 
 "successfully straightening out an awkward 
 salient." 
 
 But this by the way. Let us get back to 
 St Gregoire. Hither, mud-splashed, ragged.
 
 186 CARRYING ON 
 
 hollow-cheeked, came our battalion — they call 
 us the Seventh Hairy Jocks nowadays — after 
 four months' continuous employment in the 
 firing line. Ypres was a household word 
 to them ; Plugstreet was familiar ground ; 
 Givenchy they knew intimately ; Loos was 
 their Avash-pot — or rather, a collection of 
 wash-pots, for in winter all the shell-craters 
 are full to overflowing. In addition to 
 their prolonged and strenuous labours in the 
 trenches, the Hairy Jocks had taken part 
 in a Push — a part not altogether unat- 
 tended with glory, but prolific in casualties. 
 They had not been " pulled out " to rest 
 and refit for over six months, for Divisions 
 on the Western Front were not at that 
 period too numerous, the voluntary system 
 being at its last gasp, while the legions of 
 Lord Derby had not yet crystallised out of 
 the ocean of public talk which held them in 
 solution. So the Seventh Hairy Jocks were 
 bone - tired. But they were as hard as a 
 rigorous winter in the open could make 
 them, and — they were going back to rest 
 at last. Had not their beloved CO. told 
 them so ? And he had added, in a voice 
 not altogether free from emotion, that if
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 187 
 
 ever men deserved a solid rest and a good 
 time, " you boys do ! " 
 
 So the Hairy Jocks trudged along the long, 
 straight, nubbly French road, well content, 
 speculating with comfortable pessimism as to 
 the character of the billets in which they 
 would find themselves. 
 
 Meanwhile, ten miles ahead, the advance 
 party were going round the town in quest 
 of billets. 
 
 Billet- hunting on the Western Front is 
 not quite so desperate an affair as hunting 
 for lodgings at Margate, because in the last 
 extremity you can always compel the in- 
 habitants to take you in — or at least, exert 
 pressure to that end through the Mairie. 
 But at the best one's course is strewn with 
 obstacles, and fortunate is the Adjutant who 
 has to his hand a subaltern capable of find- 
 ing lodgings for a thousand men without 
 making a mess of it. 
 
 The billeting officer on this, as on most occa- 
 sions, was our friend Cockerell — affectionately 
 known to the entire Battalion as "Sparrow" 
 — and his qualifications for the post were 
 derived from three well-marked and invalu- 
 able characteristics — namely, an imperious
 
 188 CARRYING ON 
 
 disposition, a thick skin, and an attractive 
 honliomie of manner. 
 
 Behold him this morning dismounting from 
 his horse in the 2^l^c^ of St Gregoire. Around 
 him are grouped his satellites — the Quarter- 
 master - Sergeant, four Company Sergeants, 
 some odd orderlies, and a forlorn little man 
 in a neat drab uniform with light-blue facings 
 — the regimental interpreter. The party have 
 descended, w^ith the delicate care of those 
 who essay to perform acrobatic feats in kilts, 
 from bicycles — serviceable but appallingly 
 heavy machines of Government manufacture, 
 the property of the "Buzzers," but com- 
 mandeered for the occasion. The Quarter- 
 master Sergeant, who is not accustomed to 
 strenuous exercise, mops his brow and glances 
 expectantly round the place. His eye comes 
 gently to rest upon a small but hospitable- 
 looking estaminet. 
 
 Lieutenant Cockerell examines his wrist- 
 watch. 
 
 " Half-past ten ! " he announces. " Quarter- 
 master-Sergeant ! " 
 
 " Sirr ! " The Quartermaster-Sergeant un- 
 glues his longing gaze from the estaminet 
 and comes woodenly to attention.
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 189 
 
 '* I am going to see the Town Major about 
 a billeting area. I will meet you and the 
 party here in twenty minutes." 
 
 Master Cockerell trots off on his mud- 
 splashed steed, followed by the respectful 
 and appreciative salutes of his followers — 
 appreciative^ because a less considerate officer 
 would have taken the whole party direct to 
 the Town Majors office and kept them stand- 
 ing in the street, wasting moments which 
 might have been better employed elsewhere, 
 until it was time to proceed with the morn- 
 ing's work. 
 
 'How strong are you?" inquired the Town 
 Major. 
 
 Cockerell told him. The Town Major 
 whistled. 
 
 "That all? Been doing some job of work, 
 haven t you ? " 
 
 Cockerell nodded, and the Town Major pro- 
 ceeded to examine a large -Sx3ale plan of St 
 Gregoire, divided up into different - coloured 
 })lots. 
 
 "We are rather full up at present," he 
 said ; " but the Cemetery Area is vacant. The 
 Seventeenth Geordies moved out yesterday.
 
 190 CARRYING ON 
 
 You can have that." He indicated a tri- 
 angular section with his pencil. 
 
 Master Cockerell gave a little deprecatory- 
 cough. 
 
 " We have come here, sir," he intimated 
 dryly, "for a change of scene." 
 
 The Gtout Town Major — all Town Majors 
 are stout — chuckled. 
 
 " Not bad for a Scot ! " he conceded. " But 
 it's quite a cheery district, really. You won't 
 have to doss down in the cemetery itself, you 
 know. These two streets here" — he flicked a 
 pencil — "will hold practically all your bat- 
 talion, at its present strength. There's a 
 capital house in the Rue Jean Jacques Rous- 
 seau which will do for Battalion Headquarters. 
 The corporal over there will give you your 
 billets de logemeiU.^' 
 
 "Are there any other troops in the area, 
 sir ? " asked Cockerell, who, as already indi- 
 cated, was no child in these matters. 
 
 " There ought not to be, of course. But 
 you know what the Heavy Gunners and the 
 A.S.C are ! If you come across any of them, 
 fire them out. If they wear too many stars 
 and crowns for you, let me know, and I will 
 perform the feat myself You fellows need a
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 191 
 
 good rest and no worrieSj I know. Good 
 
 morning." 
 
 At ten minutes to eleven Cockerell found 
 the Quartermaster-Sergeant and party wiping 
 their moustaches and visibly refreshed, at the 
 exact spot where he had left them ; and the 
 hunt for billets began. 
 
 " A ' Company were easily provided for. a 
 derelict tobacco factory being encountered at 
 the head of the first street. Lieutenant Cock- 
 erell accordingly detached a sergeant and a 
 corporal from his train, and passed on. The 
 wants cf " B " Company were supplied by com- 
 mandeering a block of four dilapidated houses 
 farther down the street — all in comparatively 
 good repair except the end house, whose roof 
 had been disarranged by a shell during the 
 open fighting in the early days of the war. 
 
 This exhausted the possibilities of the first 
 street, and the party debouched into the 
 second, which was long and straggling, and 
 composed entirely of small houses. 
 
 "Now for a bit of the retail business!" 
 said Master Cockerell resignedly. " Sergeant 
 M'Nab, what is the strength of " O " Com- 
 pany ? 
 
 " One hunner and thalrty-fower other ranks,
 
 192 CARRYING ON 
 
 sirr," announced Sergeant M'Nab, consulting 
 a much -thumbed roll-book. 
 
 " We shall have to put them in twos and 
 threes all down the street,' said Cockerell. 
 " Come on ; the longer we look at it the less 
 we shall like it. Interpreter ! " 
 
 The forlorn little man, already described, 
 trotted up, and saluted with open hand, 
 French fashion. His name was Baptiste 
 Bombominet (" or words to that effect," as the 
 Adjutant put it), and may have been so in- 
 scribed upon the regimental roll ; but through- 
 out the rank and file Baptiste was affec- 
 tionately known by the generic title of 
 "Alphonso." The previous seven years had 
 been spent by him in the congenial and 
 blameless atmosphere of a Ladies' Tailor's in 
 the west end of London, where he enjoyed 
 the status and emoluments of chief cutter. 
 Now, called back to his native land by the 
 voice of patriotic obligation, he found himself 
 selected, by virtue of a residence of seven 
 years in England, to act as official interpreter 
 between a Scottish Kegiment which could not 
 speak English, and Flemish peasants who 
 could not speak French. No wonder that his 
 pathetic brown eyes always appeared full of
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 193 
 
 tears. However, he followed Cockerell down 
 the street, and meekly embarked upon a con- 
 test with the lady inhabitants thereof, in which 
 he was hopelessly outmatched from the start. 
 
 At the first door a dame of massive propor- 
 tions, but keen business instincts, announced 
 her total inability to accommodate soldats, 
 but explained that she would be pleased to 
 entertain officiers to any number. This is a 
 common gambit. Twenty British privates in 
 your grenier, though extraordinarily well- 
 behaved as a class, make a good deal of noise, 
 buy little, and leave mud everywhere. On 
 the other hand, two or three officers give no 
 trouble, and can be relied upon to consume 
 and pay for unlimited omelettes and bowls of 
 coffee. 
 
 That seasoned vessel, Lieutenant Cockerell, 
 turned promptly to the sergeant and corporal 
 of " C " Company. 
 
 '• Sergeant M'Nab," he said, " you and Cor- 
 poral Downie will billet here." He introduced 
 hostess and guests by an expressive wave of 
 the hand. But shrewd Madame was not to 
 be bluffed. 
 
 ^'Pas de sergents, Monsieur le Capitaint !" 
 she exclaimed. ''Officiers !^'
 
 194 CARRYING ON 
 
 '"lis sont officiers — sous-qfflciers," explained 
 Cockerell, rather ingeniously, and moved off 
 down the street. 
 
 At the next house the owner — a small, 
 wizened lady of negligible physique but great 
 staying power — entered upon a duet with 
 Alphonso, which soon reduced that very 
 moderate performer to breathlessness. He 
 shrugged his shoulders feebly, and cast an 
 appealing glance towards the Lieutenant. 
 
 " What does she say ? " inquired Cockerell. 
 
 " She say dis 'ouse no good, sair ! She ave 
 seven children, and one malade — seek." 
 
 " Let me see," commanded the practical 
 officer. 
 
 He insinuated himself as politely as possible 
 past his reluctant opponent, and walked down 
 the narrow passage into the kitchen. Here 
 he turned, and inquired — 
 
 " Er — oic est la pauvre petite chose ? " 
 
 Madame promptly opened a door, and dis- 
 played a little girl in bed — a very flushed and 
 feverish little girl. 
 
 Cockerell grinned sympathetically at the 
 patient, to that young lady's obvious gratifica- 
 tion, and turned to the mother. 
 
 " Je suis tres — triste" he said; "/ai grand
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 195 
 
 misericorde. Je ne placerai pas de soldats ici. 
 Bon jour /" 
 
 By this time he was in the street again. 
 He saluted politely and departed, followed by 
 the grateful regards of Madame. 
 
 No special difficulties were encountered at 
 the next few houses. The ladies at the house 
 door were all polite ; many of them were most 
 friendly ; but naturally each was anxious to 
 get as few men and as many officers as pos- 
 sible — except the proprietress of an estaminet, 
 who offered to accommodate the entire regi- 
 ment. However, with a little tact here and 
 a little firmness there, Master Cockerell suc- 
 ceeded in distributing " C " Company among 
 some dozen houses. One old gentleman, witli 
 a black alpaca cap and a six days* beard, pro- 
 prietor of a lofty establishment at the corner of 
 the street, proved not only recalcitrant, but 
 abusive. With him Cockerell dealt promptly. 
 
 " Qa sujfit ! " he announced. *' Montrez- 
 moi voire grenier ! " 
 
 The old man, grumbling, led the way up 
 numerous rickety staircases to the inevitable 
 loft under the tiles. This proved to be a noble 
 apartment thirty feet long. From wall to wall 
 stretched innumerable strinsfs.
 
 196 CARRYING ON 
 
 " We can get a whole platoon in here," said 
 Oockerell contentedly. " Tell him, Alphonso. 
 These people," he explained to Sergeant 
 M'Nab, " always dislike giving up their lofts, 
 because they hang their laundry there in 
 winter. However, the old boy must lump it. 
 After all, we are in this country for his health, 
 not ours ; and he gets paid for every man 
 who sleeps here. That fixes * C ' Company. 
 Now for ' D ' ! The other side of the street 
 this time." 
 
 Quarters were found in due course for " D " 
 Company ; after which Cockerell discovered a 
 vacant building - site which would serve for 
 transport lines. An empty garage was marked 
 down for the Quartermaster's ration store, and 
 the Quartermaster -Sergeant promptly faded 
 into its recesses with a grateful sigh. An 
 empty shop in the Rue Jean Jacques Rous- 
 seau, conveniently adjacent to Battalion 
 Headquarters, was appropriated for that gre- 
 garious band, the regimental signallers and 
 telephone section ; while a suitable home for 
 the Anarchists, or Bombers, together with 
 their stock-in-trade, was found in the base- 
 ment of a remote dwelling on the outskirts of 
 the area.
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 197 
 
 After this, Lieutenant Cockerell, left alone 
 with Alphonso and the orderly in charge of 
 his horse, heaved a sigh of exhaustion and 
 transferred his attention from his note-book 
 to his watch. 
 
 " That finishes the rank and file," he said. 
 " I breakfasted at four this morning, and the 
 Battalion won't arrive for a couple of hours 
 yet. Alphonso, I am going to have an 
 omelette somewhere. I shall want you in 
 half an hour exactly. Don't go wandering off 
 for the rest of the day, pinching soft billets 
 for yourself and the Sergeant-Major and your 
 other pals, as you usually do I " 
 
 Alphonso saluted guiltily — evidently the 
 astute Cockerell had "touched the spot" — 
 and was turning away, when suddenly the 
 billeting officer's eye encountered an illegible 
 scrawl at the very foot of his list. 
 
 " Stop a moment, Alphonso ! I have for- 
 gotten those condemned machine-gunners, as 
 usual. Strafe them ! Come on ! Once more 
 into the breach, Alohonso 1 There is a little 
 side-alley down here that we have not tried." 
 
 The indefatigable Cockerell turned down 
 the Rue Gamhetta, followed by Alphonso, 
 faint but resigned.
 
 198 CARRYING ON 
 
 " Here is the very place ! " announced 
 Cockerell almost at once. " This house. 
 Number Five. We can put the gunners 
 and their little guns into that stable at the 
 back, and the officer can have a room in the 
 house itself. Sonnez, for the last time before 
 lunch ! " 
 
 The door was opened by a pleasant- faced 
 young woman of about thirty, wb'^ greeted 
 Cockerell — tartan is always popular with 
 French ladies — with a beaming smile, but 
 shook her head regretfully upon seeing the 
 hilht de logenien.t in his hand. The inevitable 
 duet with Alphonso followed. Presently 
 Alphonso turned to his superior. 
 
 '* Madame is ver' sorry, sair, but an officier 
 is here already." 
 
 " Show me the officier !" replied the prosaic 
 Cockerell. 
 
 The duet was resumed. 
 
 " Madame say," announced Alphonso pres- 
 ently, " that the officier is not here now ; but 
 he will return." 
 
 " So will Christmas ! Meanwhile I am 
 going to put an Emma Gee officer in here." 
 
 Alphonso's desperate attempt to translate 
 the foregoing idiom into French was inter- 
 
 im
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 199 
 
 rupted by Madame's retirement into the house, 
 whither she beckoned Cockerell to follow her. 
 In the front room she produced a frayed sheet 
 of paper, which she proffered with an apolo- 
 getic smile. The paper said — 
 
 Tliis billet is entirely reserved for the 
 Supply Officer of this District. It is not to he 
 occupied hy troops passing through the town. 
 
 By Order. 
 
 Lieutenant Cockerell whistled softly and 
 vindictively through his teeth. 
 
 " Well," he said, " for consummate and con- 
 centrated nerve, give me the underlings of 
 the A.S.C. ! This pot-bellied blighter not 
 only butts into an area which doesn't belong 
 to him, but actually leaves a chit to warn 
 people off the grass even when he isn't here ! 
 He hasn't signed the document, I observe. 
 Tliat means that he is a newly-joined sub- 
 altern, trying to get mistaken for a Brass 
 Hat ! I'll fix him ! " 
 
 With great stateliness Lieutenant Cockerell 
 tore the offending screed into four portions, to 
 the audible concern of Madame. But the 
 Lieutenant smiled reassuringly upon her.
 
 200 CARRYING ON 
 
 " Je vous donnerai un autre, vous savez" he 
 assured her. 
 
 He sat down at the table, tore a leaf from 
 his Field Service Pocket Book, and wrote : — 
 
 The Supply Officer of the District is at 
 
 liberty to occupy this billet only at such times 
 
 as it is not required by the troops of the Co'm- 
 
 batant Services. 
 
 Signed, F. J. Cockerell, 
 
 Lieut. & Asst. Adi., 
 1th B. Jb W. Highes. 
 
 " That's a pretty nasty one ! " he observed 
 with relish. Then, having pinned the in- 
 sulting document conspicuously to the mantel- 
 piece, he observed to the mystified lady of the 
 house — 
 
 " Voild, Madame. Si Vofficier reviendra, je 
 le verrai moi-meme, avec grand plaisir. Bon 
 jour ! 
 
 And with this dark saying Sparrow 
 Cockerell took his departure. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Battalion, headed by their tatterde- 
 malion pipers, stumped into the town in due
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 201 
 
 course, and were met on the outskirts by the 
 billeting party, who led the various com- 
 panies to their appointed place. After in- 
 specting their new quarters, and announcing 
 with gloomy satisfaction that they were the 
 worst, dirtiest, and most uncomfortable yet 
 encountered, everybody settled down in the 
 best place he could find, and proceeded to 
 make himself remark-^ibly snug. 
 
 Battalion Headquarters and the officers of 
 " A " Company were billeted in an imposing 
 mansion which actually boasted a bathroom. 
 It is true that there was no water, but this 
 deficiency was soon made good by a string of 
 officers' servants bearing buckets. Beginning 
 with Colonel Kemp, who was preceded by an 
 orderly bearing a small towel and a large 
 loofah, each officer performed a ceremonial 
 ablution ; and it was a collection of what 
 Major WagstafiPe termed " bright and bonny 
 young faces" which collected round the mess 
 table at seven o'clock. 
 
 It w^as in every sense a gala meal. Firstly, 
 it was weeks since any one (except Second 
 Lieutenant M'Corquodale, newly joined, and 
 addressed, for painfully obvious reasons, as 
 "Tich") had found himself at table in an
 
 202 CARRYING ON 
 
 apartment where it was possible to stand 
 upright. Secondly, the Mess President had 
 coaxed glass tumblers out of the ancient con- 
 cie7'ge ; and only those who have drunk from 
 enamelled ironware for weeks on end can ap- 
 preciate the pure joy of escape from the inde- 
 terminate metallic flavour which such vessels 
 impart to all beverages. Thirdly, these same 
 tumblers were filled to the brim with infe- 
 rior but exhilarating champagne — purchased, 
 as they euphemistically put in the Supply 
 Column, "locally." Lastly, the battalion had 
 several months of hard fighting behind it, 
 probably a full month's rest before it, and 
 the conscience of duty done and recognition 
 earned floating like a halo above it. For the 
 moment, memories of Nightmare Wood and 
 the Kidney Bean Kedoubt — more especially 
 the latter — were effaced. Even the sorrowful 
 gaps in the ring round the table seemed less 
 noticeable. 
 
 The menu, too. was almost pretentious. 
 First came the hors d'ceuvres — a tin of 
 sardines. This was followed by what the 
 Mess Corporal described as a savoury omelette, 
 but which the Second-in-Command condemned 
 as "a regrettable incident."
 
 "THE non-combatant'' 203 
 
 "It is false economy," he observed dryly to 
 the Mess President, " to employ Mark One ^ 
 eggs as anything but hand-grenades." 
 
 However, the tide of popular favour turned 
 with the haggis, contributed by Lieutenant 
 Angus M'Lachlan, from a parcel from home. 
 Even the fact that the mess-cook, an inex- 
 perienced SBsthete from Islington, had endea- 
 voured to tone down the naked repulsiveness 
 of the dainty w^ith discreet festoons of tinned 
 macaroni, failed to arouse the resentment of 
 a purely Scottish Mess. The next course — 
 the beef ration, hacked into the inevitable 
 gobbets and thinly disguised by a sprinkling 
 of curry powder — aroused no enthusiasm ; but 
 the unexpected production of a large tin of 
 Devonshire cream, contributed by Captain 
 Bobby Little, relieved the canned peaches of 
 their customary monotony. Last of all came 
 a savoury — usually described as the savoury — 
 consisting of a raft of toast per person, each 
 raft carrying an abundant cargo of fried 
 potted meat, and provided with a passenger 
 in the shape of a recumbent sausage. 
 
 ^ In the British Army each issue of arms or equipment 
 receives a distinctive " Mark." Mark 1 denotes the earliest 
 issue.
 
 204 CARRYING ON 
 
 A compound of grounds and dish-water, de- 
 scribed by the optimistic Mess Corporal as 
 coffee, next made its appearance, mitigated by 
 a bottle of Cointreau and a box of Panatellas ; 
 and the Mess turned itself to more intellectual 
 refreshment. A. heavy and long overdue mail 
 had been found waiting at St Gregoire. 
 Letters had been devoured long ago. Now, 
 each member of the Mess leaned back in his 
 chair, straightened his weary legs under the 
 table, and settled down, cigar in mouth, to 
 the perusal of the Spectator or the Tatlei\ 
 according to rank and literary taste. 
 
 Colonel Kemp, unfolding a week-old Times, 
 looked over his glasses at his torpid disciples. 
 
 " Where is young Sandeman ? " he inquired. 
 Young Sandeman was the Adjutant. 
 
 " He went out to the Orderly-room, sir, five 
 minutes ago," replied Bobby Little. 
 
 " I only want to give him to-morrow's 
 Orders. No doubt he'll be back presently. 
 I may as well mention to you fellows that I 
 propose to allow the men three clear days' 
 rest, except for bathing and reclothing. After 
 that we must do Company Drill, good and 
 hard, so as to polish up the new draft, who 
 are due to-morrow. I am going to start a
 
 ''THE NON-COMBATANT" 205 
 
 bombing-school, too : at least seventy-five per 
 cent of the Battalion ought to pass the test 
 before we go back to the line. However, we 
 need not rush things. We should be here in 
 peace for at least a month. We must get up 
 some sports, and I think it would be a sound 
 scheme to have a sing-song one Saturday 
 night. 1 was just saying, Sandeman " — this 
 to the Adjutant, who re-entered the room 
 at that moment — " that it would be a 
 sound " 
 
 The Adjutant laid a pink field-telegraph 
 slip before his superior. 
 
 " This has just come in from Brigade Head- 
 quarters, sir," he said. " I have sent for the 
 Sergean t-Maj or. " 
 
 The Colonel adjusted his glasses and read 
 the despatch. A deathly, sickening silence 
 reigned in the room. Then he looked up. 
 
 "I am afraid I was a bit previous," he said 
 quietly. "The Royal Stickybacks have lost 
 the Kidney Bean, and we are detailed to go 
 up and retake it. Great compliment to the 
 regiment, but a trifle mistimed ! You young 
 fellows had better go to bed. Parade at four 
 A.M. sharp ! Good-night ! Come along to the 
 Orderly-room, Sandeman."
 
 206 CARRYING ON 
 
 The door closed, and the Mess, grinding 
 the ends of their cigars into their coffee- 
 cups, heaved themselves resignedly to their 
 aching feet. 
 
 "There ain't," quoted Major Wagetaffe, "no 
 word in the blooming language for it ! " 
 
 III. 
 
 The Kidney Bean Redoubt is the key to a 
 very considerable sector of trenches. 
 
 It lies just behind a low ridge. The two 
 horns of the bean are drawn back out of sight 
 of the enemy, but the middle swells forward 
 over the skyline and commands an extensive 
 view of the country beyond. Direct observa- 
 tion of artillery fire is possible : consequentl}- 
 an armoured observation post has been con- 
 structed here, from which Gunner officers can 
 direct the fire of their batteries with accuracy 
 and elegance. Lose the Kidney Bean, and 
 the boot is on the other leg. The enemy has 
 the upper ground now : he can bring observed 
 artillery fire to bear upon all our tenderest 
 spots behind the line. He can also enfilade 
 our front-line trenches.
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 207 
 
 Well, as already stated, the Twenty-second 
 Royal Stickybacks had lost the Kidney Bean. 
 They were a battalion of recent formation, 
 stout-hearted fellows all, but new to the re- 
 finements of intensive trench warfare. When 
 they took over the sector, they proceeded to 
 leave undone various vital things which the 
 Hairy Jocks had always made a point of 
 doing, and to do various unnecessary things 
 which the Hairy Jocks had never done. The 
 observant Hun promptly recognised that he 
 was faced by a fresh batch of opponents, and, 
 having carefully studied the characteristics of 
 the new-comers, prescribed and administered 
 an exemplary dose of frightfulness. He 
 began by tickling up the Stickybacks with 
 an unpleasant engine called the minenwerfer, 
 which despatches a large sausage-shaped pro- 
 jectile in a series of ridiculous somersaults, 
 high over No Man's Land into the enemy's 
 front-line trench, where it explodes and an- 
 nihilates everything in that particular bay. 
 Upon these occasions one's only chance of 
 salvation is to make a rapid calculation as to 
 the bay into which the sausage is going to 
 fall, and then double speedily round a traverse 
 — or, if possible, two traverses — into another.
 
 208 CARRYING ON 
 
 It is an exhilarating pastime, but presents 
 complications when played by a large number 
 of persons in a restricted space, especially 
 when the persons aforesaid are not unani- 
 mous as to the ultimate landing-place of the 
 projectile. 
 
 After a day and a night of these aerial 
 torpedoes the Hun proceeded to an intensive 
 artillery bombardment. He had long coveted 
 the Kidney Bean, and instinct told him that 
 he would never have a better opportunity of 
 capturing it than now. Accordingly, two 
 hours before dawn, the E-edoubt was subjected 
 to a sudden, simultaneous, and converging fire 
 from all the German artillery for many miles 
 round, the whole being topped up with a rain 
 of those crowning instruments of demoralisa- 
 tion, gas-shells. At the same time an elabo- 
 rate curtain of shrapnel and high explosive 
 was let down behind the Redoubt, to serve 
 the double purpose of preventing either the 
 sending up of reinforcements or the temporary 
 withdrawal of the garrison. 
 
 At the first streak of dawn the bombard- 
 ment was switched ofi", as if by a tap ; the 
 curtain fire was redoubled in volume ; and a 
 massed attack swept across the disintegrated
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 209 
 
 wire into the shattered and pulverised 
 Kedoubt. Other attacks were launched on 
 either flank ; but these were obvious blinds, 
 intended to prevent a too concentrated defence 
 of the Kidney Bean. The E-oyal Sticky backs 
 — what was left of them — put up a tough 
 fight ; but half of them were lying dead or 
 buried, or both, before the assault was launched, 
 and the rest were too dazed and stupefied by 
 noise and chlorine gas to withstand — much 
 Icvss to repel — the overwhelming phalanx that 
 was hurled against them. One by one they 
 went down, until the enemy troops, having 
 swamped the Redoubt, gathered themselves 
 up in a fresh wave and surged towards 
 the reserve-line trenches, four hundred yards 
 distant. At this point, however, they met 
 a strong counter-attack, launched from the 
 Brigade Reserve, and after heavy fighting 
 were bundled back into the Redoubt itself. 
 Here the German machine-guns had staked 
 out a defensive line, and the German retire- 
 ment came to a standstill. 
 
 Meanwhile a German digging party, many 
 hundred strong, had been working madly in 
 No Man's Land, striving to link up the newly- 
 acquired ground with the German lines. By
 
 210 CARRYING ON 
 
 the afternoon the Kidney Bean was not onh' 
 "reversed and consolidated," but was actually 
 included in the enemy's front trench system. 
 Altogether a well - planned and admirably- 
 executed little operation. 
 
 Forty-eight hours later the Kidney Bean 
 Hedoubt was recaptured, and remains in 
 British hands to this day. Many arms of 
 the Service took honourable part in the 
 enterprise — heavy guns, Held guns, trench- 
 mortars, machine-guns, Sappers and Pioneers, 
 Infantry in various capacities. But this 
 narrative is concerned only with the part 
 played by the Seventh Hairy Jocks. 
 
 '* Sorry to pull you back from rest, 
 Colonel," said the Brigadier, when Colonel 
 Kemp reported ; " but the Divisional General 
 considers that the only feasible way to 
 hunt the Boche from the Kidney Bean 
 is to bomb him out of it. That means 
 trench-fighting, pure and simple. I have 
 called you up because you fellows know the 
 ins and outs of the Kidney Bean as no one 
 else does. The Briorade who are in the line 
 just now are quite new to the place. Here 
 is an aeroplane photograph of the Bedoubt, 
 as at present constituted. Tell off your own
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 211 
 
 bombing parties ; make your own dispositions ; 
 send me a copy of your provisional Orders ; 
 and I will fit my plan in with yours. The 
 Corps Commander has promised to back you 
 with every gun, trench-mortar, culverfn, and 
 arquebus in his possession." 
 
 In due course Battalion Orders were issued 
 and approved. They dealt with operations 
 most barbarous amid localities of the most 
 homelike sound. Number Nine Platoon, for 
 instance (Commander, Lt. Cockerell), were 
 to proceed in single file, carrying so many 
 grenades per man, up Charing Cross Road, 
 until stopped by the barrier which the enemy 
 were understood to have erected in Trafalgar 
 Square, where a bombing-post and at least 
 one machine-gun would probably be encoun- 
 tered. At this point they were to wait until 
 Trafalgar Square had been suitably dealt with 
 by trench-mortar. (Here followed a para- 
 graph addressed exclusively to the Trench 
 Mortar Officer.) After this the bombers of 
 Number Three Platoon would bomb their 
 way across the Square and up the Strand. 
 Another party would clear Northumberland 
 Avenue, while a Lewis gun raked Whitehall. 
 And so on. Every detail was thought out,
 
 212 CARRYING ON 
 
 down to the composition of the parties which 
 were to '* clean up " afterwards — that is, ex- 
 tract the reluctant Boche from various under- 
 ground fastnesses well known to the extractors. 
 The whole enterprise was then thoroughly re- 
 hearsed in some dummy trenches behind the 
 line, until every one knew his exact part. 
 Such is modern warfare. 
 
 Next day the Kidney Bean Bedoubt was in 
 British hands again. The Hun — what was 
 left of him after an intensive bombardment of 
 twenty-four hours — had betaken himself back 
 over the ridge, via the remnants of his two 
 new communication trenches, to his original 
 front line. The two communication trenches 
 themselves were blocked and sandbagged, 
 and were being heavily supervised by a pair 
 of British machine-guns. Fighting in the 
 Bedoubt itself had almost ceased, though a 
 humorous sergeant, followed by acolytes bear- 
 ing bombs, was still "combing out" certain 
 residential districts in the centre of the maze. 
 Ever and anon he would stoop down at the 
 entrance of some deep dug-out, and bawl — 
 
 " Ony mair doon there ? Come away, 
 Fritz ! I'll gie ye five seconds. Yin, Twa, 
 Three "
 
 "THE NON-OOMBATANT" 213 
 
 Then, with a rush like a bolt of rabbits, two 
 or three close-cropped, grimy Huns would 
 scuttle up from below and project themselves 
 from one of the exits, — to be taken in charge 
 by grinning Caledonians wearing " tin hats " 
 very much awry, and escorted back through 
 the barrage to the " prisoners' base " in 
 rear. 
 
 All through the day, amidst unremitting 
 shell fire and local counter-attack, the Hairy 
 Jocks re-consolidated the Kidney Bean ; and 
 they were so far successful that when they 
 handed over the work to another battalion at 
 dusk, the parapet was restored, the machine- 
 guns were in position, and a number of " knife- 
 rest" barbed-wire entanglements were lying 
 just behind the trench, ready to be hoisted 
 over the parapet and joined together in a con- 
 tinuous defensive line as soon as the night was 
 sufficiently dark. , 
 
 One by one the members of Number Nine 
 Platoon squelched — for it had rained hard all 
 day — back to the reserve line. They were 
 utterly exhausted, and still inclined to feel 
 a little aggrieved at having been pulled out 
 from rest ; but they were well content. They 
 had done the State some service, and they 
 
 p
 
 214 CARRYING OX 
 
 knew it ; aDcl they knew that the higher 
 powers knew it too. There would be some 
 very flattering reading in Divisional Orders 
 in a few days' time. 
 
 Meanwhile, their most pressing need was for 
 something to eat. To be sure, every man had 
 gone into action that morning carrying his 
 day's rations. But the British soldier, im- 
 provident as the grasshopper, carries his day's 
 rations in one place, and one place only — his 
 stomach. The Hairy Jocks had eaten what 
 they required at their extremely early break- 
 fast : the residue thereof they had abandoned. 
 
 About midnight Master Cockerell, in obedi- 
 ence to a most welcome order, led the rem- 
 nants of his command, faint but triumphant, 
 back from the reserve line to a road junction 
 two miles in rear, known as Dead Dog Corner. 
 Here the Battalion was to rendezvous, and 
 march back by easy stages to St Gregoire. 
 Their task was done. 
 
 But at the cross-roads Number Nine Pla- 
 toon found no Battalion : only a solitary sub- 
 altern, with his orderly. This young Casa- 
 bianca informed Cockerell that he. Second 
 Lieutenant Candlish, had been left behind to 
 " bring in stragglers."
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 215 
 
 " Stracro^lers ? " exclaimed the infuriated 
 Cockerell, '' Do we look like stragglers ? " 
 
 " No," replied the youthful Candlish frankly, 
 "you look more like sweeps. However, you 
 had better push on. The Battalion isn't far 
 ahead. The order is to march straiofht back 
 to St Gregoire and reoccnpy former l^illets." 
 
 " What about rations ? ' 
 
 " Ptations ? The Quartermaster was wait- 
 ing here for us when we ^rendezvoused, and 
 every man had a full ration and a tot of rum." 
 (Number Nine Platoon cleared their parched 
 throats expectantly.) "But I fancy he has 
 gone on with the column. However, if you 
 leg it you should catch them up. They can't 
 be more than two miles ahead. So long ! " 
 
 IV. 
 
 But the task was hopeless. Number Nine 
 Platoon had been bombing, hacking, and dig- 
 ging all day. Several of them were slightly 
 wounded — the serious cases had been taken 
 off long ago by the stretcher-bearers — and 
 Cockerell's own head was still dizzy from the 
 fumes of a German gas-shell.
 
 216 CARRYING ON 
 
 He lined up his disreputable paladins in 
 the darkness, and spoke — 
 
 " Sergeant M'Nab, how many men are 
 present ? " 
 
 "Eighteen, sirr." The platoon had gone 
 into action thirty-four strong. 
 
 " How many men are deficient of an emer- 
 gency ration ? I can make a good guess, but 
 you had better find out." 
 
 Five minutes later the Sergeant reported. 
 Cockerell's guess was correct. The British 
 private has only one point of view about the 
 portable property of the State, To him, as 
 an individual, the sacred emergency ration is 
 an unnecessary encumbrance, and the carrying 
 thereof a " fatigue." Consequently, when en- 
 gaged in battle, one of the first (of many) 
 things which he jettisons is this very ration. 
 The Quartermaster - Sergeant writes it off 
 as '* lost owing to the exigencies of military 
 service," and indents for another. 
 
 Lieutenant Cockerell's haversack contained 
 a packet of meat-lozenges and about half a 
 pound of chocolate. These were presented to 
 the Serofeant. 
 
 "Hand these round as far as they will go.
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 217 
 
 Sergeant," said Cockerell. " They'll make a 
 mouthful a man, anyhow. Tell the platoon to 
 lie down for ten minutes : then we'll push off. 
 It's only fifteen miles. We ought to make it 
 by breakfast-time. ..." 
 
 Slowly, mechanically, all through the winter 
 night the victors hobbled along. Cockerell 
 led the way, carrying the rifle of a man with a 
 wounded arm. Occasionally he checked his 
 bearings with map and electric torch. Ser- 
 geant M'Nab, who, under a hirsute and 
 attenuated exterior, concealed a constitution 
 of ferro-concrete and the heart of a lion, 
 brought up the rear, uttering fallacious assur- 
 ances to the faint-hearted as to the shortness 
 of the distance now to be covered, and carry- 
 ing two rifles. 
 
 The customary halts were observed. At 
 ten minutes to four the men flung themselves 
 down for the third time. They had covered 
 about seven miles, and were still eight or nine 
 from St Gregoire. The everlasting constella- 
 tion of Verey lights still rose and fell upon the 
 eastern horizon behind them, but the guns 
 were silent. 
 
 "There might be a Heavy Battery dug in
 
 218 CARRYING ON 
 
 somewhere about here," mused Cockerell. " I 
 wonder if we could touch them for a few tins 
 of bully. Hallo, what's that ? " 
 
 A distant rumble came from the north, and 
 out of the darkness loomed a British motor- 
 lorry, lurching and swaying along the rough 
 cobbles of the pave. Some of Cockerell's men 
 were lying dead asleep in the middle of the 
 road, right at the junction. The lorry was 
 going twenty miles an hour. 
 
 " Get into the side of the road, you men ! " 
 shouted Cockerell, " or they'll run over you. 
 You know what these M.T. drivers are ! " 
 
 With indignant haste, and at the last pos- 
 sible moment, the kilted hg^ures scattered to 
 either side of the narrow causeway. The 
 usual stereotyped and vitriolic remonstrances 
 were hurled after the great hooded vehicle as 
 it lurched past. 
 
 And then a most unusual thing happened. 
 The lorry slowed do,vvn, and finally stopped, a 
 hundred yards away. An officer descended, 
 and began to walk back. Cockerell rose to 
 his weary feet and walked to meet him. 
 
 The officer wore a major's crown upon the 
 shoulder-straps of his sheepskin-lined " British
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 219 
 
 Warm," and the badge of the Army Service 
 Corps upon his cap. Cockerell, indignant at 
 the manner in which his platoon had been 
 hustled off the road, saluted stiffly, and 
 muttered : " Good morning, sir ! " 
 
 " Good morning ! " said the Major. He was 
 a stout man of nearly fifty, with twinkling 
 blue eyes and a short - clipped moustache. 
 Cockerell judged him to be one of the few 
 remnants of the original Expeditionary Force. 
 
 " I stopped," explained the older man, " to 
 apologise for the scandalous way that fellow 
 drove over you. It was perfectly damnable ; 
 but you know what these converted taxi- 
 drivers are ! This swine forgot for the 
 moment that he had an officer on board, and 
 hogged it as usual. He goes under arrest as 
 soon as we get back to billets." 
 
 " Thank you very much, sir," said Master 
 Cockerell, entirely thawed. " I'm afraid my 
 chaps were lying all over the road ; but 
 they are pretty well down and out at 
 present." 
 
 "Where have you come from?" inquired 
 the Major, turning a curious eye upon 
 Cockerell's prostrate followers.
 
 220 CARRYING ON 
 
 Cockerell explained. When he had finished, 
 he added wistfully — 
 
 " I suppose you have not got an odd tin or 
 two of bully to give away, sir ? My fellows 
 are about " 
 
 For answer, the Major to®k the Lieuteaant 
 by the arm and led him towards the lorry. 
 
 " You have come," he announced, " to the 
 very man you want. I am practically Mr 
 Harrod. In fact, I am a Corps Supply 
 Officer, How would a Maconochie apiece 
 suit your boys ? " 
 
 Cockerell, repressing the ecstatic phrases 
 which crowded to his tongue, replied that 
 that was just what the doctor had ordered. 
 
 " Where are you bound for ? " continued 
 the Major. 
 
 "St Gregoire." 
 
 " Of course. You were pulled out from 
 there, weren't you ? I am going to St Gre- 
 goire myself as soon as I have finished my 
 round. Home to bed, in fact. I haven't had 
 any sleep worth v/riting home about for four 
 nights. It is no joke tearing about a country 
 full of shell-holes, hunting for people who 
 have shifted their ration -dump seven times 
 in four days. However, I suppose things will
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 221 
 
 settle down again, now that you fellows have 
 fired Brother Boche out of the Kidney Bean. 
 Pretty fine work, too ! Tell me, what is your 
 s-trength, here and now ? " 
 
 "One officer," said Cockerell soberly, "and 
 eighteen other ranks." 
 
 " All that's left of your platoon ? " 
 
 Cockerell nodded. The stout Major began 
 to beat upon the tailboard of the lorry with 
 his stick. 
 
 *' Sergeant Smurthwaite ! " he shouted. 
 
 There came a muffled grunt from the 
 recesses of the lorry. Then a round and 
 ruddy face rose like a harvest moon above 
 the tailboard, and a stertorous voice replied 
 respectfully — 
 
 "Sirr' 
 
 " Let down this tailboard ; load this officer's 
 platoon into the lorry ; issue them with a 
 Maconochie and a tot of rum apiece ; and 
 don't forget to put Smee under arrest for 
 dangerous driving when we get back to 
 billets." 
 
 "Yery good, sir." 
 
 Ten minutes later the survivors of Number 
 Nine Platoon, soaked to the skin, dazed,
 
 222 CARRYING ON 
 
 slightly incredulous, but at peace with all the 
 world, reclined close-packed upon the floor of 
 the swaying- lorry. Each man held an open 
 tin of Mr Maconochie's admirable ration 
 between his knees. Perfect silence reigned : 
 a pleasant aroma of rum mellowed the already 
 vitiated atmosphere. 
 
 In front, beside the chastened Mr Smee, sat 
 the Ma,jor and Master Cockerell. The latter 
 had just partaken of his share of refreshment, 
 and was now endeavouring, with lifeless 
 fingers, to light a cigarette. 
 
 The Major scrutinised his guest intently. 
 Then he stripped off his "British Warm" 
 — ^incidentally revealing the fact that he 
 wore upon his tunic the ribbons of both South 
 African Medals and the Distinguished Service 
 Order — and threw it round Cockerell's 
 shoulders. 
 
 "I'm sorry, boy ! " he said. " I never 
 noticed. You are chilled to the bone. 
 Button this round you." 
 
 Cockerell made a feeble protest, but was 
 cut siiort, 
 
 " Nonsense ! There's no sense in taking 
 risks after you've done your job." 
 
 Cockerell assented, a little sleepily. His
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 223 
 
 allowance of rum was bringing its usual 
 vulgar but comforting influence to bear upon 
 an exhausted system. 
 
 " I see you have been wounded, sir," he 
 observed, noting with a little surprise two 
 gold stripes upon his host's left sleeve — the 
 sleeve of a " non-combatant." 
 
 "Yes," said the Major. "I got the first 
 one at Le Cateau. He was only a little 
 fellow ; but the second, which arrived at the 
 Second Show at Ypres, gave me such a stiff 
 leg that I am only an old crock now. I was 
 second-in-command of an Infantry Battalion 
 in those days. In these, I am only a peri- 
 patetic Lipton. However, I am lucky to be 
 here at all : I've had twenty - seven years' 
 service. How old are you ? " 
 
 " Twenty," replied Cockerell. He was too 
 tired to feel as ashamed as he usually did at 
 having to confess to the tenderness of his 
 years. 
 
 The Major nodded thoughtfully. 
 
 "Yes," he said; "I judged that would be 
 about the figure. My son would have been 
 twenty this month, only — he was at Neuve 
 Chapelle. He was very like you in appear- 
 ance — very. His mother would have been
 
 224 CARRYING ON 
 
 interested to meet 3'ou. You might as well 
 take a nap for half an hour. I have two 
 more calls to make, and we shan't get home 
 till nearly seven. Lean on me, old man. I'll 
 see you don't tumble overboard. ..." 
 
 So Lieutenant Cockerell, conqueror of the 
 Kidney Bean, fell asleep, his head resting, 
 with scandalous disregard for military eti- 
 quette, upon the shoulder of the stout 
 Major. 
 
 V. 
 
 An hour or two later, Number Nine Platoon, 
 distended with concentrated nourishment and 
 painfully straightening its cramped limbs, de- 
 canted itself from the lorry into a little cul- 
 de - sac opening off the Rue Jean Jacques 
 Rousseau In St Gregoire. The name of the 
 cul-de-sac was the Rue Gambetta. 
 
 Their commander, awake and greatly re- 
 freshed, looked round him and realised, with 
 a sudden sense of uneasiness, that he was 
 in familiar surroundings. The lorry had 
 stopped at the door of Number Five. 
 
 " I don't suppose your Battalion will get
 
 "THE NON-COMBATANT" 225 
 
 back for some time," said the Major. "Tell 
 your Sergeant to put your men into the 
 stable behind this house — there's plenty of 
 straw there — and " 
 
 *' Their own billet is just round the c6rner, 
 sir," replied Cockerell. "They might as well 
 go there, thank you." 
 
 " Very good. But come in with me your- 
 self, and doss here for a few hours. You can 
 report to your CO. later in the day, when he 
 arrives. This is my ipied-a-terre'' — rapping 
 on the door. " You won't find many billets 
 like it. As you see, it stands in this little 
 backwater, and is not included in any of 
 the regular billeting areas of the town. The 
 Town Major has allotted it to me perma- 
 nently. Pretty decent of him, wasn't it? 
 And Madame Vinot is a dear. Here she 
 is ! Bonjour, Madame Vinot ! Avez - vous 
 un feu — er — injiamme i)Our moi dans la 
 chamhref" Evidently the Major's French 
 was on a par with Cockerell's. 
 
 But Madame understood him, bless her ! 
 
 " Alais oui, M'sieur le Colonel ! " she ex- 
 claimed cheerfully — the rank of Major is not 
 recognised by the French civilian population 
 — and threw open the door of the sitting-
 
 226 CARRYING ON 
 
 room, with a glance of compassion upon the 
 Major's mud-sp]ashed companion, whom she 
 failed to recognise. 
 
 A bright fire was burning in the open 
 stove. 
 
 Immediately above, pinned to the mantel- 
 piece and fluttering in the draught, hung 
 Cockerell's manifesto upon the subject of 
 non - combatants. He could recognise his 
 own handwriting across the room. The Major 
 saw it too. 
 
 " Hallo, what's that hanging up, I 
 wonder ? " he exclaimed. " A memorandum 
 for me, I expect : probably from my old 
 friend ' Dados.' ^ Let us get a little more 
 light." 
 
 He crossed to the window and drew up 
 the blind. Cockerell moved too. When the 
 Major turned round, his guest was standing 
 by the stove, his face scarlet through its 
 grime. 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry, sir," said Cockerell, 
 "but that notice — memorandum — of yours 
 has dropped into the fire." 
 
 ^ D.A.D.O.S. Deputy Assistant Director of •rdnaiice 
 Stores.
 
 4<r| 
 
 THE NON-COMBATANT" 227 
 
 "If it came from Dados," replied the Major, 
 '* thank you.very much ! " 
 
 "I can't tell you, sir," added Cockerell 
 humbly, " what a fool I feel." 
 
 But the apology referred to an entirely 
 difierent matter.
 
 228 
 
 CHAPTER NINE. 
 
 TUNING UP. 
 
 It is just one year to-day since we "came 
 oot." A year plays havoc with the *' estab- 
 lishment" of a battalion in these days of 
 civilised warfare. Of the original band of 
 stout-hearted but inexperienced Crusaders who 
 crossed the Channel in the van of The First 
 Hundred Thousand, in May 1915 — a regiment 
 close on a thousand strong, with twenty-eight 
 officers — barely two hundred remain, and 
 most of these are Headquarters or Transport 
 men. Of officers there are five — Colonel 
 Kemp, Major Wagstaffe, Master Cockerell, 
 Bobby Little, and Mr AVaddell, who, by the 
 way, is now Captain Waddell, having suc- 
 ceeded to the command of his old Company. 
 Of the rest, our old Colonel is in Scotland, 
 essaying ambitious pedestrian and equestrian
 
 TUNING UP 229 
 
 feats upon his new leg. Others have been 
 drafted to the command of newer units, for 
 every member of "K(l)" is a Nestor nov/. 
 Others are home, in various stages of con- 
 valescence. Others, alas ! will never go 
 home again. 
 
 But the gaps have all been filled up, and 
 once more we are at full strength, comfort- 
 ably conscious that whereas a year ago we 
 were fighting to hold a line, and play for 
 time, and find our feet, while the people at 
 home behind us were making good, now we 
 are fighting for one thing and one thing 
 only ; and that is, to administer the knock- 
 out blow to Brother Boche. 
 
 Our last casualty was Ayling, who left 
 us under somewhat unusual circumstances. 
 
 Towards the end of our last occupancy of 
 trenches the local Olympus decided that 
 what both sides required, in order to 
 awaken them from their winter lethargy, or 
 spring lassitude (or whatever it is that 
 Olympus considers that we in the firing 
 line are suffering from for the moment), was 
 a tonic. Accordingly, orders were issued 
 for a Flying Matinee, or trench raid. Each 
 battalion in the Division was to submit a 
 
 Q
 
 230 CARRYING ON 
 
 scheme, and the battalion whose scheme 
 was adjudged the best was to be accorded 
 the honour — so said the Practical Joke De- 
 partment — of carrying out the scheme in 
 person. To the modified rapture of the 
 Seventh Hairy Jocks, their plan was awarded 
 first prize. Headquarters, after a little ex- 
 cusable recrimination on the subject of un- 
 necessary zeal and misguided ambition, set 
 to work to arrange rehearsels of our highly 
 unpopular production. 
 
 Brother Boche has gi-own "wise" to Flying 
 Matinees nowadays, and to score a real suc- 
 cess you have to present him with something 
 comparatively novel and unexpected. How- 
 ever, our scheme had been carefully thought 
 out ; and, given sufficient preparation and an 
 adequate cast, there seemed no reason to 
 doubt that the piece would have a highly 
 successful run of one nig^ht. 
 
 At one point in the enemy's trenches 
 opposite to us his barbed -wire defences had 
 worn very thin, and steps were taken by 
 means of systematic machine - gun fire to 
 prevent him from repairing them. This 
 spot was selected for the raid. A party of 
 twenty-five was detailed. It Avas to be led
 
 TUNING UP 231 
 
 by Angus M'Lachlan, and was to slip over 
 the parapet on a given moonless night, crawl 
 across No Man's Land to within striking 
 distance of the German trench, and wait. At 
 a given moment the signal for attack would 
 be given, and the wire demolished by a 
 means which need not be specified here. 
 Thereupon the raiding party were to dash 
 forward and — to quote the Sergeant-Major — 
 "mix themselves up in it." 
 
 Two elements are indispensable in a suc- 
 cessful trench-raid — surprise and despatch. 
 That is to say, you must deliver your raid 
 when and where it is least expected, and 
 then get home to bed before your victims 
 have had time to set the machinery of re- 
 taliation in motion. Steps were therefore 
 taken, firstly, to divert the enemy's attention 
 as far as possible from the true objective of 
 the raid, by a sudden and furious bombard- 
 ment of a sector of trenches three hundred 
 yards away ; and secondly, to ensure as far 
 as possible that the raid, having commenced 
 at two A.M., should conclude at two twelve, 
 sharp. 
 
 In order to cover the retirement of the 
 excursionists, Ayling was ordered to arrange
 
 282 CARRYING ON 
 
 for machine-gun fire, which should sweep the 
 enemy's parapet for some hundreds of yards 
 upon either flank, and so encourage the enemy 
 to keep his head down and mind his own 
 business. 
 
 The raid itself was a brilliant success. 
 Duo" - outs were bombed, emplacements de- 
 stroyed, and a respectable bag of captives 
 brought over. But the element of surprise, 
 upon which so much insistence was laid 
 above, was visited upon both attackers and 
 attacked. To the former the contribution 
 came from that Avell-meaning but somewhat 
 addle - pated warrior, Private Nigg, who 
 formed one of the raiding party. 
 
 Nigg's allotted task upon this occasion was 
 to " comb out " certain German dug - outs. 
 (It may be mentioned that each man had a 
 specific duty to perform, and a specific portion 
 of the trench opposite to perform it in ; for 
 the raid had been rehearsed several times in a 
 dummy trench behind the lines constructed 
 exactly to scale from an aeroplane photograph.) 
 For this purpose he was provided with bombs. 
 Shortly before two o'clock in the morning the 
 party, headed by Angus M'Lachlan, crawled 
 over the parapet during a brief lull in the
 
 TUNING UP 233 
 
 activities of the Verey lights, and crept 
 steadily, on hands and knees, across No 
 ManV? Land. Fifty yards from the enemy's 
 wire was a collection of shell-holes, relics of a 
 burst of misdirected energy on the part of a 
 six-inch battery. Here the raiders disposed 
 themselves, and waited for the signal. 
 
 Now, it is an undoubted fact that, if you 
 curl yourself up, with two or three preliminary 
 twirls, after the fashion of a dog going to bed, 
 in a perfectly circular shell-hole, on a night as 
 dark as the inside of a cow, you are extremely 
 likely to lose your sense of direction. This 
 is what happened to Private Nigg, He and 
 his infernal machines lay uneasily in their 
 appointed shell-hole for some ten minutes, 
 surrounded by Yerey lights which shot 
 suddenly into the sky with a disconcerting 
 plop, described a graceful parabola, burst into 
 dazzliDcr flame, and fluttered sizzlinof down. 
 One or two of these fell quite near Nigg's 
 party, and continued to burn upon the 
 ground, but the raiders sank closer into 
 their shell-holes, and no alarm resulted. 
 Once or twice a machine-gun had a scolding 
 fit, and bullets whispered overhead. But, on. 
 the whole, the night was quiet.
 
 234 CARRYING ON 
 
 Then suddenly, with a shattering roar, the 
 feint - artillery bombardment broke forth. 
 Simultaneously word was passed along the 
 raiding line to stand by. Next moment 
 Angus M'Lachlan and his followers rose to 
 their feet in the black darkness, scrambled 
 out of their nests, and dashed forward to the 
 accomplishment of their mission. 
 
 When Nigg, who had paused a moment to 
 collect his bombs, sprang out of his shell-hole, 
 not a colleague was in sight. At least, Nigg 
 could see no one. However, want of courage 
 was not one of his failings. He bounded 
 blindly forward by himself. 
 
 Try as he would he could not overtake the 
 raiding party. However, this mattered little, 
 for suddenly a parapet loomed before him. 
 In this same parapet, low down, Nigg beheld 
 a black and gaping aperture — plainly a loop- 
 hole of some kind. 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation, Nigg hurled 
 a Mills grenade straight through the loophole, 
 and then with one wild screech of " Come 
 away, boys ! " took a flying leap over the 
 parapet — and landed in his own trench, in 
 the arms of Corporal Mucklewame. 
 
 As already noted, it is difficult, when lying
 
 TUNING UP 235 
 
 curled up in a circular shell-hole in the dark, 
 to maintain a true sense of direction. 
 
 So the first-fruits of the raid was Captain 
 Ay ling, of the Emma Gees. He had stationed 
 himself in a concrete emplacement in the front 
 line, the better to " observe " the tire of his 
 guns when it should be required. Unfortun- 
 ately this was the destination selected by the 
 misguided Nigg for his first (and as it proved, 
 last) bomb. The raiders came safely back in 
 due course, but by that time Ayling, liberally 
 (but by a miracle not dangerously) ballasted 
 with assorted scrap-iron, was on his way to 
 the First Aid Post. 
 
 II. 
 
 At the present moment we are right back 
 at rest once more, and are being treated with 
 a consideration, amounting almost to indul- 
 gence, which convinces us that we are being 
 "fattened up" — to employ the gruesome but 
 expressive phraseology of the moment — for 
 some particularly strenuous enterprise in the 
 near future. 
 
 Well, we are ready. It is nine months
 
 236 CARRYING ON 
 
 since Loos, and nearly six since we scraped 
 the nightmare mud of Ypres from our boots, 
 gum, thigh, for the last time. Our recent 
 casualties have been light — our only serious 
 effort of late has been the recapture of the 
 Kidney Bean — the new drafts have settled 
 down, and the young officers have been 
 blooded. And above all, victory is in the 
 air. We are going into our next fight with 
 new - born confidence in the powers behind 
 us. Loos was an experimental affair ; and 
 thous:h to the humble instruments with which 
 the experiment was made the proceedings 
 were less hilarious than we had anticipated, 
 the results were enormously valuable to a 
 greatly expanded and entirely untried Staff. 
 
 "We shall do better this time," said Major 
 Wagstaffe to Bobby Little, as they stood 
 watching the battalion assemble, in work- 
 manlike fashion, for a route-march. " There 
 are jnst one or two little points which had 
 not occurred to us then. We have grasped 
 them now, I think." 
 
 " Such as ? " 
 
 " Well, you remember we all v/ent into the 
 Loos show without any very lucid idea as to 
 how far we were to go, and where to knock
 
 TUNING UP 237 
 
 off for the day, so to speak. The result was 
 that the advance of each Division was regu- 
 lated by the extent to which the German wire 
 in front of it had been cut by our artillery. 
 Ours was well and truly cut, so we penetrated 
 two or three miles. The people on our left 
 never started at all. Lord knows, they tried 
 hard enough. But how could any troops get 
 through thirty feet of uncut wire, enfiladed 
 by machine-guns ? The result was that after 
 forty-eight hours' fighting, our whole attack- 
 ing front, instead of forming a nice straight 
 line, had bagged out into a series of bays and 
 peninsulas." 
 
 "Our crowd wasn't even a peninsula," re- 
 marked Bobby with feeling. " For an hour 
 or so it was an island 1 " 
 
 I think you will find that in the next show 
 we shall go forward, after intensive bombard- 
 ment, quite a short distance ; then consolidate ; 
 then wait till the whole line has come up to 
 its appointed objective ; then bombard again ; 
 then go forward another piece ; and so on. 
 That will make it impossible for gaps to be 
 created. It will also give our gunners a 
 chance to cover our advance continuously. 
 You remember at Loos they lost us for hours.
 
 238 
 
 CARRYING ON 
 
 aud dare not fire for fear of hitting us. In 
 fact, I expect that in battle plans of the 
 future, instead of the artillery trying to con- 
 form to the movements of the infantry, matters 
 will be reversed. The guns, after preliminary 
 bombardment, will create a continuous Nia- 
 gara of exploding shells upon a given line, 
 marked in everybody's map, and timed for an 
 exact period, just beyond the objective ; and 
 the infantry will stroll up into position a com- 
 fortable distance behind, reading the time- 
 table, and dig themselves in. Then the 
 barrage will lift on to the next line, and we 
 shall toddle forward again. That's the new 
 plan, Bobby ! Close artillery co-operation, 
 and a series of limited objectives !" 
 
 " It sounds all right," agreed Bobby. "We 
 shall want a good many guns, though, shan't 
 
 " We shall. But don't let that worry you. 
 It is simply raining guns at the Base now. In 
 fact, my grandmother in the War Office " — 
 this mythical relative was frequently quoted 
 oj Major Wagstaffe, and certainly her in- 
 formation had several times proved surpris- 
 ingly correct — " tells me that by the beginning 
 of next year we shall have enough guns, of
 
 TUNING UP 239 
 
 various calibres, to make a continuous line, 
 hub to bub, from one end of our front to the 
 other." 
 
 " Goll J ! " observed Captain Little, with 
 respectful relish. 
 
 " That means," continued Wagstaffe, " that 
 we shall be able to blow Brother Boche's im- 
 mediate place of business to bits, and at the 
 same time take on his artillery with counter- 
 battery work. Our shell-supply is practically 
 unlimited now ; so when the next push comes, 
 we foot-sloggers ought to have a more gentle- 
 manly time of it than we had at Loos and 
 Wipers. And 111 tell you another thing, 
 Bobby. We shall have command of the air 
 too." 
 
 "That will be a pleasant change," remarked 
 Bobby. "I'm getting tired of putting my 
 fellows under arrest for rushing out of care- 
 fully concealed positions in order to gape up 
 at Boche planes going over. Angus M'Lach- 
 lan is as bad as any of them. The fel- 
 low " 
 
 " But you have not seen many Boche planes 
 lately ? " 
 
 " No. Certainly not so many." 
 
 " And the number will grow beautifully less.
 
 240 CARRYING ON 
 
 Our little friends in the K.F.C. are getting 
 fairly numerous now, and their machines have 
 been improved out of all knowledge. They 
 are rapidly assuming the position of top dog. 
 Moreover, the average Boche does not take 
 kindly to flying. It is too — too individualistic 
 a job for him. He likes to work in a bunch 
 with other Boches, where he can keep step, and 
 maintain dressing, and mark time, if he gets 
 confused. In the air one cannot mark time, and 
 it worries Fritz to death. I think you will see, 
 in the next unpleasantness, that we shall be 
 able to maintain our aeroplane frontier some- 
 where over the enemy third line. That means 
 that we shall make our own dispositions with 
 a certain degree of privacy, and the Boche 
 will not. Also, when our big guns get to 
 work, they will not need to fire blindly, as in 
 the days of our youth, but will be directed by 
 one of our E/.F.C. lads, humming about in his 
 little bus above the target, perhaps fifteen 
 miles from the gun. Hallo, there go the 
 pipes ! Tell your men to fall in." 
 
 "The whole business," observed Bobby, as 
 he struggled into his equipment, " sounds so 
 attractive that I am beginning quite to look 
 forward to the next show ! "
 
 TUNING UP 241 
 
 "Don't forget the Boclie machine-guns, my 
 lad," replied Wagstaffe. 
 
 " One seldom gets the chance," grumbled 
 Bobby. " Is there no way of knocking them 
 out ? " 
 
 "Well " Wagstaffe looked intensely m.ys- 
 
 terious — " Of course one never knows, but — 
 have you heard any rumours on the subject ? " 
 
 " I have. About — '■ — " 
 
 " About the Hush ! Hush ! Brigade ? " 
 
 Bobby nodded. 
 
 " Yes," he said. " Young Osborne, my best 
 subaltern after Angus, disappeared last month 
 to join it. Tell me, what is the ? " 
 
 "Hush! Hush!" said Major Wagstaffe. 
 " Mefiez vous ! Taisez vous ! and so on ! " 
 
 The battalion moved off. 
 
 So much for the war-talk of veterans. Now 
 let us listen to the novices. 
 
 "Bogle," said Angus M'Lachlan to his 
 henchman, " I think we shall have to lighten 
 this Wolseley valise of mine. With one thing 
 and another it weighs far more than thirty- 
 five pounds." 
 
 " That's a fact, eirr," agreed Mr Bogle. " It 
 carries ower mony books in the heid of it."
 
 242 CARRYING OJN 
 
 They shook out the contents of the vahse 
 upon the floor of Angus's bedroom — a loft over 
 the kitchen in A Company's farm billet — and 
 proceeded to prune Angus's personal effects. 
 There were boots, socks, shaving-tackle, maps, 
 packets of chocolate, and books of every size, 
 but chiefly of the ever - blessed sevenpenny 
 type. 
 
 *' A lot of these things will have to go, 
 Bogle," said Angus regretfully. " The Colonel 
 has warned officers about their kits, and it 
 would never do to have mine turned back 
 from the waggon at the last minute." 
 
 Mr Bogle pricked up his ears. 
 
 " The waggon ? Are we for ofi* again, sir 1 " 
 he inquired. 
 
 " Indeed I could not say," replied the 
 cautious Angus ; " but it is well to be ready." 
 
 *' The boys was saying, sirr," observed Bogle 
 tentatively, " that there was to be another 
 grand battle soon." 
 
 " It is more than likely," said Angus, with 
 an air of profound wisdom. "Here we are in 
 June, and we must take the oflensive, sooner 
 or later, or summer will be over." 
 
 "What kind o' a battle will it be this time, 
 sirr ? " inquired Bogle respectfully.
 
 TUNING UP 243 
 
 " Oh, our artillery will pound the German 
 trenches for a week or two, and then we shall 
 go over the parapet and drive them back for 
 miles," said Angus simply. 
 
 " And what then, sirr ? " 
 
 " What then ? We shall go on pushing 
 them until another Division relieves us." 
 
 Bogle nodded comprehendingly. He now 
 had firmly fixed in his mind the essential 
 details of the projected great offensive of 1916. 
 He was not interested to go further in the 
 matter. And it is this very faculty — philo- 
 sophic trust, coupled with absolute lack of 
 imagination — which makes the British soldier 
 the most invincible person in the world. The 
 Frenchman is inspired to glorious deeds by 
 his great spirit and passionate love of his own 
 sacred soil ; the German fights as he thinks, 
 like a machine. But the British Tommy wins 
 throuo:h owinix to his entire indifference to 
 the pros and cons of the tactical situation. 
 He settles down to war like any other trade, 
 and, as in time of peace, he is chiefly concerned 
 with his holidays and his creature comforts. 
 A battle is a mere incident between one set of 
 billets and another. Consequently he does 
 not allow the grim realities of war to obsess
 
 244 CARRYING ON 
 
 his mind when off duty. One might almost 
 ascribe his success as a soldier to the fact that 
 his domestic instincts are stronger than his 
 military instincts. 
 
 Put the average Tommy into a trench under 
 fire : how does he comport himself? Does he 
 begin by striking an attitude and hurling 
 defiance at the foe 1 No, he begins by in- 
 quiring, in no uncertain voice, where his 
 
 dinner is ? He then examines his new 
 
 quarters. Before him stands a parapet, but- 
 tressed mayhap with hurdles or balks of 
 timber, the whole being designed to preserve 
 his life from hostile projectiles. How does he 
 treat this bulwark ? Unless closely watched, 
 he will begin to chop it up for firewood. 
 His next proceeding is to construct for him- 
 self a place of shelter. This sounds a sen- 
 sible proceeding, but here again it is a case 
 of '* safety second." A British Tommy re- 
 gards himself as completely protected from 
 the assaults of his enemies if he can lay a 
 sheet of corrugated -iron roofing across his 
 bit of trench and sit underneath it. At any 
 rate it keeps the rain off, and that is all 
 that his instincts demand of him. An ounce 
 of comfort is worth a pound of security.
 
 TUNING UP 245 
 
 He looks about him. The parapet here 
 requires fi:-esh sandbags ; there the trench 
 needs pumping out. Does he fill sandbags, 
 or pump, of his own volition ? Not at all. 
 Unless remorselessly supervised, he v/ill de- 
 vote the rest of the morning to inventing and 
 chalking up a title for his new dug-out — 
 "Jock's Lodge," or "Burns' Cottage," or 
 "Cyclists' Rest" — supplemented by a caution- 
 ary notice, such as — N'o Admittence. This 
 Means You. Thereafter, with shells whist- 
 ling over his head, he will decorate the para- 
 pet in his immediate vicinity with picture 
 post-cards and cigarette photographs. Then 
 he leans back with a happy sigh. His work 
 is done. His home from home is furnished. 
 He is now at leisure to think about " thev 
 Gairmans" again. That may sound like an 
 exaggeration; but "Comfort First" is the 
 motto of that lovable but impudent grass- 
 hopper, Thomas Atkins, all the time. 
 
 A sudden and pertinent thought occurred 
 to Mr Bogle, who possessed a Martha-like 
 nature. 
 
 " What way, sir, will a body get his dinner, 
 if we are to be fighting for twa- three days 
 on end ? " 
 
 B
 
 24G CARRYING ON 
 
 " Every man," replied Angus, will be issued, 
 I expect, with two days' rations. But the 
 Colonel tells me that during hard fighting a 
 man does not feel the desire for food — or 
 sleep either, for that matter. Perhaps, during 
 a lull, it may occur to him that be has not 
 eaten since yesterday, and he may pull out a 
 bit of biscuit or chocolate from his pocket, 
 just to nibble. Or he remembers that he has 
 had no sleep for twenty-four hours — so he just 
 drops down and sleeps for ten minutes while 
 there is time. But generally, matters of ordi- 
 nary routine drop out of a man's thoughts 
 altoofether." 
 
 " That's a queer-like thing, a body forget- 
 ting his dinner ! " murmurred Bogle. 
 
 "Of course," continued Angus, warming to 
 his theme like his own father in his pulpit, 
 " if Nature is expelled with a pitchfork in 
 this manner for too long, tamen usque 
 recurret." 
 
 " Is that a fact," replied Bogle politely. 
 He always adopted the line of least resist- 
 ance when his master took to audible rumina- 
 tion. " Weel, I'll hae to be steppin', sir. I'll 
 pit these twa blankets oot in the sun, in some 
 place where the dooks frae the pond will no'
 
 TUNING UP 247 
 
 get dandering ower them. And if you'll sorrt 
 your books, I'll hand ower the yins ye dinna 
 require to the Y.M.C A. hut ayont the village." 
 
 Bogle cherished a profound admiration for 
 Lieutenant M'Lachlan both as a scholar and a 
 strategist, and absorbed his deliverances with 
 a care and attention which enabled him to 
 misquote the same quite fluently to his own 
 associates. That very evening he set forth 
 the coming plan of campaign, as elucidated to 
 him by his master, to a mixed assemblage at 
 the Estaminet An Clef des Champs. Some of 
 the party were duly impressed ; but Mr Spike 
 Johnson, a resident in peaceful times of Strat- 
 ford-atte-Bow, the recognised humourist of 
 the Sappers' Field Company attached to the 
 Brigade, was pleased to be facetious. 
 
 '' It won't be no good you Jocks goin' over 
 no parapet to attack no 'Uns," he said, " after 
 what 'appened last week ! " 
 
 This dark saying had the effect of rousing 
 every Scottish soldier in the estaminet to a 
 state of bristling attention. 
 
 " And what was it," inquired Private Cosh 
 with heat, " that happened last week ? " 
 
 " AVhy," replied Mr Johnson, who had been 
 compounding this jest for some days, and now
 
 248 CARRYING ON 
 
 saw his opportunity to deliver it with effect 
 at short range, " your trenches got raided last 
 Wednesday, when you was in 'em. By the 
 Brandy burgers, I think it was." 
 
 The entire symposium stared at the jester 
 with undisguised amazement. 
 
 " Our trenches," proclaimed Private 
 
 Tosh with forced calm, " were never raided 
 
 by no Brandyburrgerrs ! Was they, 
 
 Jimmie ? " 
 
 Mr Cosh corroborated, with three adjectives 
 which Mr Tosh had not thought of. 
 
 Spike Johnson merely smiled, with the easy 
 assurance of a man who has the ace up his 
 sleeve. 
 
 '* Oh yes, they was ! " he reiterated. 
 
 "They werre not!" shouted half a dozen 
 voices. 
 
 The next stage of the discussion requires no 
 description. It terminated, at the urgent 
 request of Madame from behind the bar, and 
 with the assistance of the Military Police, in 
 the street outside. 
 
 " And now. Spike Johnson," inquired 
 Private Cosh, breathing heavily, but much 
 refreshed, "can you tell me what way 
 Gairmans could get intil the trenches of
 
 TUNING UP 249 
 
 a guld Scots regiment withoot bein 
 seenf" 
 
 " I can," replied Mr Johnson with relish, 
 " and I will. The}^ got in all right, but 
 you didn't see them, because they was dis- 
 guised." 
 
 Cosh and Tosh snorted disdainfully, and 
 Private Nigg, who was present with his friend 
 Buncle, inquired — 
 
 "What way was they disguised ? " 
 
 Like lightning came the answer — 
 
 " ^5 ajoJiB ! Oh, you Jocks ! " 
 
 Cosh and Tosh (who had already been 
 warned by the Police sergeant) merely glared 
 and gurgled impotently. Private Nigg, who, 
 as already mentioned, was slightly wanting in 
 quickness of perception, was led away by the 
 faithful Buncle to have the outrage explained 
 to him at leisure. It was Private Bogle wha 
 intervened, and brought the intellectual 
 Goliath crashing to the ground. 
 
 " Man, Johnson," he remarked, and shook 
 his head mournfully, " youse ought to be 
 varra careful about sayin' things like that to 
 the likes of us. 'Deed aye ! " 
 
 " What for, ole son ? " inquired the jester 
 indulgently
 
 250 
 
 CARRYING ON 
 
 " Naithing," replied Bogle with artistic 
 reticence. 
 
 "Come alonof — aht with it!" insisted 
 Johnson. " Cough it up, duckie ! " 
 
 " Man, man," cried Bogle with passionate 
 earnestness, " dinna gang ower far ! " 
 
 " What the 'ell for f " inquired Johnson, 
 impressed despite himself. 
 
 " What for ? " Bogle's voice dropped to a 
 ghostly whisper. " Has it ever occurred to 
 you, my mannie, what would happen tae the 
 English — if Scotland was tae mak' a separate 
 peace { 
 
 And Mr Boo-le retired, not before it was 
 time, within the sheltering portals of the 
 estamiiiet, where not less than seven inartic- 
 ulate but appreciative fellow - countrymen 
 offered him refreshment.
 
 251 
 
 CHAPTER TEN. 
 
 FULL CHORUS. 
 
 An Observation Post — or O Pip, in the mys- 
 terious _paic»{s of the Buzzers — is not exactly 
 the spot that one would select either for 
 spaciousness or accessibility. It may be 
 situated up a chimney, or up a tree, or down 
 a tunnel bored through a hill. But it cer- 
 tainly enables you to see something of your 
 enemy ; and that, in modern warfare, is a 
 very rare and valuable privilege. 
 
 Of late the scene-painter's art — technically 
 known as co.moujiage — has raised the conceal- 
 ment of batteries and their observation posts 
 to the realm of the uncanny. According to 
 Major Wagstaffe, you can now disguise any- 
 body as anything. For instance, you can 
 make up a battery of six-inch guns to look 
 like a flock of sheep, and herd them into action
 
 252 CARRYING ON 
 
 browsing. Or you can despatch a scouting 
 party across No Man's Land dressed up as 
 pillar-boxes, so that the deluded Hun, instead 
 of opening fire with a machine - gun, will 
 merely post letters in them — valuable letters, 
 containing military secrets. Lastly, and 
 more important still, you can disguise yourself 
 to look like nothing at all, and in these days 
 of intensified artillery fire it is very seldom 
 that nothing at all Is hit. 
 
 The particular O Pip with which we are 
 concerned at present, however, Is a German 
 post — or was a fortnight ago, before the 
 opening of the battle of the Somme. 
 
 For nearly two years the British Armies on 
 the Western Front have been playing for 
 time. They have been sticking their toes in 
 and holding their ground, with numerically 
 inferior forces and inadequate artillery sup- 
 port, against a nation In arms which has set 
 out, with forty years of preparation at its 
 back, to sweep the earth. We have held 
 them, and now der Tag has come for us. The 
 deal has passed into our hand at last. A 
 fortnight ago, ready for the first time to 
 undertake the offensive on a grand and pro- 
 longed scale — Loos, last September, was a
 
 FULL CHORUS 253 
 
 mere reconnaissance compared with this — the 
 new British army went over the parapet 
 shoulder to shoulder with the most heroic 
 Army in the world — the army of France — 
 and attacked over a sixteen mile front in 
 the Valley of the Somme. 
 
 It was a critical day for the Allies ; cer- 
 tainly it was a most critical day in the history 
 of the British Army. For on that day an 
 ansv/er had to be given to a very big question 
 indeed. Hitherto we had been fighting on 
 the defensive — unready, uphill, against odds. 
 It would have been no particular discredit 
 to us had we failed to hold our line. But 
 we had held it, and more. Now, at last, we 
 were ready — as ready as we were ever likely 
 to be. We had the men, the guns, and the 
 munitions. We were in a position to engage 
 the enemy on equal, and more than equal, 
 terms. And the question that the British 
 Empire had to answer on that day, the First 
 of July 1916, was this, " Are these new 
 amateur armies of ours, raised, trained, and 
 equipped in less than two years, with nothing 
 in the way of military tradition to uphold 
 them — nothing but the steady courage of 
 their race : are they a match for, and more
 
 254 CARRYING ON 
 
 than a match for, that grim, machine-made, 
 iron-bound host that lies waitinsx for them 
 along that line of Picardy hills ? Because if 
 they are not, we cannot win this War. We 
 can only make a stalemate of it." 
 
 We, looking back now over a space of 
 twelve months, know how our boys answered 
 that question. In the greatest and longest 
 battle that the world had yet seen, that 
 Army of city clerks. Midland farm - lads, 
 Lancashire mill-hands, Scottish miners, and 
 Irish corner - boys, side by side with their 
 great-hearted brethren from. Overseas, stormed 
 positions which had been held impregnable for 
 two years, captured seventy thousand prison- 
 ers, reclaimed several hundred square miles 
 of the sacred soil of France, and smashed 
 once and for all the German-fostered fable 
 of the invincibility of the German Army. 
 It was good to have lived, and suffered 
 during those early and lean years, if only 
 to be present at their fulfilment. 
 
 But at this moment the battle was only 
 beginning, and the bulk of their astounding 
 achievement was still to come. Nevertheless, 
 in the cautious and modest estimate of their
 
 FULL CHORUS 255 
 
 Commander-in-Chief, they had already done 
 something. 
 
 After te7i days and nights of continuous 
 fighting, said the first official report, our 
 troops have completed the methodical capture 
 of the whole of the enemy s first system of 
 defence on a front of fourteen thousand yards. 
 This system of defence consisted of yiumerous 
 and continuous liroes of fire trenches, extend- 
 ing to depths of from tivo thousand to four thou- 
 sand yards, and included five strongly fortified 
 villages, numerous heavily entrenched woods, 
 and a large number of immensely strong re- 
 doubts. The capture of each of these trenches 
 represented an operation of some importance, 
 and the whole of them are now in our 
 hands. 
 
 Quite so. One feels, somehow, that Berlin 
 would have got more out of such a theme. 
 
 Now let us get back to our Pip. If you 
 peep over the shoulder of Captain Leslie, the 
 gunner observing officer, as he directs the 
 fire of his battery, situated some thousands 
 of yards in rear, through the medium of 
 map, field - glass, and telephone, you will 
 obtain an excellent view of to-morrow's field
 
 256 CARRYING ON 
 
 of battle. Present in the Pip are Colonel 
 Kemp, Wagstaffe, Bobby Little, and Angus 
 M'Lachlan. The latter had been included in 
 the party because, to quote his Commanding 
 Officer, " he would have burst into tears if 
 he had been left out." 
 
 Overhead roared British shells of every kind 
 and degree of unpleasantness, for the ground 
 in front was being " prepared " for the coming 
 assault. The undulating landscape, running 
 up to a low ridge on the skyline four miles 
 away, was spouting smoke in all directions — 
 sometimes black, sometimes green, and some- 
 times, where bursting shell and brick-dust 
 intermingled, blood-red. Beyond the ridge 
 all-conquering British aeroplanes occupied the 
 firmament, observing for " mother " and 
 "granny," and signalling encouragement or 
 reproof to these ponderous but sprightly 
 relatives as their shells hit or missed the 
 target. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Leslie to Colonel Kemp's 
 question, " that is Longueval, on the slope 
 opposite, with the road running through on 
 the way to Flers, over the skyline. That is 
 Delville Wood on its right. As you see, the 
 guns are concentrating on both places. That
 
 FULL CHORUS 257 
 
 is Waterlot Farm, on this side of the wood 
 — a sugar refinery. Regular nest of machine- 
 guns there, I'm told." 
 
 " No doubt we shall be able to confirm the 
 rumour to-morrow," said Colonel Kemp drily. 
 '* That is Bernafay Wood on our right, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. We hold the whole of that. The 
 pear-shaped wood out beyond it — it looks as 
 if it were joined on, but the two are quite 
 separate really — is Trones Wood. It has 
 changed hands several times. Just at present 
 I don't think we hold more than the near 
 end. Further away, half-right, you can see 
 Guillemont." 
 
 " In that case," remarked Wagstaffe, " our 
 right flank would appear to be strongly 
 supported by the enemy." 
 
 "Yes. We are in a sort of right-angled 
 salient here. We have the enemy on our 
 front and our right. In fact, we form the 
 extreme right of the attacking front. Our 
 left is perfectly secure, as we now hold Ma- 
 metz Wood and Contalmaison. There they 
 are." He waved his glass to the north-west. 
 " When the attack takes place, I understand 
 that our Division will go straight ahead, for
 
 258 CARRYING ON 
 
 Longueval and Delville Wood, while the next 
 Division makes a lateral thrust out to the 
 right, to push the Boche out of Trones Wood 
 and cover our flank." 
 
 " I believe that is so," said the Colonel. 
 " Bobby, take a good look at the approaches 
 to Lonofueval. That is the ' scene of to- 
 morrow's constitutional." 
 
 Bobby and Angus obediently scanned the 
 village through their glasses. Probably they 
 did not learn much. One bombarded French 
 village is very like another bombarded French 
 village. A cowering assemblage of battered 
 little houses ; a pitiful little main street, with 
 its eviscerated shops and estaminets; a shat- 
 tered church - spire. Beyond that, an en- 
 closure of splintered stumps that was once 
 an orchard. Below all, cellars, reinforced 
 with props and sandbags, and filled with 
 machine-ofuns. Voild tout! 
 
 Presently the Gunner Captain passed word 
 down to the telephone operator to order the 
 battery to cease fire, 
 
 "Knocking off?" inquired Wagstaffe. 
 
 " For the present, yes. We are only regis- 
 tering this morning. Not all our batteries 
 are going at once, either. We don't want
 
 FULL CHORUS 259 
 
 Brother Boche to know our strength until we 
 tune up for the final chorus. We calculate 
 that " 
 
 " There is a comfortable sense of decency 
 and order about the way we fight nowadays," 
 said Colonel Kemp. " It is like working out 
 a problem in electrical resistance by a nice 
 convenient algebraical formula. Very differ- 
 ent from the state of things last year, when 
 we stuck it out by employing rule of thumb 
 and hanging on by our eyebrows," 
 
 " The only problem we can't quite formu- 
 late is the machine-gun," said Leslie. " The 
 Boche's dug-outs here are thirty feet deep. 
 When crumped by our artillery he withdraws 
 his infantry and leaves his machine-gunners 
 behind, safe underground. Then, when our 
 guns lift and the attack comes over, his 
 machine-gunners appear on the surface, hoist 
 their guns after them with a sort of tackle 
 arrangement, and get to work on a pre- 
 arranged band of fire. The infantry can't 
 do them in until No Man's Land is crossed, 
 and — well, they don't all get across, that's 
 all ! However, X have heard rumours " 
 
 *' So have we all," said Colonel Kemp. 
 
 " I forgot to tell you, Colonel," interposed
 
 260 CARRYING ON 
 
 Wagstaffe, " that I met young Osborne at 
 Divisional Headquarters last night. You 
 remember, he left us some time ago to join 
 the Hush 1 Hush ! Brig-ade." 
 
 " I remember," said the Colonel. 
 
 By this time the party, including the 
 Gunner Captain, were filing along a com- 
 munication trench, lately the property of 
 some German gentlemen, on their way back 
 to headquarters. 
 
 " Did he tell you anything, Wagstaffe ? " 
 continued Colonel Kemp. 
 
 " Not much. Apparently the time of the 
 H.H.B. is not yet. But he made an appoint- 
 ment with me for this evening — in the gloam- 
 ing, so to speak. He is sending a car. If 
 all he says is true, the Boche Emma Gee is 
 booked for an eye - opener in a few weeks' 
 time." 
 
 II. 
 
 That evening a select party of sight-seers 
 were driven to a secluded spot behind the 
 battle line. Here they were met by Master 
 Osborne, obviously inflated with some import- 
 ant matter.
 
 FULL CHORUS 261 
 
 "I've got leave from my CO. to show you 
 the sights, sir," he announced to Colonel 
 Kemp. " If you will all stand here and 
 watch that wood on the opposite side of this 
 clearing, you may see something. We don't 
 show ourselves much except in late evening, 
 so this is our parade-hour." 
 
 The little group took up its appointed 
 stand and waited In the gathering dusk. In 
 the east the sky was already twinkling with 
 intermittent Verey lights. All around the 
 British guns were thundering forth their 
 hymns of hate — full-throated now, for the 
 hour for the next great assault was ap- 
 proaching. 
 
 Wagstaffe's thoughts went back to a cer- 
 tain soft September night last year, when he 
 and Blaikie had stood on the eastern out- 
 skirts of Bethune listening to a similar over- 
 ture — the prelude to the Battle of Loos. But 
 this overture was ten times more awful, and, 
 from a material British point of view, ten 
 times more inspiring. It would have thrilled 
 old Blaikie's fighting spirit, thought Wag- 
 staffe. But Loos had taken his friend from 
 him, and he, Wagstaffe, only was left. What 
 did fate hold in store for him to-morrow ? he
 
 262 CARRYING ON 
 
 wondered. And Bobby ? They had both 
 escaped marvellously so far. Well, better 
 men had gone before them. Perhaps 
 
 Fingers of steel bit into his biceps muscle, 
 and the excited whinny of Angus M'Lachlan 
 besought him to look ! 
 
 Down in the forest something stirred. But 
 it was not the note of a bird, as the song 
 would have us believe. From the depths of 
 the wood opposite came a crackling, crunch- 
 ing sound, as of some prehistoric beast forcing 
 its way through tropical undergrowth. And 
 then, suddenly, out from the thinning edge 
 there loomed a monster — a monstrosity. It 
 did not glide, it did not walk. It wallowed. 
 It lurched, with now and then a laborious 
 heave of its shoulders. It fumbled its way 
 over a low bank matted with scrub. It 
 crossed a ditch, by the simple expedient of 
 rolling the ditch out fiat, and v/addled for- 
 ward. In its path stood a young tree. The 
 monster arrived at the tree and laid its chin 
 lovingly against the stem. The tree leaned 
 back, crackled, and assumed a horizontal 
 position. In the middle of the clearing, 
 twenty yards farther on, gaped an enormous 
 shell-crater, a present from the Kaiser. Into
 
 FULL CHORUS 263 
 
 this the creature plunged blindly, to emerge, 
 panting and puffing, on the farther side. 
 Then it stopped. A magic opening appeared 
 in its stomach, from which emerged, grinning, 
 a British subaltern and his grimy associates. 
 
 And that was our friends' first encounter 
 with a " Tank." The secret — unlike most 
 secrets in this publicity - ridden War — had 
 been faithfully kept ; so far the Hush ! Hush ! 
 Brigade had been little more than a legend 
 even to the men high up. Certainly the 
 omniscient Hun received the surprise of his 
 life when, in the early mist of a September 
 morning some weeks later, a line of these 
 selfsame tanks burst for the first time upon 
 his incredulous vision, waddling grotesquely 
 up the hill to the ridge which had defied the 
 British infantry so long and so bloodily, — 
 there to squat complacently down on the top of 
 the enemy's machine-guns, or spout destruction 
 from her own up and down beautiful trenches 
 which had never been intended for capture. 
 In fact. Brother Boche was quite plaintive 
 about the matter. He described the employ- 
 ment of such engines as wicked and brutal, 
 and opposed to the recognised usages of war- 
 fare. When one of these low-comedy vehicles
 
 264 CARRYING ON 
 
 (named the Oreme-de-Menthe) ambled down 
 the main street of the hitherto impregnable 
 village of Flers, with hysterical British Tom- 
 mies slapping her on the back, he appealed to 
 the civilised world to step in and forbid the 
 combination of vulgarism and barbarity. 
 
 ''• Let us at least fight like gentlemen," said 
 the Hun, with simple dignity. " Let us stick 
 to legitimate military devices — the murder of 
 women and children, and the emission of 
 chlorine gas. But Tanks — no! One must 
 draw the line somewhere ! " 
 
 But the ill-bred Creme-de-Menthe took no 
 notice. None whatever. She simply went 
 waddling on — towards Berlin. 
 
 '' An experiment, of course," commented 
 Colonel Kemp, as they returned to head- 
 quarters — " a fantastic experiment. But I 
 wish they were ready now. I would give 
 something to see one of them leading the way 
 into action to-morrow. It might mean saving 
 the lives of a good many of my boys."
 
 265 
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN. 
 
 THE LAST SOLO. 
 
 It wa,s dawn on Saturday morning, and the 
 second phase of the Battle of the Somme was 
 more than twenty-four hours old. The pro- 
 gramme had opened with a night attack, 
 always the most difficult and uncertain of 
 enterprises, especially for soldiers who were 
 civilians less than two years ago. But no 
 undertaking is too audacious for men in whose 
 veins the wine of success is beginning to throb. 
 And this undertaking, this hazardous gamble, 
 had succeeded all along the line. During the 
 past day and night more than three miles of 
 the German second system of defences, from 
 Bazentin le Petit to the edge of Delville Wood, 
 had received their new tenants ; and already 
 long streams of not altogether reluctant Hun 
 prisoners were being escorted to the rear by
 
 266 CARRYING ON 
 
 perspiring but cheerful gentlemen with fixed 
 bayonets. 
 
 Meanwhile — in case such of the late oc- 
 cupants of the line as were still at large 
 should take a fancy to revisit their previous 
 haunts, working parties of infantry, pioneers, 
 and sappers were toiling at full pressure to 
 reverse the parapets, run out barbed wire, 
 and bestow machine-guns in such a manner as 
 to produce a continuous lattice -work of fire 
 along the front of the captured position. 
 
 All through the night the work had con- 
 tinued. As a result, positions were now 
 tolerably secure, the intrepid " Buzzers " had 
 included the newly grafted territory in the 
 nervous system of the British Expeditionary 
 Force, and Battalion Headquarters and Supply 
 Depots had moved up to their new positions. 
 
 To Colonel Kemp and his Adjutant, Cock- 
 erell, ensconced in a dug-out thirty feet deep, 
 furnished with a real bed, electric - light 
 fittings, and ornaments obviously made in 
 Germany, entered Major Wagstatfe, encrusted 
 with mud, but as imperturbable as ever. He 
 saluted. 
 
 " Good morning, sir, You seem to have 
 struck a cushie little home this time."
 
 THE LAST SOLO 267 
 
 " Yes. The Boche officer harbours no false 
 modestj about acknowledging his desire for 
 creature comforts. That is where he scores off 
 people like you and me, who pretend we like 
 sleeping in mud. Have you been round the 
 advanced positions ? " 
 
 " Yes. There is some pretty hard fighting 
 going on in the village itself — the Boche still 
 holds the north-west corner — and in the wood 
 on the right. ' A ' Company are holding a 
 line of broken-down cottages on our right 
 front, but they can't make any further move 
 until they get more bombs. The Boche is 
 occupying various buildings opposite, but in 
 no great strength at present. However, 
 he seems to have plenty of machine-guns." 
 
 " I have sent up more bombs," said the 
 Colonel. " What about ' B ' Company ? " 
 
 " ' B ' have reached their objective, and con- 
 solidated. ' C ' and ' D ' are lying close up, 
 ready to go forward in support when" required. 
 I think 'A' could do with a little assist- 
 ance." 
 
 " I don't want to send up ' C ' and ' D '," 
 replied the Colonel, "until the Divisional 
 Beserve arrives. The Brigade has just 
 telephoned through that reinforcements are
 
 268 CARRYING ON 
 
 on the way. When they get here, we can 
 afford to stuff in the whole battalion. Are 
 'A' Company capable of handling the situation 
 at present ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so. Little is directing his 
 platoons from a convenient cellar. He was in 
 touch with them all when I left. But it is 
 possible that the Boche may make a rush 
 when it grows a bit lighter. At present he is 
 too demoralised to attempt anything beyond 
 intermittent machine-gun fire." 
 
 Colonel Kemp turned to Cockerell. 
 
 " Get Captain Little on the telephone," he 
 said, " and tell him, if the enemy displays 
 any disposition to counter-attack, to let me 
 know at once." Then he turned to Wag- 
 staffe, and asked the question which always 
 lurks furtively on the tongue of a commanding 
 officer. 
 
 " Many — casualties ? " 
 
 ** ' A ' Company have caught it rather bad- 
 ly crossing the open. ' B ' got off lightly. 
 Glen is commanding them now : Waddell was 
 killed leadinor his men in the rush to the final 
 objective." 
 
 Colonel Kemp sighed. 
 
 ** Another good boy gone — veteran, rather.
 
 THE LAST SOLO 269 
 
 I must write to his wife. Fairly newly mar- 
 ried, I fancy ? " 
 
 " Four months," said Y/aofstafFe briefly. 
 
 " What was his Christian name, do you 
 know ? " 
 
 *' Walter, I think, sir," said Cockerell. 
 
 Colonel Kemp, amid the stress of battle, 
 found time to enter a note in his pocket- 
 diary to that effeci. 
 
 Meanwhile, up in the line, "A" Company 
 were holding on grimly to what are usually 
 described as "certain advanced elements" of 
 the village. 
 
 Village fighting is a confused and untidy 
 business, but it possesses certain redeeming 
 features. The combatants are usually so in- 
 extricably mixed up that the artillery are 
 compelled to refrain from participation. That 
 comes later, when you have cleared the village 
 of the enemy, and his guns are preparing the 
 ground for the inevitable counter-attack. 
 
 So far "A" Company had done nobly. 
 From the moment when they had lined up 
 before Montauban in the gross darkness pre- 
 ceding yesterday's dawn, until the moment 
 when Bobby Little led them in one victorious
 
 270 CARRYING ON 
 
 rush into the outskirts of the village, they 
 had never encountered n set-back. By sunset 
 they had penetrated some way farther ; now 
 creeping stealthily forward under the shelter 
 of a broken wall to hurl bombs into the win- 
 dows of an occupied cottage ; now climbing 
 precariously to some commanding position in 
 order to open fire with a Lewis gun ; now 
 making a sudden dash across an open space. 
 Such work offered peculiar opportunities to 
 small and well-handled parties — opportunities 
 of which Bobby's veterans availed themselves 
 right readily. Angus M'Lachlan, for mstance, 
 accompanied by a small following of seasoned 
 experts, had twice rounded up parties of the 
 enemy in cellars, and had despatched the 
 same back to Headquarters with his compli- 
 ments and a promise of more. Mucklewame 
 and four men had bombed their way along a 
 communication trench leading to one of the 
 side streets of the village — a likely avenue for 
 a counter-attack — and having reached the end 
 of the trench, had built up a sandbag barri- 
 cade, and had held the same against the 
 assaults of hostile bombers until a Vickers 
 machine-gun had arrived in charge of an en- 
 ergetic subaltern of that youthful but thriv-
 
 THE LAST SOLO 271 
 
 ing organisation, the Suicide Club, or Machine- 
 Gun Corps, and closed the street to farther 
 Teutonic traffic. 
 
 During the night there had been periods of 
 quiescence, devoted to consolidation, and here 
 and there to snatches of uneasy slumber. 
 Angus M'Lachlan, fairly in his element, had 
 trailed his enormous length in and out of the 
 back-yards and brick-heaps of the village ; 
 visiting every point in his irregular line, 
 testing defences ; bestowing praise ; and en- 
 suring that every man had his share of 
 food and rest. Unutterably grimy, but in- 
 expressibly cheerful, he reported progress to 
 Major Wagstaffe when that nocturnal rambler 
 visited him in the small hours. 
 
 "Well, Angus, how goes it?" inquired 
 Wagstaffe. 
 
 "We have won the match, sir," replied 
 Angus with, simple seriousness. "We are 
 just playing the bye now ! " 
 
 And with that he crawled away, with the 
 unnecessary stealth of a small boy playing 
 robbers, to encourage his dour paladins to 
 further efforts. 
 
 "We shall probably be relieved this even- 
 ing," he explained to them, " and we must
 
 272 CARRYING ON 
 
 make everything secure. It would never do 
 to leave our new positions untenable by other 
 troops. They might not be so reliable " — 
 with a paternal smile — "as you! Now, our 
 right flank is not safe yet. We can im- 
 prove the position very much if we can 
 secure that estaminet, standing up like an 
 island among those ruined houses on our 
 right front. You see the sign, Aux Bons 
 Fermiers, over the door. The trouble is that 
 a German machine-gun is sweeping the in- 
 tervening space — and we cannot see the gun ! 
 There it goes again. See the brick-dust fly ! 
 Keep down ! They are firing mainly across 
 our front, but a stray bullet may come this 
 way." 
 
 The platoon crouched low behind their 
 improvised rampart of brick rubble, while 
 machine-gun bullets swept low, with mis- 
 leading claquement, along the space in front of 
 them, from some hidden position on their right. 
 Presently the firing stopped. Brother Boche 
 was merely " losing oflT a belt," as a pre- 
 cautionary measure, at commendably regular 
 intervals. 
 
 "I cannot locate that gun," said Angus 
 impatiently. " Can you, Corporal M'Snape ? "
 
 THE LAST SOLO 273 
 
 " It is not in the Estamint itself, sirr," 
 replied M'Snape. ("Estamint" is as near as 
 our rank and file ever get to estaminet.) 
 " It seems to be mounted some place higher 
 up the street. I doubt they cannot see us 
 themselves — only the ground in front of us." 
 
 "If we could reach the estaminet itself," 
 said Angus thoughtfully, " we could get a 
 more extended view. Sergeant Mucklewame, 
 select ten men, including three bombers, and 
 follow me. I am going to find a jumping-off 
 place. The Lewis gun too." 
 
 Presently the little party were crouching 
 round their officer, in a sheltered position on 
 the right of the line — which for the moment 
 appeared to be " in the air." Except for the 
 intermittent streams of machine-gun fire, and 
 an occasional shrapnel-burst overhead, all was 
 quiet. The enemy's counter-attack was not 
 yet ready. 
 
 " Now listen carefully," said Angus, who 
 had just finished scribbling a despatch. 
 "First of all, you. Bogle, take this mes- 
 sage to the telephone, and get it sent to 
 Company Headquarters. Now you others. 
 We will wait till that machine-gun has fired 
 another belt. Then, the moment it has fin-
 
 274 CARRYING ON 
 
 ished, while they are getting out the next 
 belt, I will dash across to the estaminet over 
 there. M'Snape, you will come with me, but 
 no one else — yet. If the estaminet seems 
 capable of being held, I will signal to you, 
 Sergeant Mucklewame, and 3^ou will send 
 your party across, in driblets, not forgetting 
 the Lewis gun. By that time I may have 
 located the German machine-gun, so we should 
 be able to knock it out with the Lewis." 
 
 Further speech was cut short by a punctual 
 fantasia from the gun in question. Angus and 
 M'Snape crouched behind the shattered wall, 
 awaiting their chance. The firing ceased. 
 
 " N^ow ! " whispered Angus. 
 
 Next moment officer and corporal were 
 flying across the open, and before the 
 mechanical Boche gunner could jerk the 
 new belt into position, both had found 
 sanctuary within the open doorway of the 
 half-ruined estaminet. 
 
 Nay, more than both ; for as the panting 
 pair flung themselves into shelter, a third 
 figure, short and stout, in an ill-fitting kilt, 
 tumbled heavily through the doorway after 
 them. Simultaneously a stream of machine- 
 gun bullets went storming past.
 
 THE LAST SOLO 275 
 
 " Just in time ! " observed Angus, well 
 pleased. " Bogle, what are you doing here ? " 
 
 "I was given tae unnerstand, sirr/' replied 
 Mr Bogle calmly, " when I jined the regiment, 
 that in action an officer's servant stands by 
 his officer." 
 
 *' That is true," conceded Angus ; " but you 
 had no right to follow me against orders. 
 Did you not hear me say that no one but 
 Corporal M'Snape was to come ? " 
 
 " No, sirr. I doubt I was away at the 
 'phone." 
 
 *' Well, now you are here, wait inside 
 this doorway, where you can see Sergeant 
 Mucklewame's party, and look out for 
 signals. M'Snape, let us find that machine- 
 gun." 
 
 The pair made their way to the hitherto 
 blind side of the building, and cautiously 
 peeped through a much-perforated shutter 
 in the living-room. 
 
 " Do you see it, sirr ? " inquired M'Snape 
 eagerly. 
 
 Angus chuckled. 
 
 " See it ? Fine ! It is right in the open, 
 in the middle of the street. Look ! " 
 
 He relinquished his peep-hole. The German
 
 276 CARRYING ON 
 
 machine-gun was mounted in the street itself, 
 behind an improvised barrier of bricks and 
 sandbags. It was less than a hundred yards 
 away, sited in a position which, though screened 
 from the view of Angus's platoon farther down, 
 enabled it to sweep all the ground in front of 
 the position. This it was now doing with 
 great intensity, for the brief public appearance 
 of Angus and M'Snape had eflPectually con- 
 verted intermittent into continuous fire. 
 
 " We must get the Lewis gun over at once," 
 muttered Anffus. " It can knock that breast- 
 work to pieces." 
 
 He crossed the house again, to see if any of 
 Mucklewame's men had arrived. 
 
 They had not. The man with the Lewis 
 gun was lying dead half-way across the street, 
 with his precious weapon on the ground beside 
 him. Two other men, both wounded, were 
 crawling back whence they came, taking what 
 cover they could from the storm of bullets 
 which whizzed a few inches over their 
 flinching bodies. 
 
 Angus hastily semaphored to Mucklewame 
 to hold his men in check for the present. 
 Then he returned to the other side of the 
 house.
 
 THE LAST SOLO 277 
 
 "How many men are serving that gun?" 
 he said to M'Snape. " Can you see ? " 
 
 " Only two, sirr, I think. I cannot see 
 them, but that wee breastwork will not 
 cover more than a couple of men." 
 
 " Mphm," observed Angus thoughtfully. 
 " I expect they have been left behind to 
 hold on. Have you a bomb about you ? " 
 
 The admirable M'Snape produced from his 
 pocket a Mills grenade, and handed it to his 
 superior. 
 
 " Just the one, sirr," he said. 
 
 "Go you," commanded Angus, his voice 
 rising to a more than usually Highland in- 
 flection, "and semaphore to Mucklewame that 
 when he hears the explosion of this'' — he 
 pulled out the safety-pin of the grenade and 
 gripped the grenade itself in his enormous 
 paw — "followed, probably, by the temporary 
 cessation of the machine-gun, he is to bring 
 his men over here in a bunch, as hard as they 
 can pelt. Put it as briefly as you can, but 
 make sure he understands. He has a good 
 signaller with him. Send Bogle to report 
 when you have fmished. Now repeat what 
 I have said to you. . . . That's right. 
 Carry on ! " 
 
 T
 
 278 CARRYING ON 
 
 M'Snape was gone. Angus, left alone, 
 pensively restored the safety-pin to the 
 grenade, and laid the grenade upon the 
 ground beside him. Then he proceeded to 
 write a brief letter in his field messaofe-book. 
 This he placed in an envelope which he took 
 from his breast pocket. The envelope was 
 already addressed — to the Reverend Neil 
 M'Lachlan, The Manse, in a very remote 
 Highland village. (Angus had no mother.) 
 He closed the envelope, initialled it, and 
 buttoned it up in his breast pocket again. 
 After that he took up his grenade and pro- 
 ceeded to make a further examination of the 
 premises. Presently he found what he wanted; 
 and by the time Bogle arrived to announce 
 that Sergeant Mucklewame had signalled 
 ''message understood," his arrangements 
 were complete. 
 
 "Stay by this small hole in the wall, 
 Bogle," he said, "and the moment the Lewis 
 gun arrives tell them to mount it here and 
 open fire on the enemy gun." 
 
 He left the room, leaving Bogle alone, to 
 listen to the melancholy rustle of peelijig 
 wall-paper within and the steady crackling 
 of bullets without. But when, peerin 
 
 rr
 
 THE LAST SOLO 279 
 
 through the improvised loophole, he next 
 caught sight of his officer, Angus had 
 emerged from the house by the cellar 
 window, and was creeping with infinite 
 caution behind the shelter of what had once 
 been the wall of the estaminet's back-yard 
 (but was now an uneven bank of bricks, 
 averaging two feet high), in the direction of 
 the German machine-gun. The gun, oblivious 
 of the danirer now threatenincf its riofht front, 
 continued to fire steadily and hopefully down 
 the street. 
 
 Slowly, j)ainfully, Angus crawled on, until 
 he found himself within the riii^ht ancrle 
 formed by the cornor of the yard. He could 
 go no further without being seen. Between 
 him and the German gun lay the cobbled 
 surface of the street, offering no cover whatso- 
 ever except one mighty shell-crater, situated 
 midway between Angus and the gun, and full 
 to the brim with rain-water. 
 
 A single peep over the wall gave him his 
 bearings. The gun was too far away to be 
 reached by a grenade, even when thrown 
 by Angus M'Lachlan. Still, it would create 
 a diversion. It was a time bomb. He 
 would
 
 280 CARRYING ON 
 
 He stretched out his long arm to its full 
 extent behind him, gave one mighty overarm 
 sweep, and with all the crackling strength of 
 his mighty sinews, hurled the grenade. 
 
 It fell into the exact centre of the flooded 
 shell-crater. 
 
 Anofus said something; under his breath 
 which would have shocked a disciple of 
 Kultur. Fortunately the two German gun- 
 ners did not hear him. But they observed 
 the splash, fifty yards awa}'", and it relieved 
 them from ennui, for they were growing 
 tired of firing at nothing. They had not 
 seen the grenade thrown, and were a little 
 puzzled as to the cause of the phenomenon. 
 
 Four seconds later their curiosity was 
 more than satisfied. With a mufiled roar the 
 shell-hole suddenly spouted its liquid contents 
 and other dehrls straight to the heavens, 
 startling them considerably and entirely ob- 
 scuring their vision. 
 
 A moment later, with an exultant veil, 
 Angus M'Lachlan was upon them. He 
 sprang into their vision out of the descending 
 cascade — a towering, terrible, kilted figure, 
 bareheaded and Berserk mad. He was barely 
 forty yards away.
 
 THE LAST SOLO 281 
 
 Initiative is not the forte of the Teuton. 
 Number One of the German gun mechani- 
 cally traversed his Aveapon four degrees 
 to the right and continued to press the 
 thumb-piece. Mud and splinters of brick 
 sprang up round Angus's feet ; but still he 
 came on. He was not twenty yards away 
 now. The gunner, beginning to boggle be- 
 tween waitintr and boltlnof, fumbled at his 
 elevating gear, but Angus was right on 
 him before his thumbs got back to work. 
 Then indeed the gun spoke out with 
 no uncertain voice, for perhaps two seconds. 
 After that it ceased fire altogether. 
 
 Almost simultaneously there came a tri- 
 umphant roar lower down the street, as 
 Mucklewame and his followers dashed ob- 
 liquely across into the estaminet. Muckle- 
 wame himself was carrying the derelict Lewis 
 gun. In the doorway stood the watchful 
 M'Snape. 
 
 " This way, quick I " he shouted. " We 
 have the Gairman gun spotted, and the officer 
 is needing the Lewis ! " 
 
 But M'Snape was wrong. The Lewis was 
 not required.
 
 282 CARRYING ON 
 
 A few moments later, in the face of brisk 
 sniping from the houses higher up the street, 
 James Bogle, officer's servant — a member of 
 that despised class which, according to the 
 bandar log at home, spends the whole of its 
 time pressing its master's trousers and smok- 
 ing his cigarettes somewhere back in billets — 
 led out a stretcher party to the German gun. 
 Number One had been killed by a shot from 
 An<TUs's revolver. Number Two had adopted 
 Hindenburg tactics, and was no more to be 
 seen. Angus himself was lying stone-dead a 
 yard from the muzzle of the gun which he, 
 single-handed, had put out of action. 
 
 His men carried him back to the Estaminet 
 Aux Bons Fermiers, with the German gun, 
 which was afterwards employed to good pur- 
 pose during the desperate days of attacking 
 and counter-attacking which ensued before 
 the village v.as finally secured. They laid 
 him in the inner room, and proceeded to put 
 the estaminet in a state of defence — ready 
 to hold the same against all comers until 
 
 CD 
 
 such time as the relieving Division should 
 take over, and they themselves be enabled, 
 under the kindly cloak of darkness, to carry
 
 THE LAST SOLO 283 
 
 back their beloved officer to a more worthy 
 resting-place. 
 
 Ill the left-hand breast pocket of Angus's 
 tunic they found his last letter to his father. 
 Two German machine-gun bullets had passed 
 through it. It was forwarded, with a cover- 
 ing letter, by Colonel Kemp. In the letter 
 Angus's commanding officer informed Neil 
 M'Lachlan that his son had been recommended 
 posthumously for the highest honour that the 
 King bestows upon his soldiers. 
 
 But for the moment Mucklewame's little 
 band had other work to occupy them. Shell- 
 ing had recommenced ; the enemy were 
 mustering in force behind the village ; and 
 presently a series of counter-attacks were 
 launched. They were successfully repelled, in 
 the first instance, by the remainder of '' A " 
 Company, led in person by Bobby Little, and, 
 when the final struggle came, by the Battalion 
 Beserve under Major Wagstaffe. And through- 
 out the whole grim struggle which ensued, 
 the Estammet Aux Bons Fermiers, tenanted 
 by some of our oldest friends, proved itself 
 the head and corner of the successful defence.
 
 284 
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE. 
 
 RECESSIONAL. 
 
 Two steamers lie at opposite sides of the dock. 
 One Is painted a most austere and unobtrusive 
 grey : she is obviously a vessel with no desire 
 to advertise her presence on the high seas. 
 In other words, a transport. The other is 
 dazzling white, ornamented with a good deal 
 of green, supplemented by red. She makes 
 an attractive picture in the early morning 
 sun. Even by night you could not miss her, 
 for she scoes about her business with her entire 
 hull outlined in red lights, regatta fashion, 
 with a great luminous Bed Cross blazing on 
 either counter. Not even the Commander of 
 a U-boat could mistake her for anything but 
 what she is — a hospital ship. 
 
 First, let us walk round to where the grey 
 ship is discharging her cargo. The said cargo 
 consists of about a thousand unwounded Ger- 
 man prisoners.
 
 RECESSIONAL 285 
 
 With every desire to be generous to a fallen 
 foe, it is quite impossible to describe them as 
 a prepossessing lot. Not one man walks like 
 a soldier ; they shamble. Naturally, they are 
 dirty and unshaven. So are the wounded 
 men on the white ship; but their outstand- 
 ing characteristic is an invincible humanity. 
 Beneath the mud and blood they are men — 
 white men. But this strange throng are grey 
 — like their ship. With their shifty eyes and 
 curiously shaped heads, they look like nothing 
 human. They move like over-driven beasts. 
 We realise now why it is that the German 
 Army has to attack in mass. 
 
 They pass down the gangway, and are 
 shepherded into fours In the dock-shed by the 
 Embarkation Staff, with exactly the same si- 
 lent briskness that characterises the B.A.M.C. 
 over the way. Their guard, with fixed bayo- 
 nets, exhibit no more or no less concern over 
 them than over half a dozen Monday morning 
 malefactors paraded for Orderly Boom. Pres- 
 ently they will move off, possibly through 
 the streets of the town ; probabl}'' they will 
 pass by folk against whose kith and kin they 
 have employed every dirty trick possible in 
 warfare. But there will be no demonstration ; 
 there never has been. As a nation we possess
 
 286 CARRYING ON 
 
 a certain number of faults, on which we like 
 to dwell. But we have one virtue at least — 
 we possess a certain sense of proportion ; and 
 we are not disposed to make subordinates 
 suffer because we cannot, as 3'et, get at tiie 
 principals. 
 
 They make a good haul. Fifteen German 
 regiments are here represented — possibly more, 
 for some have torn off their shoulder-straps to 
 avoid identification. Some of the units are 
 thinly represented ; others more generously. 
 One famous Prussian regiment appears to 
 have thrown its hand in to the extent of 
 about five hundred. 
 
 Still, as they stand there, filthy, forlorn, 
 and dazed, one suddenly realises the extreme 
 appropriateness of a certain reference in the 
 Litany to All Prisoners and Captives. 
 
 II. 
 
 AVe turn to the hospital ship. 
 
 Two great " brows," or covered gangways, 
 connect her with her native land. Down 
 these the stretchers are beginning to pass, 
 havinjx been raised from below decks bv cun- 
 iiing mechanical devices which cause no jar,
 
 RECESSIONAL 287 
 
 and are being conveyed into the cool shade of 
 the dock-shed. Here they are laid in neat 
 rows upon the platform, ready for transfer to 
 the waiting hospital train. Everything is a 
 miracle of quietness and order. The curious 
 public are afar off, held aloof by dock-gates. 
 (They are there in force to-day, partly to cheer 
 the hospital trains as they pass out, partly for 
 reasons connected with the grey-painted ship.) 
 In the dock-shed organisation and method 
 reign supreme. 
 
 The work has been going on without inter- 
 mission for several days and nights ; and still 
 the great ships come. Another is outside, 
 waiting for a place at the dock. A third is 
 half-way across the English Channel ; and 
 there are rumours that yet another has 
 selected this, the busiest moment In the open- 
 ing fortnight of the Somme battle, to arrive 
 with a miscellaneous and irrelevant cargo of 
 sick and wounded from the Mediterranean. 
 But there is no fuss. The RA.M.C. Staff 
 Officers, unruffled and cheery, control every- 
 tlilng, apparently by a crook of the finger. 
 The stretcher - bearers do their work with 
 silent aplomb. 
 
 The occupants of the stretchers possess the 
 almost universal feature of a six days' beard
 
 288 CARRYING ON 
 
 — always excepting those who are of an agQ 
 which is not troubled by such manly accre- 
 tions. They lie very still — not with the still- 
 ness of exhaustion or dejection, but with the 
 comfortable resignation of men who have 
 made good and have suffered in the process ; 
 but who now, with their troubles well behind 
 them, are enduring present discomfort under 
 the sustaining prospect of clean beds, chicken 
 diet, and ultimate tea-parties. Such as possess 
 them are wearing Woodbine stumps upon the 
 lower lip. 
 
 They are quite ready to compare notes. Let 
 us approach, and listen to a heavily bandaged 
 gentleman who — so the label attached to him 
 informs us — is Private Blank of the Man- 
 chesters, suffering from three " G.S." machine- 
 gun bullet wounds. 
 
 " Did the Fritzes run ? Yes — thev run all 
 right ! The last lot saved us trouble by run- 
 ning towards us — with their 'ands up ! But 
 their machine-guns — they gave us fair 'Amlet 
 till we got across No Man's Land. After that 
 we used the baynit, and they didn't give us 
 no more vexatiousness. Where did we go in ? 
 Oh, near Albert. Our objective was Mary's 
 Court, or some such place." (It is evident 
 that the Battle of the Somme is going to add
 
 RECESSIONAL 289 
 
 some fresli household words to our War 
 vocabulary. *' Wipers " is a veteran b}/ this 
 time : " Plui^street," " Booloo," and " Armin- 
 tears " are old friends. We must now make 
 room for *' Monty Ban," " La Bustle," " Mucky 
 Farm," "Lousy Wood," and " Martinpush.") 
 
 "What were your prisoners like?" 
 
 "'Alf clemmed," said the man from Man- 
 chester, 
 
 " No rations for three days," explained a 
 Northumberland Fusilier close bv. * One of 
 his arms was strapped to his side, but the 
 other still clasped to his bosom a German 
 helmet. A British Tommy will cheerfully 
 shed a limb or two in the execution of his 
 dut}^ but not all the might and majesty of 
 the Boyal Army Medical Corps can force him 
 to relinquish a fairly earned " souvenir." In 
 fact, owing to certain unworthy suspicions 
 as to the true sifjnificance of the initials 
 "R.A.M.C.," he has been known to refuse 
 chloroform. 
 
 " They couldn't get nothing up to them for 
 four days, on account of our artillery fire," he 
 added contentedly. 
 
 " ' Barrage,' my lad ! " amended a rather 
 superior person with a lance-corporal's stripe 
 and a bandaged foot.
 
 290 CARRYING ON 
 
 Indeed, all are unanimous in affirming that 
 our artillery preparation was a tremendous 
 affair. Listen to this group of officers sunning 
 themselves upon the upper deck. They are 
 " walking cases," and must remain on board, 
 with what patience they may, until all the 
 " stretcher cases " have been evacuated. 
 
 " Loos was child's-play to it," says one — a 
 member of a certain immortal, or at least 
 irrepressible Division which has taken part in 
 every outburst of international unpleasantness 
 since the Marne. " The final hour was abso- 
 lute pandemonium. And when our new 
 trench-mortar batteries got to work too — at 
 sixteen to the dozen — well, it was bad enough 
 for us; but what it must have been like at 
 the business end of things. Lord knows ! For 
 a few minutes I was almost a pro-Boche ! " 
 
 Other items of intelligence are gleaned. 
 The weather was "rotten": mud-caked gar- 
 ments corroborate this statement. The wire, 
 on the whole, was well and truly cut to pieces 
 everywhere, though there were spots at which 
 the enemy contrived to repair it. Finally, 
 ninety per cent of the casualties during the 
 assault were due to machine-gun fire. 
 
 But the fact most clearly elicited by casual 
 coDversation is this — that the naore closely
 
 RECESSIONAL 291 
 
 you engage in a battle, the less you know 
 about its progress. This ship is full of officers 
 and men who were in the thick of tinners for 
 perhaps forty-eight hours on end, but who 
 are quite likely to be utterly ignorant of 
 what was going on round the next traverse 
 in the trench which they had occupied. 
 
 The wounded gunners are able to give 
 them a good deal of information. One 
 F.0.0. saw the French advance. 
 
 "It was wonderful to see them go in," 
 he said. " Our batteries were on the ex- 
 treme right of the British line, so we were 
 actually touching the French left flank. I 
 had met hundreds of poilus back in billets, 
 in cafes, and the like. To look at them 
 strolling down a village street in their baggy 
 uniforms, with their hands in their pockets, 
 laughing and chatting to the children, you 
 would never have thought they were such 
 tiirers. I remember one h\^ fellow a few 
 weeks ago, home on leave — permission — who 
 used to frisk about with a big umbrella under 
 his arm ! I suppose that was to keep the 
 rain off his tin hat. But when they went for 
 Maricourt the other day, there weren't many 
 umbrellas about — only bayonets ! I tell you, 
 they were marvels ! "
 
 292 CARRYING ON 
 
 It would be interesting to hear the poilu 
 on his Allies. 
 
 The first train moves off, and another takes 
 its place. The long lines of stretchers are 
 thinning out now. There are perhaps a 
 hundred left. They contain men of all 
 units— English, Scottish, and Irish. There 
 are Gunners, Sappers, and Infantry. Here 
 and there among them you may note blood- 
 stained men in dirty grey uniforms — men with 
 dull, expressionless faces and closely cropped 
 heads. They are tended with exactly the 
 same care as the others. Where wounded 
 men are concerned, the British Medical Ser- 
 vice is strictly neutral. 
 
 A w^ounded corporal of the R.A.M.C. turns 
 his head and gazes thoughtfully at one of 
 those grey men. 
 
 "You understand English, Fritz?" he 
 inquires. 
 
 Apparently not. Fritz continues to stare 
 woodenly at the roof of the dock-shed. 
 
 "I should like to tell 'im a story, Jock," 
 says the Corporal to his other neighbour. 
 •'My job is on a hospital train. 'Alfa dozen 
 'Un aeroplanes made a raid behind our lines, 
 and seeinn- a beautiful Red Cross train — it 
 was a new London and North-Western train,
 
 RECESSIONAL 293 
 
 chocolate and white, with red crosses as plain 
 as could be — well, they simply couldn't resist 
 such a target as that ! One of their machines 
 swooped low down and dropped his bombs on 
 us. Luckily he only got the rear coach ; but I 
 happened to be in it ! D'yer 'ear that, Fritz ? " 
 
 " I doot he canna understand onything," 
 remarked the Highlander. " He's fair de- 
 moralised, like the rest. I^'ye ken what 
 happened tae me ? I was gaun' back 
 wounded, with this " — he indicates an arm 
 strapped close to his side — " and there was 
 six Fritzes came crawlin' oot o' a dug-out, 
 and gave themselves up tae me — me, that 
 was gaun' back wounded, withoot so much 
 as my jack-knife ! Demorrralised — that's it ! " 
 
 " Did you 'ear," inquired a Cockney who 
 came next in the line, "that all wounded 
 are going to 'ave a nice little gold stripe to 
 wear — a stripe for every wound ? " 
 
 There was much interest at this. 
 
 " That'll be fine, ' observed a man of Kent, 
 who had been out since Mons, and been 
 wounded three times. "Folks '11 know now 
 that I'm not a Derby recruit." 
 
 "Where will us wear it?" inquired a 
 gigantic Yorkshireman from the next 
 stretcher. 
 
 u
 
 294 CARRYING ON 
 
 " Wherever you was 'it, lad ! " replies the 
 Cockney humourist. 
 
 *' At that rate," comes the rueful reply, 
 "I shall 'ave to stand oop to show mine!" 
 
 III. 
 
 But now Il.A.M.C. orderlies are at hand, 
 and the symposium comes to an end. The 
 stretchers are conveyed one by one into the 
 long open coaches of the train, and each 
 patient is slipped sideways, with gentleness 
 and despatch, into his appointed cot. 
 
 One saloon is entirely filled with officers — 
 the severe cases in the cots, the rest sitting 
 where they can. A newspaper is passed 
 round. There are deliofhted exclamations, 
 especially from a second lieutenant whose 
 features appear to be held together entirely 
 by strips of plaster. Such parts of tlie 
 countenance as can be discerned are srailinc: 
 broadlv. 
 
 ** I hiexv we were doinsf well," says the 
 bandaged one, devouring the headline; "but 
 I never knew we were doing as well as this. 
 Official, too ! Somme battle — what ? Sorry !
 
 RECESSIONAL 295 
 
 I apologise 1 " as a groan ran round the 
 saloon. 
 
 " Never mind, ' said an unshaven officer 
 with a twinkling eye, and a major's tunic 
 wrapped loosely round him; "I expect that 
 jest will be overworked by more people than 
 you for the next few weeks. Does anybody 
 happen to know where this train is going to?" 
 
 "West of England, somewhere, I believe," 
 replied a voice. 
 
 There was an indignant groan from various 
 north-country men. 
 
 " I suppose it is quite impossible to sort 
 us all out at a time like this," remarked a 
 plaintive Caledonian in an upper cot ; but I 
 fail to see why the R.A.M.C. authorities 
 should go through the mockery of asking 
 every man in the train where he wants to 
 be taken, when the train can obviously only 
 go to one place — or perhaps tv/ o. I was 
 asked. I said ' Edinburgh ' ; and the medical 
 wallah said, 'Righto ! we'll send you to Bath !'" 
 
 " I think I can explain," remarked the 
 wounded Major. " These trains usually go to 
 two places — one half to Bath, the other, say, 
 to Exeter. Bath is nearer to Edinburgh than 
 Exeter, so they send you there. It is kindly 
 meant, but —"
 
 296 CARRYING ON 
 
 *' I say," croaked a voice from another cot 
 — its owner was a youno- officer who must 
 just have escaped being left behind at a base 
 hospital as too dangerously wounded to move 
 — '•' is that a newspaper down there ? Would 
 some one have a look, and tell me if we 
 have got Longueval all right ? Longueval ? 
 Long I got pipped, and don't quite " 
 
 The wounded Major turned his head 
 quickly. 
 
 " Hallo, Bobby ! " he observed cheerfully. 
 " That you ? I didn't notice you before." 
 
 Bobby Little's hot eyes turned slowly on 
 Wagstatfe, and he exclaimed feverishly — 
 
 " Hallo, Major ! Cheeroh ! Did we stick 
 to Longueval all right ? I've been dreaming 
 about it a bit, and " 
 
 " We did," replied Wagstaffe— " thanks to 
 ' A ' Company." 
 
 Bobby Little's head fell back on the pillow, 
 and he remarked contentedly — 
 
 "Thanks awfully. I think I can sleep a 
 bit now. So long I See you later ! " 
 
 His eyes closed, and he sighed happily, as 
 the long train slid out from the platform.
 
 207 
 
 CHAPTEK THIRTEEN. 
 
 "two old soldiers, broken in the wars." 
 
 The smoking-room of the Britannia Club used 
 to be exactly like the smoking-room of every 
 other London club — that is to say, members 
 lounged about in deep chairs, and talked 
 shop, or scandal- — or slumbered. At any 
 moment you might touch a .convenient bell, 
 and a waiter would appear at your elbow, like 
 a jinnee from ajar, and accept an order with 
 silent deference. You could do this all day, 
 and the jinnee never failed to hear and obey. 
 
 That was before the War. Now, those 
 idyllic days are gone. So is the waiter. So 
 is the efficacy of the bell. You may ring, but 
 all that will materialise is a self-riofhteous 
 little girl, in brass buttons, who will shake 
 her head reprovingly, and refer you to certain 
 passages in the Defence of the Realm Act. 
 
 Towards the hour of six-thirty, however.
 
 298 CARRYING ON 
 
 something of the old spirit of Liberty asserts 
 itself. A throng of members — chiefly elderly 
 gentlemen in expanded uniforms — assembles 
 in the smoking-room, occupying all the chairs, 
 and even overflowing on to the tables and 
 window-sills. They are not the discursive, 
 argumentative gathering of three years ago. 
 They sit silent, restless, glancing furtively at 
 their wrist-watches. 
 
 The clocks of London strike half-past six. 
 Simultaneously the door of the smoking-room 
 is thrown open, and a buxom young woman 
 in cap and apron bounces in. She smiles 
 maternally upon her fainting flock, and 
 announces — 
 
 " The half-hour's gone. Now you can all 
 have a drink ! " 
 
 What would have happened if the waiter 
 of old had done this thing, it is difficult to 
 imagine. But the elderly gentlemen greet 
 their Hebe with a chorus of welcome, and 
 clamour for precedence like children at a 
 school feast. And yet trusting wives believe 
 that in his club, at least, a man is safe ! 
 
 Major Wagstafle, D.S.O., having been 
 absent from London upon urgent public 
 affairs for nearly three years, was not well 
 versed in the newest refinements of club life.
 
 TWO OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN WARS 299 
 
 He had arrived that morning from his Con- 
 valescent Home In the West country, and 
 had already experienced a severe reverse at 
 the hands of the small girl with brass buttons 
 on venturing to order a sherry and bitters at 
 11.45 A.M. Consequently, at the statutory 
 hour his voice was not uplifted with the rest, 
 and he was served last. Not least, however ; 
 for Hebe, observing his empty sleeve, poured 
 out his soda-water with her own fair hands, 
 and offered to light his cicfarette. 
 
 This scene of dalliance was interrupted by 
 the arrival of Captain Bobby Little. He w^ore 
 the ribbon of the Military Cross and walked 
 with a stick — a not unusual combination in 
 these great days. Wagstaffe made room for 
 him upon the leather sofa, and Hebe supplied 
 his modest wants with an indulgent smile. 
 
 An autumn and a winter had passed since 
 the attack on Longueval. From July until 
 the December floods, the great battle had 
 raged. The New Armies, supplied at last 
 with abundant munitions, a seasoned Staff, 
 and a concerted plan of action, had answered 
 the question propounded in a previous chapter 
 in no uncertain fashion. Throuirh Lonirueval 
 and Delvllle Wood, where the graves of the 
 Highlanders and South Africans now He
 
 300 CARRYING ON 
 
 thick, through Flers and Martuipuich, through 
 Pozieres and Conrcelette, they had fought 
 their way, till they had reached the ridge, 
 with Hijrh Wood at its summit, wdiich the 
 Boche, not altogether unreasonahly, had re- 
 garded as impregnahle. The tide had swirled 
 over the crest, down the reverse slope, and up 
 at last to the top of that hlood-stalned knoll 
 of chalk known as the Butte de Warlencourt. 
 There the Hun threw in his hand. With 
 much loud talk upon the subject of victorious 
 retirements and llindenburg Lines, he with- 
 drew himself to a region far east of Bapaume ; 
 with the result that now some thousand 
 square miles of the soil of France had been 
 restored once and for all to their rightful 
 owners. 
 
 But Bobby and Wagstaffe had not been 
 there. All during the autumn and winter 
 they had lain softly in hospital, enjoying their 
 first rest for two years. Wagstaffe had lost 
 his left arm and gained a decoration. Bobby, 
 in addition to his Cross, had incurred a cracked 
 crown and a permanently shortened leg. But 
 both were well content. They had done 
 their bit — and something over ; and they had 
 emerged from the din of War with their lives, 
 their health, and their reason. A man who
 
 TWO OLD SOLDIEHS, BROKEN IN WARS 301 
 
 call aclilevc that feat in this war can count 
 himself fortunate. 
 
 Now, passed by a Medical Board as fit for 
 Home Service, they had said farewell to their 
 Convalescent Home and come to London to 
 learn what fate Olj^mpus held in store for 
 them. 
 
 " Where have you been all day, Bobby ? " 
 inquired Wagstatfe, as they sat down to 
 dinner an hour later. 
 
 "Down in Kent," replied Bobby briefly. 
 
 "Very well: I will not probe the matter. 
 Been to the War Office?" 
 
 " Yes ; I was there this morning. I am to 
 be Adjutant of a Cadet school at Great Snore- 
 ham. What sort of a job is that likely 
 to be ? " 
 
 " On the whole," replied WagstafTe, " a 
 Fairy Godmother Department job. It might 
 have been very much worse. You are 
 thorouglily up to the Adjutant business, 
 Bobby, and of course the young officers under 
 you will be Immensely impressed by your 
 game leg and bit of ribbon. A very sound 
 appointment." 
 
 " What are they going to do with you ? " 
 asked Bobby in his turn. 
 
 " I am to command our Ileserve Battalion,
 
 302 
 
 CARRYING ON 
 
 with acting- rank of Lieutenant - Colonel. 
 Think of that, my lad ! They have confirmed 
 you in your rank as Captain, I suppose ? " 
 
 es. 
 
 " Good ! The only trouble is that you will 
 be stationed in the South of Engnland and I in 
 the North of Scotland ; so we shall not see 
 quite so much of one another as of late. 
 However, we must get together occasionally, 
 and split a tin of bully for old time's sake." 
 
 "Bully? By gum !" said Bobby thought- 
 fullv, I have almost forcrotten what it tastes 
 like. (Fried sole, please ; then roast lamb.) 
 Eight months in hospital do wash out certain 
 remembrances." 
 
 *' But not all," said Warstaile. 
 
 CD 
 
 " No, not all. I — I wonder how our chaps 
 are getting on, over there ? " 
 
 '* The regiment ? " 
 
 " Yes. It is so hard to ijfet definite news." 
 
 " They were in the Arras show ; did better 
 than ever; but — well, they required a big 
 draft afterwards." 
 
 "The third time!" sighed Bobby. == Did 
 any one "write to you about it ? " 
 
 "Yes. Who do you think?" 
 
 " Some one in the regiment V 
 
 " Yes."
 
 TWO OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN WARS 303 
 
 " I did not know there were any of the old 
 lot left. Who was it ? " 
 
 " Mucklewame." 
 
 " Mucklewame ? You mean to say the 
 Boche hasn't got him yet ? It's like missing 
 Ilheims Cathedral." 
 
 " Yes, they got him at Arras. Mucklewame 
 is in hospital. Fortunately his chief wound is 
 in the head, so he's doing nicely. Here is his 
 letter." 
 
 Bobby took the pencilled screed and read — 
 
 Major Wagstapfe, Sir, 
 
 I take up my pew for to infor^n you that I 
 am now in hospital in Glasgow, having become 
 a cassuality on the IS th inst. 
 
 I was struck on the head hy the nose-cap of 
 a German shell {now in the possession of my 
 guidivife). Unfortunately I was wearing one 
 of they steel helmets at the time, with the result 
 that I sustained a serious scalp ivound, also 
 very had concussion. I have never had a 
 liking for they helmets anyicay. 
 
 TJie old regiment didfne in tJie last attack. 
 
 They were specially mentioned in Orders next 
 
 day. The objective was reached under heavy 
 
 fire and position consolidated before we ivere 
 
 relieved next morning.
 
 JJ04 CARRYING ON 
 
 " Good boys ! " interpolated Bobby softly. 
 
 Colonel Carmichael, late of the Second 
 Battn., I tJiinh, is noiv in command. A very 
 nice gentleman, hut ive have all been missing 
 you and the Captain. 
 
 They tell me that I will he for home service 
 after this. My head is doing well, hut the 
 rnuscides of my right leg is hadly torn. I 
 should have liked fine for to have stayed out 
 and come home ivith the other hoys ivhen we 
 are thi'ough with Berlin. 
 
 Having no more to say, sir, I will noiv dixnu 
 to a close. 
 
 J AS. MUCKLEWAME, 
 C.S.M. 
 
 After the perusal of this characteristic Ave 
 atqiie Vale! the two friends adjourned to the 
 balcony, overlooking the Green Park. Here 
 they lit their cigars in reminiscent silence, 
 while nelirhbourlnfr searchlio-hts raked the 
 horizon for Zeppelins which no longer came. 
 It was a moment for confidences. 
 
 " Old Mucklewame is like the rest of us," 
 said Wagstaffe at last. 
 
 '• How ? " 
 
 " AYanting to go back, and all that. I do, 
 too — just because I'm here, I suppose. A
 
 TWO OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN WARS r>05 
 
 year ago, out there, my chief ambition was 
 to get iiome, with a comfortable wound and 
 a comfortable conscience." 
 
 " Same here," admitted Bobby. 
 
 *' It was the same with practically every 
 one," said Wagstaffe. " If any man asserts 
 that he really enjoys modern warfare, after, 
 say, six months of it, he is a liar. In the 
 South African show I can honestly say I was 
 perfectly happy. We were fighting in open 
 country against an adversary who M^as a 
 gentleman ; and although there was plenty of 
 risk, the chances were that one came through 
 all right. At any rate, there was no poison 
 gas, and one did not see a whole platoon 
 blown to pieces, or buried alive, by a single 
 shell. If Brother Boer took you prisoner, 
 he did not stick you in the stomach with 
 a saw - edged bayonet. At the worst he 
 pinched your trousers. But Brother Boche 
 is a different proposition. Since he butted 
 in. War has descended in the social scale. 
 And modern scientific developments have 
 turned a sporting chance of being scuppered 
 into a mathematical certainty. And yet — 
 and yet — old Mucklewame is right. One 
 hates to be out of it — especially at the 
 finish. When the regiment comes stumping
 
 '^OG CARRYING OX 
 
 o 
 
 through London on its way back to Euston 
 — next year, or whenever it's going to be — 
 with their ragged pipers leading the way, 
 you would like to be at the head of 'A' 
 Company, Bobby, and I would give some- 
 thing to be exercising my old function of 
 whipper-in. Eh, boy?" 
 
 " Never mind," said practical Bobby. " Per- 
 haps we shall be on somebody's glittering 
 Staff. What I hate to feel at present is 
 that the other fellows out there have got 
 to go on sticking it, while we " 
 
 " And, by God," exclaimed Wagstaffe, 
 "what stickers they are — and were! Did 
 you ever see anything so splendid, Bobby, 
 as those six-months-old soldiers of ours — in 
 the early days, I mean, when we held our 
 trenches, week by week, under continuous 
 bombardment, and our gunners behind could 
 only help us with four or five rounds a 
 day ? " 
 
 "I never did," said Bobby truthfully. 
 
 "I admit to yon," continued Wagstaffe, 
 "that when I found myself pitchforked into 
 K(l) at the outbreak of the War, instead 
 of getting back to my old line battalion, I 
 was a pretty sick man. I hated everybody. 
 I was one of the old school — or liked to
 
 TWO OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN WAR.S 307 
 
 think I was — and the ways of tho new 
 school were not my ways. I hated the new 
 officers. Some of them bullied the men ; 
 some of them allowed themselves to be 
 bullied by N.CO.'s. Some never gave or 
 returned salutes, others went about salutino- 
 everybody. Some came into mess in fancy 
 dress of their own design, and elbowed 
 senior officers off the hearthrug. I used to 
 marvel at the Colonel's patience with them. 
 But many of them are dead now, Bobby, 
 and they nearly all made good. Then the 
 men ! After ten years in the regular Army 
 I hated them all — the way they lounged, 
 the way they dressed, the way they sat, the 
 way they spat. I wondered how I could 
 ever go on living with them. And now — I 
 find myself wondering how I am ever going 
 to live without them. We shall not see 
 their like again. The new lot — present lot 
 — are splendid fellows. They are probably 
 better soldiers. Certainly they are more 
 uniformly trained. But there was a piquancy 
 about our old scamps In K. that was unique 
 — priceless — something the world will never 
 see again." 
 
 "I don't know," said Bobby thoughtfully. 
 " That Cockney regiment which lay beside us
 
 808 CARRYING ON 
 
 at Albert last summer were a pretty price- 
 less lot. Do you remember a pair of fat 
 fellows in their leading platoon ? We called 
 them Fortnum and Mason ! " 
 
 "I do — particularly Fortnum. Goon!" 
 
 "Well, their bit of trench was being 
 shelled one da}^ and Fortnum, who was in 
 number one bay with five other men, kept 
 shouting out to Mason, who was round a 
 traverse and out of sight, to inquire how he 
 was getting on. 'Are you all right, Bill?' 
 'Are you sure you're all right, Bill?' 'Are 
 you still all riglit. Bill ? ' and so on. At 
 last Bill, getting fed up with this unusual 
 solicitude, yelled back — ' What's all the 
 anxiety abaht, eh ? ' And Fortnum put his 
 head round the traverse and explained. 
 ' We're getting up a little sweepstake in 
 our bay,' he said, ' abaht the first casualty, 
 and I've drawn you, ole son ! ' " 
 
 Wa^stalfe chuckled. 
 
 " That must have been the regiment that 
 had the historic poker party," he said. 
 
 " What yarn was that ? " 
 
 " I heard it from the Briiiadier — lour times, 
 to be exact. Five men off duty were sitting 
 in a dug-out playing poker. A gentleman 
 named 'Erb had just gone to the limit on
 
 TWO OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN WARS 309 
 
 his hand, when a rifle-grenade came into 
 the dug - out from somewhere and did him 
 in. While they were waiting for the 
 stretcher - bearers, one of the other players 
 picked up 'Erb's hand and examined it. Then 
 he laid it down again, and said — ' It doesn't 
 matter, chaps. Poor 'Erb wouldn't a' made 
 it, anyway. I 'ad four queens.' " 
 
 " Tommy had his own ideas of fun, I'll 
 admit," said Bobby. " Do you remember 
 those first trenches of ours at Festubert ? 
 There was a dead Frenchman buried in 
 the parapet. You know how they used to 
 bury people in those days ? " 
 
 " I did notice it. Go on." 
 
 "Well, this poor chap's hand stuck out, 
 just about four feet from the floor of the 
 trench. My dug-out was only a few yards 
 away, and I never saw a member of my 
 platoon go past that spot without shaking 
 the hand and saying, 'Good morning, 
 Alphonse ! ' I had it built up with sandbags 
 ultimately, and they were quite annoyed ! " 
 
 ''They have some grisly notions about life 
 and death," agreed Wagstaffe, " but they 
 are extraordinarily kind to people in trouble, 
 such as wounded men or prisoners. You 
 can't better them."
 
 310 CARRYING ON 
 
 "And now there are five millions of them. 
 We are all in it, at last ! " 
 
 " We certainly are — men and women. I'm 
 afraid I had hardly realised what our women 
 were doing for us. Being on service all the 
 time, one rather overlooks what is going on 
 at home. But stopping a bullet puts one in 
 the way of a good deal of inside information 
 on that score." 
 
 ** You mean hospital work, and so on ? " 
 
 " Yes. One meets a lot of wonderful people 
 that way ! Sisters, and ward - maids, and 
 V.A.D.'s " 
 
 "I love all Y.A.D;s!" said Bobby un- 
 expectedly. 
 
 " Why, my youthful Mormon ? " 
 
 " Because they are the people who do all 
 the hard work and get no limelight — like — 
 like " 
 
 " Like Second Lieutenants — eh ! " 
 
 " Yes, that is the idea. They have a pretty 
 hard time, you know," continued Bobby con- 
 fidentially, " and nothing heroic, either. Giv- 
 ing up all the fun that a girl is entitled to ; 
 washing dishes; answering the door-bell; 
 running up and down stairs ; eating rotten 
 food. That's the sort of " 
 
 '' What is her name ? " inc^uirei^ the accusing
 
 TWO OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN WARS 311 
 
 voice of Major WagstafFe. Then, without 
 waiting to extort an answer from the embar- 
 rassed Bobby — 
 
 " You are quite right. This War has cer- 
 tainly brought out the best in our women. 
 The South African War brought out our 
 worst. My goodness, you should have seen 
 the Mount Nelson Hotei at Capetown in 
 those days ! But they have been wonderful 
 this time — wonderful. I love them all — the 
 bus-conductors, the ticket-punchers, the lift- 
 girls — one of them nearly shot me right through 
 the roof of Harrod's the other day — and the 
 window-cleaners, and the page-girls, and the 
 railway portresses ! I divide my elderly heart 
 among them. And I met a bunch of munition 
 girls the other day, Bobby, coming home from 
 work. They were all young, and most of them 
 were pretty. Their faces and hands were 
 stained a bright orange-colour with picric acid, 
 and will be, I suppose, until the Boche is 
 booted back into his sty. In other words, they 
 had deliberately sacrificed their good looks for 
 the duration of the War. That takes a bit of 
 doing, I know, innocent bachelor though I 
 am. But bless you, they weren't worrying. 
 They waved their orange-coloured hands to 
 me, and pointed to their orange - coloured
 
 312 CARRYING ON 
 
 faces, and laughed. They were proud of* 
 them ; they were doing their bit ! They 
 nearly made me cry, Bobby. Yes, we are all 
 in it now ; and those of us who come out of 
 it are going to find this old island of ours 
 a wonderfully changed place to live in." 
 
 " How ? Why ? " inquired Bobby. Pos- 
 sibly he was interested in Wagstaife's unusual 
 expansiveness : possibly he hoped to steer the 
 conversation away from the topic of V.A.D.'s 
 — possibly towards it. You never know. 
 
 " Well," said Wagstaffe, " we are all going 
 to understand one another a great deal better 
 after this War." 
 
 " Who ? Labour and Capital, and so on ? " 
 
 " ' Labour and Capital ' is a meaningless and 
 misleading expression, Bobby. For instance, 
 our men regard people like you and me as 
 Capitalists ; the ordinary Brigade Major re- 
 gards us as Labourers, and pretty common La- 
 bourers at that. It is all a question of degree. 
 But what I mean is this. You can't call your 
 employer a tyrant and an extortioner after 
 he has shared his rations with you and never 
 spared himself over your welfare and comfort 
 through weary months of trench warfare ; 
 neither, when you have experienced a work- 
 ing-man's courage and cheerfulness and reli-
 
 TWO OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN WARS 31H 
 
 ability in the day of battle, can you turn 
 round and call him a loafer and an agitator 
 in time of peace — can you ? That is just 
 what the Bandar Log overlook, when they 
 jabber about the dreadful industrial upheaval 
 that is coming with peace. Most of all have 
 they overlooked the fact that with the coming 
 of peace this country will be invaded by several 
 million of the wisest men that she has ever 
 produced — the New British Army. That 
 Army will consist of men who have spent 
 three years in getting rid of mutual misap- 
 prehensions and assimilating one another's 
 point of view — men who went out to the War 
 ignorant and intolerant and insular, and are 
 coming back wise to all the things that really 
 matter. They will flood this old country, and 
 they will make short work of the agitator, 
 and the alarmist, and the profiteer, and all 
 the nasty creatures that merely make a noise 
 instead of doing something, and who crab the 
 work of the Army and Navy — more especi- 
 ally the Navy — because there isn't a circus 
 victory of some kind in the paper every morn- 
 ing. Yes, Bobby, when our boys get back, and 
 begin to ask the Bandar Log what they did 
 in the Great War — well, it's going to be a 
 rotten season for Bandar Ljog generally ! "
 
 314 CARRYING ON 
 
 There was silence again. Presently Bobby 
 spoke — 
 
 " When our boys get back ! Some of them 
 are never coming back again, worse luck ! " 
 
 " Still," said Wagstaffe, *' what they did was 
 worth doing, and what they died for was 
 worth while. I think their one regret to-day 
 would be that they did not live to see their 
 own fellows taking the offensive — the line 
 going forward on the Somme ; the old tanks 
 waddling over the Boche trenches ; and the 
 Boche prisoners throwing up their hands and 
 yowling ' Kamerad ! ' And the Kut unpleas- 
 antness cleaned up, and all the kinks in the 
 old Salient straightened out ! And Wyts- 
 chaete and Messines ! You remember how 
 the two ridges used to look down into our 
 lines at Wipers and Plugstreet ? And now 
 we're on top of both of them ! Some of our 
 friends out there — the friends who are not 
 coming back — would have liked to know about 
 that, Bobby. I wish they could, somehow." 
 
 " Perhaps they do," said Bobby simply. 
 
 It was close on midnight. Our "two old sol- 
 diers, broken in the Wars," levered themselves 
 stiffly to their feet, and prepared to depart.
 
 TWO OLD SOLDIERS, BROKEN IN WARS 315 
 
 " Heigho ! " said Wagstaffe. " It is time 
 for two old wrecks like us to be in bed. That's 
 what we are, Bobby — -wrecks, dodderers, has- 
 beens ! But we have had the luck to last 
 longer than most. We have dodged the 
 missiles of the Boche to an extent which 
 justifies us in claiming that we have followed 
 the progress of this war with a rather more 
 than average degree of continuity. We were 
 the last of the old crowd, too. Kemp has 
 got his Brigade, young Cockerell has gone 
 to be a Staff Captain, and — you and I are 
 here. Some of the others dropped out far too 
 soon. Young Lochgair, old Blaikie " 
 
 " Waddell, too," said Bobby. " We joined 
 the same day." 
 
 " And Angus M'Lachlan. I think he would 
 have made the finest soldier of the lot of us," 
 added Wagstafte. " You remember his remark 
 to me, that we only had the bye to play now ? 
 He was a true prophet : we are dormy, any- 
 how. (Only cold feet at Home can let us down 
 now.) And he only saw three months' service ! 
 Still, he made a great exit from this world, 
 Bobby, and that is the only thing that matters 
 in these days. ... Ha ! H'm ! As our new Allies 
 would say, I am beginning to * pull heart stuff 
 on jou. Let us go to bed. Sleeping here ? "
 
 316 CARRYING ON 
 
 "Yes, till to-morrow. Then off on leave." 
 
 " How much have you got ? " 
 
 " A month. I say ? " 
 
 " Yes ? " 
 
 " Are you doing anything on the nine- 
 teenth V 
 
 Wagstaffe regarded his young friend sus- 
 piciously. 
 
 " Is this a catch of some kind ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Oh, no. Will you be my " Bobby 
 
 turned excessively pink, and completed his 
 request. 
 
 Wagstaffe surveyed him resignedly. 
 
 " We all come to it, I suppose," he observed. 
 *' Only some come to it sooner than others. Are 
 you of age, my lad ? Have your parents " 
 
 " I'm twenty-two," said Bobby shortly. 
 
 " Will the bridesmaids be pretty ? " 
 
 " They are all peaches," replied Bobby with 
 enthusiasm ; " but nothing whatever," he 
 added, in a voice of respectful rapture, 
 *' compared with the bride ! " 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRISTED BV WILLIAM ELACII^VOOD AND SONS.
 
 
 University of Caiifornia 
 
 SOUTHERN REGiONAL LIBRARY FACiLITY 
 
 405 Hiigard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library 
 
 from which it was borrowed. 
 
 lOm-12,'67 (H6886s8) 9482
 
 UC SOUTHf R(V RFGIONAL LIBRARY 
 
 FACILITY 
 
 AA 06d297l'36 4